DoL DnD AU Part 3: I'm Just Sleepy...
DoL DnD AU Masterlist Read Part 3 on Ao3 - broken into shorter chapters! Genre: Fluff with a sprinkle of angst Characters: Wizard!Robin, Rogue!Kylar, Cleric!Sydney, Bard!Whitney and DM!Reader - all GN. Featuring Ivory!Wraith Word count: 6.1k Summary: Fate has placed tonight's session in the hands of a Blood Moon... which isn't a problem, until you realise Robin's scheduled a sleepover, too. Luckily, your friends are happy to help you stay awake - even if they don't fully understand your reasons.
A/N: There's very little DnD in this, and a whole lot of fluffy cuteness. There's something SO FUNNY TO ME about writing tooth-rotting fluff with these characters - it feels naughtier than the filthiest smut. Hope I did your fave justice in my characterisation <3 It's not a songfic, but the title is from a song by my favourite Serbian pop-goth, Luke Black! Samo mi se Spava always makes me think of Ivory Wraith...
Hosting regular Dungeons and Dragons sessions at the orphanage comes with it’s own challenges.
But you’d been running games in the loft for a while now, and had put some clever measures in place to protect your Friday night sanctum.
For instance, there are strict rules not to arrive before the allotted time. Sure, sometimes it leads to players loitering awkwardly at the front of the building, but so far everyone had managed to avoid Bailey and any other unsavoury characters who might be wandering the streets.
Thankfully, sneaking players out is less of a problem – in fact, you suspect there are times when Bailey isn’t even in the building when sessions draw to a close. Everyone is mindful of the caretaker’s wrath - even those who haven’t had the displeasure of meeting them. It’s testament to how much everyone values their Friday evenings in the loft, and how much they trust you and Robin as hosts.
When it comes to staying quiet, everyone does their best to accommodate. Robin had marked out the creakiest floorboards with yellow tape, and everyone knew to avoid them. The hatch is now kept well-oiled and in top condition – necessary after a damaged hinge caused the ladder to get stuck, then fall down unexpectedly. As it had come crashing down, the racket had put you all on high alert - but Kylar’s black eye had been your leading concern. Still, they seemed to revel in your sympathy, and you suspect they’d suffer through it again just to have you lay another icepack against their swollen face.
New rules are added all the time to help keep your meetings secret – and they’re easy to remember, because Robin had designed a poster and tacked it up on the loft wall in pride of place. The latest rule? No clapping, and definitely no cheering. Instead, Sydney had suggested jazz hands to celebrate party triumphs. Robin had needed no encouragement, but Kylar and Whitney remained sullenly unconvinced.
But there were times when it felt too risky – and regrettably, some sessions couldn’t go ahead at all. It’s always annoying to postpone a session at the final moment, but as you remind yourself: it’s a small price to pay for security.
Last week had been one of those occasions. Bailey had stuck around much later than usual, and it made you… uneasy. Robin had panicked, sure that Bailey knew everything, and you were both about to be beaten to within an inch of your lives. The reason for your caretaker’s lingering never became clear, but Robin was so distraught it felt sensible to postpone.
But delaying sessions caused issues, too. Because a week was skipped, things had gotten… a little mixed up. By the time you realise that tonight’s session is taking place on the final night of the month, it’s too late to replan.
Awkwardly, your Blood Moon experiences are the inspiration for tonight’s session. As your confidence as Dungeon Master had grown, and begun to plan more intricate narratives; needing less guidance from Robin and often leaving the orphan surprised and delighted by what you’d come up with. Inspiration comes from unlikely places… you lead an interesting life, after all.
Maybe it’s fate… or just bad luck. Still, the tale of the tentacled spectre is unlikely to raise any eyebrows… and after the session, a long bath to see in the sunrise would be a safe place to unwind.
Besides, it would be a shame to postpone again – everyone was looking forward to playing. After the dramatic death of Grok the Barbarian, Whitney had rerolled a Tabaxi Bard, and the charismatic character seemed to suit them. They’d been interested in bards for a while, and you’d once overheard them asking Sydney and Robin for their thoughts. In fact, you suspect Whitney’s bardic aspirations might have been the catalyst for Grok’s untimely death…
The other characters are thriving, too. Sydney in particular has become adept in the art of tabletop roleplay, and they clearly spent what little free time they had expanding their knowledge. There were now many occasions where they’d corrected Robin – always politely, saving their dry, biting wit for those that deserved it. Safyra the half-elf cleric had grown into a fascinating character who stood up for their beliefs fiercely; unafraid to call out injustice.
Kylar is more comfortable too – you always knew it’d be a very long process, but with support, they’re now much more involved than they were at the start. Kylar has a lot of good ideas – often noticing things the other party members miss. Sure, Hosu the Unyielding wasn’t the most traditional halfling rogue… but Kylar had grown into the character, and often put their sneaky racial abilities to good use for the benefit of the party.
Despite your nerves, the session goes well… really well. Time flies, and by the time you’re finished, the hour hand of Sydney’s watch is nudging midnight. Your players had found it to be another enjoyable adventure – even though it had been a shade darker than usual. Turns out, you had a rare gift for describing otherworldly horrors.
“Well… that was spooky,” Sydney states from across the wooden table, looking both disturbed and relieved to have survived.
“Yeah, didn’t think it’d be so… creepy,” mutters Robin, clearly impressed by your imagination. “How’d you come up with this stuff?”
You shrug, adding a guarded smile. It feels good to have impressed, but you’re not sure you can tell them the truth.
“I thought it was cool. D-don’t you agree… droplet?” Kylar grins mischievously, boldly tracing a finger up the back of Sydney’s neck and causing them flinch dramatically.
“Don’t do that,” Syd huffs, folding their arms.
“Uhh… so what does everyone want to do now?” Robin asks. Your brow furrows.
They must not have noticed the time – it’d certainly gone quickly. You’re about remind everyone that it’s probably time to turn in… until it dawns on you why nobody’s leaving.
The sleepover. It was originally set for weeks ago… and been rescheduled for tonight.
Robin had been desperate for a sleepover for as long as you can remember. In fairness, it was one of those childhood opportunities that neither of you had experienced, being orphans. That loss had never really bothered you – but apparently, it was something that Robin had always yearned for. Now, with something vaguely resembling a group of friends and the privacy of the loft space, there was nothing standing between Robin and the sleepover of their dreams.
A lump thickens in your throat. Everything seemed to have snuck up on you all at once – how could you have been so foolish? Not even watching Robin drag bedding through the loft hatch all afternoon had reminded you of the arrangements... No wonder they’d spent so much time cleaning in here this week… You’d assumed it was because of Syd’s allergies.
A cold sense of dread creeps up your spine. The last day of the month had snuck up on you again, its pale tentacles now curling around your shoulders and wrapping menacingly around your throat, and you feel like you’re going t-
“You okay?” Sydney asks, studying you with quiet concern. There’s a ragged, rhythmic sound. You realise it’s your own breathing.
“No. Yes, I…” you stumble for a believable explanation. “I forgot everyone was staying tonight. That’s all.”
Apparently, you’re not the only one – Kylar and Whitney murmur in agreement. In fact, other than Robin, Sydney is the only one who’s remembered – they’d brought their own sleeping bag and all the supplies needed for an overnight stay.
For a moment you selfishly wonder if you might convince Robin to reschedule, but the hopeful gleam in their eyes stops you. Clearly, they’d been looking forward to this, and you feel like an ass for forgetting.
“It’s not a problem. There’s loads of spare blankets and stuff,” Robin beams, scampering over to the pile of bedding laid out on freshly swept floorboards. You recognise some of it as your own.
Whitney’s expression is somewhere between disbelief and second-hand embarrassment as they watch Robin gleefully show off their preparations. You wonder if the bully is completely immune to Robin’s sweet eyes – if anyone is, it’s likely to be Whitney.
They turn to you, eyebrows raised. “You in, slut?”
You hesitate, but the look on Robin’s face draws out your answer. How could you refuse?
“… Yeah. Of course.”
“I’ll stay,” Kylar blurts, looking you up and down intensely.
“Me too, then,” Whitney decides. You’re in no frame of mind to anticipate their motives, but you’d bet good money that your presence is the sole reason the pair agree.
You begin to pack away the remnants of the session – keeping your hands busy while your mind races. A blood-red moon hangs, just visible through the loft’s only window and staining the murky sky with its dreadful glow – you’d forgotten the loft even had a window. Robin must have cleaned it up since the last session, and you wish they’d not bothered. A layer of dirt would have made a comforting veil between you and that wicked sky.
Robin and Kylar help you lift the table and place it in a far corner, while Sydney begins folding down chairs one-by-one, and Whitney finishes off a packet of strawberry laces. The miniatures are stashed in a box and carefully hidden from view, along with any remaining snacks, dice and pencils.
But after clearing up, it becomes clear that Robin hasn’t really thought things through, and hasn’t planned anything past… well, sleeping. Whitney’s annoyed to find there’s no alcohol, and has a few choice words for Robin on the quality of their hosting. When Whitney’s idea of “seeing who’d win in a fight” gets rejected, they march over to the window with a huff of annoyance before cracking it open and lighting a cigarette.
Unsurprisingly, Sydney’s against the idea of a homemade Ouija board, and threatens to leave if it’s so much as mentioned twice. It’s quite apparent that nobody has any idea what sort of activities a sleepover should entail… and its sort of sad. You really are a bunch of misfits.
“I guess we could just… sleep?” Robin suggests, raking fingers through their hair. “Sorry. It is kinda late, though…”
Your chest stings. Absolutely not. Sleep is the last thing you want right now, and you search the corners of your brain for anything you could suggest instead. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere to plug Robin’s console up here, and Spin the Bottle seems like a terrible idea given the company. There’s a couple of board games in the Main Hall, but they’re missing a lot of pieces... You’re not sure Robin could handle that again.
“Well, I’m pretty tired…” yawns Sydney – they look it, too, rolling out a blue sleeping bag and eyeing it as though it’s the most luxurious thing in the world. Kylar’s building some sort of nest exclusively from your bedding – methodically identifying it by smell… or possibly taste.
“I don’t want to sleep,” you declare, as cheerfully as you can manage. It must not have sounded cheery at all, because Sydney’s looking at you strangely. Maybe they can’t relate.
“What? Why not?” asks Robin, puzzled. You shake your head, unsure how to explain yourself.
“It’s… I…” You shift under their combined gaze. “I can’t sleep.”
“I can tire you out, slut!” Whitney calls from the window. It’s not unexpected, but their comment makes you want to scream – and Kylar looks unimpressed too, whipping round to fix Whitney with a glare as they finalise their nest.
“No… I can sleep, I just… don’t want to.” You explain, frustrated. You decide it’s hopeless, flopping down on a cushion. It’d be much better to just… disappear for the night, and you briefly consider making excuses and leaving. Nobody’s sure how to respond to your strange behaviour, and they eye each other for what feels like minutes.
“Is it nightmares?”
Your gaze flickers to the source of the sound. It’s Sydney, adjusting their glasses. Their tone is without judgement, and gently invites you to be a little more sincere.
“Sort of…” you reply. It feels like a safe, if not entirely truthful admission, and you’re thankful for the suggestion.
Robin nods, as though it suddenly all makes sense. They sit beside you, leaning over to make a suggestion.
“Do you want to…” their voice drops to a low whisper. “Y’know… cuddle?”
It’s too much for Kylar, who’s buried under your duvet. They thrash the bedding away and hurry towards you, gripping your arm with small hands.
“I made your bed, my love!” their eyes flash, and Robin looks a little alarmed.
“You lot should sleep. I’m going to stay awake,” you declare firmly. They must realise you’re serious, because despite confused looks, nobody presses further. Perhaps they’re used to your occasionally unusual behaviour by now.
“Won’t you be bored?” Sydney asks, wrinkling their nose. “You should have some company, at least.”
“I’ll stay up with you,” assures Kylar. You don’t doubt their ability after watching them drain 4 energy drinks over the course of the evening.
“We’ll take turns,” suggests Robin, their eyes regaining a familiar sparkle. “Could be fun, right?”
Between your companions, the night is divided up into 4 equal parts, with the final shift finishing around sunrise. It works out at just under 2 hours each before dawn – something they all agree is very much doable.
“I’ll go first,” Sydney offers, raising their hand to stifle a yawn. It seems like a bold choice, until they explain. “Once I’m asleep, nobody will be able to wake me… So, I should go first.”
You smile. It’s a thoughtful offer, especially because Syd probably needs sleep more than anyone else here.
Kylar’s quick to suggest going second, and Robin’s third. Whitney’s happy to go last – they seem most confident about keeping you awake during those crucial final hours, and it’s a bit unnerving.
As the others get comfortable among pillows, cushions and blankets, you find a spot a little further away and lean against some sturdy cardboard boxes; filled with ancient files, probably from long before Bailey’s time. Robin’s done an excellent job making the loft cleaner and cosier than it’s ever been. Even the cobwebs overhead had been cleared, and the floor was so clean you could swipe a finger across it and come away unsullied.
Robin escorts Sydney to the bathroom to brush their teeth and change into pyjamas. Kylar plops atop their pile of claimed blankets, resting their head on your pillow. Whitney has created a pile of stripy cushions, and lays atop them, a hood shielding their face from view. They don’t look particularly comfortable, and busy themselves listening to music that’s so loud it can be clearly heard from your vantage spot.
When the others return, Sydney sits beside you, not bothering to get too cozy. You wonder if they’re worried about nodding off during their shift.
For a while, you sit. It’s awkward with everyone else is trying to sleep a few feet away. Well, Whitney’s awake, and Kylar’s peeping at you from their blanket nest… but after a while it stars to feel more comfortable. Something about Sydney seems different tonight. You can sense they’re torn – not wanting to pry but eager to offer you comfort. After a little small talk, they reveal exactly what’s on their mind.
“Nightmares are pretty common, I think…”
You study them closely. As they sit, hugging their thighs, long hair falls quite beautifully around their cheeks, shielding a drawn expression.
“Yeah?”
Sydney nods, their dark-honey eyes studying the rafters. “I don’t get them so much now…” they rake a hand up the back of their neck. “And when I do, they don’t wake me up so much…”
They smile wanly, and you match the expression right back. It sounds as though their sleep is more restful than it once was, but still not perfect. Sleeping through nightmares sounds more torturous than being woken up by them… but you choose not to mention that.
“I don-“
“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” Syd interjects. It’s a relief not to talk, because it feels dishonest to call what happens on a Blood Moon ‘nightmares’... And yet, the reality is impossible to explain. You don’t fully understand it yourself… and aren’t sure you want to. But something about Sydney’s vulnerability makes you want to connect with their experience.
“It’s sort of like nightmares. I think.”
“Sorry, I assumed... I keep doing that…” They add, a needless, self-chastising bite to their words. It’s a familiar tone.
You smile, hoping to communicate the warmth and understanding Sydney deserves. Together, you sit in comfortable silence for a long time – it’s rare to enjoy such a thing, but with Sydney, it’s easy. After a while, you both notice Robin softly snoring and share an amused chuckle. At least one person seems to be sleeping.
“Is Sirris excited for your sleepover?” you ask, breaking the stillness with a hushed voice. Sirris always seemed keen to see Sydney enjoy more conventional teenage activities and wasn’t shy about bringing it up while teaching. It’d always seemed a little off, to be honest. Their relationship must be complicated.
“Uh… they think I’m at the Temple… and the Temple think I’m…” Sydney’s lips curl impishly. There’s no need to finish the sentence.
You grin – both surprised and impressed. You’re not sure if it’s out of character for Sydney to lie, but it feels unusual that they’d admit it to you so readily.
“Any reason?”
Sydney shrugs, but the casual gesture belies something under the surface. It’s… a little sad. You wonder if their dishonesty might not be the roguish display of rebellion you first thought. It’s not unexpected when they change the subject, but it surprises you when the topic returns to sleep issues.
“When I used to get nightmares… a lot…” they begin, amber eyes darting anywhere but to yours. “I’d read all night. It helped.” Finally, they meet your eyes with another weary smile.
You ask about what Sydney would read – turns out, anything they could get their hands on. When the books in the house were exhausted, they wormed their way through the library’s offerings too. Apparently, they’d keep a book and a torch under their pillow at all times growing up. No wonder they seem to survive on such little rest – they were used to it.
“Can I ask you something?” Sydney chimes. You nod, welcoming their query. “Tonight’s session… I’ve been wondering what inspired it.”
They don’t pause, and you’re grateful, because you’re not really prepared to answer.
“I only ask because some of it sounded… familiar? Maybe something I’ve read, I don’t know… Was it based on a book?”
Your eyes widen, and for a split second you consider telling Sydney more. Could it hurt?
“It’s okay if you don’t want to say. I just thought it was… interesting.”
You decide to stay quiet, watching Sydney push up their glasses to rub tired eyes and stifle another wide yawn. You wonder exactly what sounded so familiar to Sydney. Obviously, they’re a spiritual person, and probably more in touch with the evil of the world than either of you realise.
A gloomy shadow falls across your faces. Kylar hovers, before clearing their throat noisily. Sydney rolls their eyes.
“I guess it’s my turn to sleep. It was nice chatting with you,” they say warmly, easing into a stretch before standing. “Oh, almost forgot…”
Sydney unbuckles their watch and passes it to you with a wise nod. It’s a good idea, and you smile thankfully, before fastening it around your wrist and wishing them goodnight.
Kylar watches Sydney head to their sleeping bag, not turning away until they’re safely tucked inside.
They sit close to you, and then somehow manage to shuffle even closer, until you feel the points of their slight frame pressed against your own. They’ve dragged over a shabby messenger bag, and rummage inside. It’s filled with… all sorts, really. Papers, food, bandages. Their fingers tent around an object, and they pull it out.
“F-for you,” they mumble, thrusting a can of energy drink against your chest. As you take it, you notice how Kylar’s small hands seem to disappear under their long, ragged sleeves. After thanking them, you crack the top open with a hiss. A sweet, fruity smell fills the air - you imagine it must be very brightly coloured as you take a sip. The sugary taste makes your teeth itch, and you place it on the floorboards at your side.
You sit, mulling over the tang of the drink on your tongue. It turns out Robin’s snoring is no match for Sydney’s – they’re out like a light as soon as their head hits the pillow; heavy, throbbing snores reverberating into the loft. You’re not even sure they’ve taken their glasses off.
From the corner of your eye, you see Kylar pick up the can, running their tongue along the rim before taking a wet slurp. Your stunned expression earns an awkward explanation.
“S-sorry… I th-thought we could share…”
You let them know they can finish it. Despite the weirdness, it’s a kind gesture, especially when they reveal it’s their last can. Kylar has an unusual way of showing they care, and once you get past that, there’s a lot to appreciate. They nudge the drink towards you, hoping to tempt you to take another sip. You wonder what to talk about as silence falls.
“I’ll protect you, y’know.”
You look at Kylar – it’s a rarely confident delivery. After a moment, explain further.
“From nightmares.”
They peer seriously from beneath a dark, matted fringe and fidget in their lap. Plainly, Kylar’s trying to find the right words to continue, and whatever they want to say seems important.
Suddenly the stillness is broken by a strangled yelp, and you jerk in surprise. Kylar lets out a little squeak. Sydney’s deep, rhythmic snoring has stopped, replaced by confused groaning. You watch as they prop themselves up on their elbows – glasses hanging skewed on their stunned face and gripping a striped cushion.
“Stop. Fucking. Snoring.” Whitney growls. Sydney blushes so deeply you can spot the pink glow of their cheeks easily in the dim light.
“Sorry,” they mutter, rolling onto their side. For a moment, you’re scared to continue talking, but silence falls again quickly.
Kylar goes on. Apparently, they have a lot to say on the subject of nightmares… and monsters. It seems like your session has touched them in way you’d not expected. They’re surprisingly passionate about it.
“Th-the tentacle monster, from your session… it s-sounds lonely,” they offer, rummaging through their bag again. They produce a half-eaten bag of strong-smelling snacks, and the spiciness tickles your nose before the packet is even unfurled. You decline politely, but continue to eye Kylar in quiet fascination as they speak.
“I’m not scared of monsters,” they continue. It’s said with such conviction that you believe them. “B-but it’s okay if you are,” they add, still digging through the bag. They pick out a shiny object and you recognise it instantly as a knife.
“Here,” Kylar says softly, placing it into your outstretched hand and coiling your fingers around it. “It helps me feel safe... uhh, I-I need it back in the m-morning...”
A smile pinches your cheeks as you thank them, promising to look after it. Checking Sydney’s watch, you realise it’s a good time for Kylar to pass on their shift.
“Will you wake Robin for me?” you ask. The orphan is still snoring softly - apparently at an acceptable volume for Whitney, who’s silenced their music.
Kylar looks torn, their expression twisting at your suggestion. Plainly, they don’t trust anyone to look out for you but themselves.
“It’s okay, really,” you encourage. “You should sleep a bit.”
Kylar’s protests don’t make it past their lips, but you can tell they’re not happy – the way their face twitches as they look from your eyes to the orphan snoring softly on the floorboards.
“I’ll be okay, Kylar,” you promise. They frown and nod bitterly.
“F-fine...” they lean in for a brief, tight hug – pulling away as quickly as they lean in. “Goodnight.”
But they glance back several times, as if expecting you to change your mind, before begrudgingly stalking in the direction of Robin’s rhythmic breathing.
Alone, you shiver in the dark. The loft never felt this cold before… but your skin feels a little clammy, despite the cool air. The chill creeps through the floor, seeping through your flesh before zipping up your spine. But it’s strangely comforting too, the way it envelops you. What time is it?
It’s time, droplet.
The edges of the room are gloomy, barely touched at all by the glow of bare bulbs swinging above your head. Dusty crevices seem to stretch for miles in the dark – reaching further away the more you focus on them. A wet, pulsing drip announces itself – almost musical, like the chiming of a bell, or an exquisite voice singing a familiar tune. Is it raining outside? You should probably talk to Robin about finding that leak…
Won’t you join me?
A pale shape exists in the darkness – it writhes alone, before being joined by others… brothers and sisters. They seem to be growing, clustering, and clamouring together and twisting in the shadows. There’s no need to approach, they’re coming this way to join you. Your heart welcomes them. Soon you’ll be as on-
As One.
A sharp rush of air startles you awake. Robin’s fingers clutch your shoulder – your ear tingles. They’re sheepishly smiling, and the loft is quite warm.
“Sorry,” they mumble. You blink. After a second, things start to make sense. “You said we should wake you, right?”
“Yeah… Thanks.”
Of course, you didn’t ought to be sleeping, but even knowing the risks… it’s tempting. Something about the stress of the evening has drained you, and your jaw creaks into another wide yawn. It even looks like Kylar might be asleep. They’ve tactically arranged dark curls in front of their face – you’re not sure if they’re either asleep or staring straight at you.
As Robin settles in beside you, they slide the can of energy drink out of the way, and you begin to think caffeine might be a good idea after all. The way you gulp down the sickly-sweet liquid leaves Robin nauseated… and the resulting burp you stifle earns raised eyebrows. The effect’s not as instant as you’d hoped and leaves your stomach churning. You’re not sure how Kylar lives off this stuff.
“Hey, uh…” Robin looks at you with thinly veiled concern, before changing the subject. “Thanks again for getting my miniatures back.” You grin – they must have thanked you a hundred times already, and you suspect they’ll thank you a hundred more.
“No problem,” you reply with a warm smile. If anyone deserves nice things, it’s Robin.
Conversation comes easy, and you’re thankful – it’s getting harder to stay alert. They gush about your little band of adventurers – daring to call them friends - and praise how amazing you are as Dungeon Master. According to them, tonight’s session was the best ever – with unexpected twists and turns that had Robin totally blindsided. They can’t wait for the return of the tentacled spectre… but you’re not sure you agree.
You chat to pass the hours, and it’s almost like old times. The Orphanage has never been blessed with an abundance of enrichment activities… so made-up games and conversation became a welcome escape. You reminisce about the inaugural Orphanage Shadow Puppet Theatre, creating silly stories about your past to tell your classmates, and one particularly memorable game of hide-and-seek – trying hard not to giggle too loudly.
“Can you believe we’re having a sleepover?”
Your smile grows. We.
You hadn’t been sure if this was exactly what Robin imagined, but either way, they’re beaming. It doesn’t take much to bring a smile to Robin’s face – they’ve always been grateful for the little things. Growing up here, you had to be.
“Never thought we’d get to do stuff like this,” Robin goes on. It might be fatigue, but you detect a hitch in their voice. You have to agree, it’s pretty unexpected. Having such fun under Bailey’s nose was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and you wonder if you’d ever get used to the thrill. Plus, it’s nice to have something vaguely resembling a normal social life for once. You still can’t believe everyone gets on so well – 10-year-old you would never believe it.
As you talk and joke, time seems to stand still, and fly away all at once. It’s a surprise when you notice the time, but you feel hopeful. According to Sydney’s watch, it’s not long before sunrise, and it feels like you’ll make it through once again.
“Guess I should get Whitney…” Robin’s expression twists uneasily. You nod – that’s the plan, after all. Robin was still pretty nervous around the bully, and they were probably right to be, considering the past. Still, you could tell they appreciated the extra participation – nobody could deny Whitney’s unique style added a unique flavour to your sessions.
Robin stands, before crouching back down and wrapping their arms around you in a tight hug - squeezing a little gasp from your lungs.
“You can talk to me about stuff, you know,” they promise, hair tickling against your cheek. You hug back and mumble your thanks through a sleepy smile.
As Robin slinks away, avoiding noisy floorboards with practiced care, your eyes drift to the window again. Thick, dark clouds embrace the dreadful moon, like a bloodied silver coin against grey velvet. Each month it torments you, but somehow… it’s impossible to look away… quite beautiful really. A closer look won’t hurt. As you rise to your feet, there’s no strain – no weakness in your legs. Despite your tiredness, you suddenly feel strong. Moving towards the window is easy… tranquil, like you’re floating on air.
Let it take you.
Hands press the thin, cracked glass - tenting against its cool, smooth surface. You’re amazed to find the window swings open quite easily. A cool rush of air floods your senses, ruffling your hair. It feels like you could fly away, carried in the updraft like a seed in the wind. Weightless and free, before sinking down, down to the comfort of the depths…
You can’t breathe.
Something swipes your face – your own hands, clawing frenziedly. It withdraws, and you finally suck a ragged gasp into your starved lungs. Eyes popping open, you find yourself sat in the middle of the loft, panting… exactly where Robin left you moments ago.
Someone’s laughing.
"You snore like a pig.” Whitney grins beneath dishevelled hair. “Y'know that?"
You huff. You didn’t know that – and suspect it might not be true anyway.
As you study them with narrow eyes, you realise Whitney looks as tired as you feel – if they’ve managed to sleep, it’s clearly not been restful. They shove something against your hand – a tiny earbud dangles from their fingers, the wire disappearing into tousled hair. You pop it to your ear, grateful for the distraction. Loud, tinny music bursts into life – it takes a bit of getting used to after being sat in relative silence for so long, but it’s exactly the sort of thing that should keep a tired person wide awake.
Whitney settles beside you, drumming fingers on their jeans. Initially, the music pounds jarringly against your eardrums, but you soon get used to it. In fact, your brain eventually manages to tune it out almost entirely, and you find your body sagging against the cardboard boxes…
Your eyes are heavy – it’s tempting to let them slip closed, just for a second. The music may be loud, but it becomes a distant rush that’s strangely relaxing – like the calming babble of running water…
Embrace it.
“Hey,” Whitney’s fingers click in front of your face. It’s annoying – you’ve only been resting your eyes for a second…
“Stay with me.”
They’re tapping your face now, irritating with increasing force. You groan feebly. “Wake up, or I’ll have to do something nasty.”
With a huff, you force your eyes open and scrub your face. It doesn’t sound like an empty threat.
Whitney stands, yanking the earbud from its resting place with an uncomfortable tug.
“Get up,” they demand. Before you can fully register, they’re rudely yanking you by the arm. "You need fresh air."
A wretched grumble leaves your lips. The last thing you want to be faced with is the blood-red sky again, but you’re too tired to protest. Pulled to the window, you watch Whitney push it open with a wooden squeak. The rush of cool air against your face is refreshing, but you’d never admit it. Unwillingly, your eyes are drawn to the sinister glare of the Blood Moon. Night’s almost over, but it still makes you nervous – the way it leers down at you like a beady, watchful eye…
Whitney scoffs. "What, you’re scared of the moon? Fucking hell..."
You frown, tearing your eyes away. “It’s not like that.”
“What, then? Nightmares?”
You shrug, lacking energy to defend yourself. Any retort is unlikely to be received with understanding anyway. Whitney watches you with narrow eyes, before turning back towards the sky. The town is sleepy too – it’s early. You’re likely the only two people awake for miles – even Kylar seems to be finally breathing peacefully, their face buried against your pillow.
“Dreams aren’t real, idiot,” Whitney grumbles, sparking up a cigarette and exhaling a lungful of hazy smoke into the morning air. “It’s people you should be afraid of. Remember that.”
Your lips curl at their uncharacteristically wise words. Sure, it might not help on nights like this… but it’s nice to hear, all the same.
“People like you?” you tease. A cloud escapes their nose, force causing their fringe to flutter against their face.
“Yeah, I’m the fucking worst,” they reply with a weary smirk. “And you’re not scared of me, are ya? So, get a grip, slut.”
As usual, Whitney’s not very chatty, and you’re much too tired to fill the silence. But they find ways of keeping you alert – thumping you when a yellow car winds through the street below, blowing smoke into your face to sting weary eyes, or pulling your hair whenever they notice your eyes begin to droop. In fact, they’re surprisingly attentive… for an asshole. You teeter on the verge of sleep for a long time, never quite comfortable enough to let it take you.
“Scary moon’s gone,” they eventually report, tossing another spent cigarette into the air to join others on the street below.
“I’m not scared of the moon,” you protest, giving their arm a pitiful shove. Whitney stands firm.
“Sure,” they mutter, tugging the window closed. The wooden frame creaks in protest, and they look you up and down. “You look like shit.”
You wrinkle your nose. “’m just… sleepy…”
Rubbing your face, you find skin icy cold under your palms, and the friction wakes you up just a little. Perring at Whitney between your fingers, you decide they look as terrible as you probably do – eyes red-rimmed and puffy from lack of rest.
Whitney grunts. “Whatever.”
Through the glass, you notice dawn’s tender glow kissing the edge of buildings below, and you’re not sure it’s ever felt so welcome. Hazy, golden light tickles chipped paint on the windowsill. It’ll be a while before the loft’s entirely bathed in its warmth – for now, Robin, Kylar and Sydney sleep soundly. Another Blood Moon navigated, right under your friend’s noses. You’re grateful for their support, but hope to never drag them into this again.
Exhausted eyes flicker to Sydney’s watch – was it always this heavy? It might not hurt to get an hour or two of sleep before everyone else wakes up. By the time the thought materialises, you’re already yawning – stretching your weary features until water edges your eyes. Apparently, Whitney still has energy to read your thoughts.
“What, you wanna sleep now?” they ask with a grin. “Not scared?”
With a feeble nod, you stagger towards the pile of unclaimed blankets. Lacking energy to arrange them into anything resembling bed, you flop amid them, tunnelling your weak body into their plush embrace.
It’s the most comfortable thing you’ve ever experienced – squashy, cosy and smelling of home. Your eyes are already closed as you sense the edges tucked in tight around you… and sleep comes seconds after that.
When you wake in the early afternoon, sunlight streams though the window and only Robin remains. Their smile lets you know they’re pleased to have seen you get some well earned rest.
