A S T A T I C [s.hitoshi & k.denki]

forty one

"Kaminari..?" The blonde turned around, unaware of his red-rimmed eyes and staring at the male who called his name. Denki grew a little sweaty— because that's a voice he's been trying to avoid and they're right there and oh fuck Shinsou must have known he was here and he was not fucking okay.

Shinsou looked tired(he did all the time) but he held a surprised expression as he seemed to stare at Denki, the other cradling a steaming cup of tea. The blonde turned back almost nervously, but he ashamedly his his freshly cried face away from the other.

It's midnight, maybe past it. The space feels familiar. It doesn't help that the vrumming of the vending machine is all the sudden not so quiet. Denki is unresponsive, gold eyes watching for an insult, maybe for Shinsou to just walk by and probably leave him in the darkness of the kitchen and leave him crying alone like every other night—

"What happened?" Shinsou's voice breaks his trance, lips dry and chewed.

He's hesitant, Denki can feel his fingers twitch. It was a nightmare, and Denki woke up in a cold sweat and warm tears, it was like that for a hour but the shadows formed into shapes and it just scared him out of his own room.

"I.. I didn't sleep well." The blonde spoke, heart thrumming as Shinsou walked further into the kitchen. It's something Denki didn't see at first, but the insomniac held a ceramic mug sculpted with whiskers and the tail to be the handle.

Shinsou hummed, clicking a stove knob and settling a kettle to boil before relaxing next to the blonde with a relaxed posture. Its awkward and Shinsou probably doesn't even want to be around Denki because he's a fucking loser and he couldn't even hide from Shinsou longer than 3 days because he's useless—

"Wanna talk about it?" The purple-haired man asks, closing his eyes for a minute before meeting Denki's tear-ridden ones.

"I feel like I should but- it.." Denki fumbles with his words because he's too distracted watching the shadows of the corners and the fridge so they don't come to life and yell at him for being a disappointment—

"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it you know?" Shinsou huffs, the blonde instantly clamping at the annoyance that laced the insomniac's words.

"I.. I know." Shinsou fell into silence, before pulling open a cabinet and pulling out something familiar.

'Stories of PTSD, an in-depth of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder' by Saichiko Narumi.