She glanced towards the window, a frown on her face. "When I was younger, I just used to stay up for days at a time. I would make myself exhausted so that when I finally slept, I thought I would sleep deep enough that I wouldn't dream."
She laughed hollowly, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Yeah. Bad research on my part. The trick is to not let myself enter REM to avoid those vivid dreams. A few minutes every day was eventually how I started managing it."
She didn't seem to notice, standing up slowly. He would notice that she had lost weight over the last few weeks, her already small frame fragile from constant stress and worry and sleeplessness. She was shivering slightly, although whether this was an aftereffect of the panic attack or if she was cold, it was uncertain. "I'm going to go take a shower," she said, looking down at him. "Okay?"
She vaguely noticed his expression and looked down at herself, looking almost ashamed, before turning and heading for the bathroom, closing the door shut with a soft click behind her.
She came out about 15 minutes later, her red hair dripping with water. She looked at him, her brows furrowed. "What?"
She frowned, coming over to him. She was still wearing her pajamas, and the cuff of her shirt brushed his cheek as she held his face in her hands. Her hands. They hadn't changed much over the last seven years, but right now, despite the fact that she had just come out of the shower, they were cold. "What is it?"
He held her hands nervously. "I don't like this. I don't like this. I think you should see a doctor."
