minho rarely had them. he was a positive personality, right? made the best out of the worst, and tried to keep on going — no matter what, that’s what his parents had taught him. his adoptive parents, anyway. tried to wake up on the right side of the bed, tried to make a smile in the face of evil and for everyone around him, wasn’t he the shoulder to lean on? minho prided himself on being a good natured individual, but the bad days always had to arrive someday. and when they did, they came with a vengeance.
it started with a night of restless sleep. when every time he closed his eyes came the dusty plains of a war-torn country, the smell of grease and heat – the feel of a loaded rifle in his hand. if he dozed off, then arrived frightening dreams of his sensors wailing in the aircraft, all flashing red and telling him to evacuate; the engines are failing, the enemy is close —and he’s taking a nose-dive towards a mountain range he doesn’t know. he’d jolt, his spine snapping straight and he’d arise from an awful dream covered in heady sweat, his heartbeat in his ears; ringing, his throat dry as desert sand. the ptsd episodes were always the worst.
the kitchen table was littered with empty beer bottles, an ashtray full of butts; the din of a t.v on static fuzzing from the living area - he’s staring into space, a headache banging against his temples. his body is exhausted but his head is running ten miles per hour - like a motor too hot to the touch. he’s waiting for the next moment that his limbs would freeze and he’d be hallucinating deaths of people he’d dreamed about a hundred times. it was a quieter life on the bases of korea, but his turbulent past seemed to chase him.
the sound of his front door unlocking disturbs the dream, and minho only inclines his head an inch. few had keys to his apartment – he didn’t even have the energy to wonder who had felt it necessary to let themselves in.
It was rare for a vampire to get bored. Carter definitely did not sleep, and usually his nights would be busied with his studies or his work -- usually the latter. But recently, it was as if he was fighting bouts of insomnia, as if his brain just couldn’t rest for the constant whir of thoughts from those around him. Blocking them out would typically be easy, but these days it felt like his energy was just... low. In times like these, he would visit a friend. But the electric alarm clock next to his bed read a 3:01am in an angry glaring red colour. He averted his eyes, and put his book down, not bothering to save the page.
The thoughts of his neighbours whirred around in his brain, mundane worries about if their pets had food, or if they had set their alarms. Even at night he heard them, their dreams were especially dramatic. He got dressed through the headache, managing to find an outfit rather easily despite the distraction. Carter had debated texting the other male to let him know he was on his way, but he figured turning up unannounced would leave the other no room to turn him away. Not that he would, either way. But the vampire still found it hard to predict human’s actions.
Next thing he knew, he was unlocking the door to Minho’s apartment, stepping foot inside without bothering to speak. The first thing he saw was the mess left in the kitchen, and the static of the TV filling his ears. “Minho?” he asked, eyes landing on the male who was sit too still. Moving over to the other, he knelt in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face. “Snap out of it, buddy. What’s going on?” he asked, concern riddling his features.
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