✂ ‑—— Sleep has never been a restful time for the blonde boy. He has too much time to cogitate and not enough control; gory flashbacks and dark thoughts often dreamt of, screaming and thrashing common. He’s fallen asleep in skinny jeans, so that might be it, but there’s just something—
”I’m sorry! I fucked up!” He’s screaming, clenching his legs around his blanket subconsciously and fingernails scratching at the pillow as he dreams of horrid screams and bloody faces. It’s something terrifying to witness, the rock-solid boy breaking, crumbling down in to small pieces with the mocking voices of those he knew who once lived.
[ It’s a small neighborhood. Night is a lovely time for boys like Henley to be reckless and unrelenting, cause all kinds of trouble – but it’s dark, and leaves a bit too much room for his imagination. What little he’s left of it, at least. He likes to blame PTSD for his wicked muse. ]
[ He doesn’t walk around these parts too often. The overwhelming eccentricities of city lights and pungent alcohol are distant comforts to him, and he prefers it over homeliness. Not that his perception of home is any less screwy than his job preference. ]
[ Henley is simply walking. Quickly, too, because his pace must be in time with his thoughts, or else he might start wondering about things he shouldn’t. He hears something concerning emitting from the house he’s just passed, and curiosity replaces reason. He can’t help but crane his neck a little, catch a glimpse of flurried blankets through a window with the curtains only drawn halfway, inch closer slightly. ]
[ What he sees disconcerts him. After a moment of pause, he knocks on the window. ]
