A/N - been a whileeeee, anyways minor gore warning at the beginning here nothing too srs tho u know the deal
The rocking back and forth of the ground beneath the tiny, confused man made him feel nauseous. Everything around him was dark, and he felt a creaking wall behind his back. A door was in front of him, a deep crimson brown with a golden handle that beckoned to him. Unable to resist, he reached forward, gently creaking open the door.
The sight before him was enough to make him vomit, but he held it in. The sky was red, faceless people around him were running and screaming in an overwhelming agony. Fully processing his surroundings, he realized he was on some sort of ship, dark red waves thrashing him and the surrounding beings about like it was nothing. He couldn't think properly, his mind feeling foggy as he reached up to hold his hat tightly only to find nothing there. His head ached, his body feeling as if it was becoming weaker by the second.
He collapsed, falling to his knees as a sharp pain shot through his head, the feeling originating from his scar and traveling through his skull and down his spine. His breath hitched, and he tried to focus on his hands to settle himself down, only to be met with his bare flesh beginning to rot off the bone. His blood was pitch black, pooling out and spilling onto the floor as he stared in horror-
His eye opened. He was on the floor of Whitty's living room, the horrible texture of the shaggy rug sticking to his skin. He'd only managed to go to sleep at around 5am and, not wanting to wake his new roommate, he decided to try and sleep on the couch. He'd squished himself awkwardly to one side, using his coat as a makeshift blanket and trying to avoid the stains and marks. Apparently, he'd had another night of thrashing about in his sleep, because his coat was now lopsided and the ribbon around his eye was threatening to fall off. He breathed shakily, slowly bringing himself back to reality before bringing a hand up to rub the crust out of his exposed eye with a groan. After adjusting further, he looked up at the clock that was placed haphazardly on the wall above the TV.
6:30am.
He sighed, curling his legs close to his chest and holding them there tightly, his shoulders tense. He inhaled sharply, reciting a small prayer in his head as he exhaled. Sometimes, he would imagine his breath in colors - breathing in bright neon purples and expelling hot reds. The deep blues, cleansed of their warmth, stayed in his lungs, festering and worming their way into his bloodstream, and Ruv was calm again.
He knew that after that nightmare he wouldn't be able to coax himself back to sleep again. He didn't even want to, with his dreams now taking another turn for the worst in a way that he couldn't navigate. He'd been having similar experiences in his sleep for years now, sure, but this was a whole new circle of hell for him to wander through until he was granted access to the next one. The perfect torture method curated by his mind.
Shakily, he stood up, bones aching from the horrible positions he'd slept in. He stretched, groaning as he heard a satisfying pop in his spine and shrugging off his coat, hanging it up once again before slumping off to the bathroom to fix himself up.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he slowly undid the knot that held the ribbon over his left eye in place, running his hand over the scar tissue as he pulled off the silk fabric. He avoided staring at his own scar in the mirror as much as possible - he really should've been used to the sight of it at this point, but after the dream he'd just had, he felt like he very well could make himself vomit if he looked too hard. He winced at the slight sting that the wound still exhibited as he carefully threaded the ribbon through his hair and around his head, tying it firmly in place again.
He decided against wearing excessively warm clothes around the apartment, staying in his sweater and a pair of pajama pants he'd managed to take with him. He virtually never wore anything else - he was very particular about how clothes felt on his skin, and he frequently found himself trying to shrink away from fabrics that were attached to him. He ran a hand through his hair, adjusting it before exiting the bathroom and making his way to the kitchen.
