he thinks that there’s a cat or something at the door, initially, making noises. he pads out of bed to open the door and shoo it away, rubbing sleep from his eyes- that is, until he stops in the kitchen, and has to rub his eyes again. and again. and again. and robert burns is still standing there. declan can barely breathe, mind shifts into overdrive- this is a dream, this has to be a dream, he killed this man, he shot him between the eyes, he shouldn’t be standing here, in his house, at three in the morning. he feels a sharp pain in his side, a barely audible whisper hangs in the air. “ n-...no. ”
@lovementioned | call.