“I’ll leave the light on, okay? Look, it’s not dark.”
Clint looked up at him, grey eyes shadowed beneath from lack of sleep. It had been like this every night for the last six days, unable to sleep more than an hour or two before the nightmares--everything hazed in blue and his actions dictated by the voice in his head instead of his own consciousness--woke him with a scream.
“James,” he mumbled, reaching for him only by sliding his hand along the bed. He didn’t have the energy to lift his arm.













