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It started with a dream. Box would wake up from sleep that left them never feeling truly rested; having to stumble out of bed with a heavy head and having no one to confide in. Then here and there, Box would noticed they had memories that weren’t theirs. Remembering war, the blood-soaked fields and screaming of soldiers in uniforms they’d never met.
They tried to tell others about him but it was just written off as nightmares; it was fair but my god Box was losing their fucking mind. Whose memories were these? Or had they just experienced these things already? If so, why were they forgetting?? They’d already forgotten their real name. The dreams kept on feeling more and more real. More and more every day they swore they could feel hands where they was touched in the dreams. Jumping at the slightest touch from their friends and falling asleep at the group dinners but it was fine. It was fine.
So they chose to simply not sleep. No one could see the bags under their eyes. No one would know anything. No one needed to know the nights they spent sitting up in bed and hugging the pillow in a desperate attempt to feel held. They were just going insane, their brain playing tricks because it didn’t like the environment. It would only be a few weeks, and they could sleep in a normal bed again, and the nightmares would be gone. They’d just survive on caffeine until then and everything would be fine. That was the plan. Shittiest plan to ever exist, maybe but it.
Was.
Fine.
They would ignore it, and the dreams and memories would disappear.
Until they made the mistake of giving into sleep, dark hands luring them away from consciousness.
Box had dreamt of broken bodies lying around next to them, hills of dead people stacked in the distance- most were humans, by the looks of it. They watched. Frozen as if they were viewing this from another dimension.
And then they saw a boy, deep purple cloak trailing behind him as they fled toward a home in the distance. they didn’t even seem to notice them as they pelted past and mixed with the crowd of people that were merging into a tunnel. Each man for themselves, pushing and pulling every obstacle in the way weather that be animals, children, no one cared, blinded by their horror of the battle behind them. Silently urging him to push a little harder, squeeze himself through the crowd a little more.
Instead they heard a choked off yell. Debris hitting him squarely on the chest, the skinny body flopping over before being caught by an opposing soldier. In an instant a sickening squelch was paired with the boy’s guts hitting the dirt. Blood flowing out in rivers of red the body writhing on the ground before trembling once, and stopping.
They felt sick. Breathing starting to pick up when they felt something grasp onto their arms. Rough hands closing around their wrist and oh my god they were going to die. Feeling like they were being stolen and-
Box opened their eyes to darkness. Silent tears streaming down their face and feeling their heart thrumming so hard it made them feel nauseous.
They felt bile rising and stumbled out of the bed- the hallway lights assaulting their vision. Bursting into a stall and collapsing onto their knees before thrusting the box above their mouth with one hand. Hands gripping the toilet so hard their knuckles turned white before they gagged and saw their lunch again. Coughing and letting out broken sobs because they could still hear the squelch- could still see the blood so clearly they missed the bathroom doors creaking open behind them.
“God- are you okay?” A hand came with the voice, starting to rub their back and Box jumped out of their skin. Yelping and almost tumbling forward if the person behind didn’t catch them mid-air.
“Look up for me.”
Soft yellow eyes and a tanned face met them. Shaggy brown hair sticking up in every direction, messy from sleep- brown hair. The boy had brown hair- and Box felt their stomach lurch again before they were retching again. The hand came back to rub their back and this time, they let it soothe them.
“Elliott…”
They managed to rasp out nothing else before being sent into a coughing fit.
“Here. I won’t look, you can take it off.”
He handed them a tissue; backing off after that to give them some space for taking off the box.
They usually wasn’t the one for affection; they’d touch people if it was necessary, but hugs from anyone else other than their parents felt weird, like being trapped. They hadnt been held in years.
Yet the sight of open arms had never felt so inviting; something within them caved and Box felt the pressure of tears building in their eyes as they heaved their tired body up and into Elliot’s embrace. Trying to talk again and just being shushed.
“what even happened?” His voice was soft. Caring, and Box melted in his touch.
“…sad.”
“Right.”
“Why ‘re you awake…”
“Everyone in my room heard you crashing down the hall.”
“Sorry.”
Silence. Thick and suffocating as they sat on the bathroom floor. Tired and yet the moment Box closed their eyes they saw the guts again and it made them gag. They let themself be pulled off the ground eventually, clinging to Elliot like a lifeline.
"I feel like shit.."
“Do you want hot chocolate? Would that help?”
Yeah. That sounded good.