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“Calm down.”
Teru stares at his trembling hands, gritting his teeth, willing his body cooperate.
“Just calm down.”
A soft breeze filters in through the open window, curtains fluttering. Cold wind tickles Teru’s skin. He shivers.
“Get a hold of yourself.”
A shadow flits through the corner of his eye. In the next second Teru’s body is poised to fight, aura burning.
And sees his empty apartment.
Teru’s shoulders sag, the sparks emitting from his open palm dying out as he drops his arm back down to his side, instead clenching his fists in frustration.
“What’s wrong with me,” he sighs.
Demons have been plaguing Teru’s thoughts all day, breaking through his confidence and casting doubt on his own sanity.
Jumping at every sound, shouting at the open air, looking over his shoulder every second expecting to be attacked.
It’s frustrating, feeling like a child scared of what lurks in the dark. Fear isn’t a feeling he’s ever been used to, knowing the power he has within him.
And yet.
Teru shuts his eyes and counts to ten.
Inhale.
Exhale.
One.
A cold sweat drips down his brow and he tries steadying his breathing.
Two.
Is it his mind? Has his own subconscious been playing tricks on him?
Three.
Try as he might, Teru senses nothing.
Four.
No other being. No spirit. No explanation for the unease settling at the pit of his stomach.
Five.
Is he ill?
Six.
It would explain why he suddenly feels like throwing up, mouth watering as he fights back being sick.
Seven.
Why is it so cold all of a sudden?
Eight.
His hands are shaking again.
Nine.
He feels a dark presence loom over his body, slowly engulfing him with sinister intent, threatening to diminish the burn of his aura and suffocate him.
Ten.
Teru forces his eyes open in a panic, a thundering in his chest that echoes painfully through his head.
He blinks.
Nothing.
No one.
Still alone.
He twirls, eyes flitting about erratically in search of a demon come to drag him to hell.
Again, nothing.
No one.
“I’m alone,” he breathes.
Perhaps he’s truly gone mad. Teru almost wants to sob—the only thing stopping him is his pride and embarrassment at his current behavior.
Teru allows himself to slam a fist into the wall beside him, barely feeling the pain on his knuckles though cringing at the banging noise he created. He sighs, then straightens himself.
Enough of this.
Making a mental note to apologize to his neighbor come morning, (“Had an accident moving some furniture around, my apologies Ms. Takahashi.”), Teru stalks toward his bedroom hoping maybe some sleep will help cure whatever this is.
If he slams the door shut a bit harsher than he should have, he pretends it was an accident.
Throwing tantrums? Really, Teru?
The sight of his neatly made bed is a welcoming sight, and Teru shakily pulls back the covers suddenly feeling all strength leave his tired limbs.
The digital clock on his nightstand reads 12AM in blinking red.
He’d scarcely just lied down before his eyes fall shut and consciousness slips from his already feeble grasp.
It really should have come as no surprise that if demons spared no cruelty during the day, then those demons would continue it’s corruption long into the night
(Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you)
He dreams of black.
He dreams of pain.
He dreams of a voice—deep and sickly sweet—whispering his name.
(Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you)
“My light.”
“My star.”
“My love.”
(But in your dreams whatever they be)
Teru opens his eyes and sees an endless abyss staring back.
Shimazaki smiles down at him.
“I’ve found you, my Teru.”
(Dream a little dream of me)