yep you guessed right it's me

anonymous asked:

Can we get some fluffy Lance too? Thank you!

yep, definitely! also let’s face it, lance would totally do this 

on a completely different note, guess who’s finally found its missing journal! that’s right, me!


The moment you arrive in your apartment, you already know that something is wrong. The lights are off and everything around you is so quiet, so silent that you could almost swear that you could hear your own footsteps as you begin to walk around the house.

You walk around the living room first, trying to see if something’s off. The couches are in the right place, and everything seems to be in the right place. You stay for a little longer, watching for any suspicious noises, but there in the end there’s none. You furrow your eyebrows before you begin to walk toward the kitchen, slowly and carefully, trying to make your footsteps light, trying to make your footsteps quiet.

As soon as you’ve reached the kitchen, you’re greeted with the same silence and the same darkness that you’ve met earlier while you had been in the living room. You narrow your eyes into a squint as you look around, trying to look for any clues but there’s none. The chairs are still in their proper order, and the dishes are still where they’re supposed to be—washed and clean and unused. Everything seems to be in their proper order, and nothing seems to be wrong at all.

You furrow your eyebrows once more, allowing a frown to make its way toward your lips as you suddenly halt in your stops, standing in the centre of the kitchen, still and unmoving. For a moment, you think that maybe it’s just you being paranoid and overthinking things. But then an idea pops into your head and a moment later you find yourself moving once more, walking in the direction of your bedroom.

For a moment, you’ve almost forgotten your original purpose of walking toward your bedroom. You’re storming, your footsteps loud and thunderous and seemingly echoing in the silence of your own home. And then you immediately halt in your steps the moment you’ve reached the door, almost as if some sort of sense has been suddenly knocked into you.

You take a deep breath, almost as though you’re trying to summon all the courage that’s been left inside of you. A few moments pass, and you slowly begin to raise one of your hands and knock softly against the door. Again, you’re greeted with only nothing but silence. You try again once more, this time knocking just a little louder than before. There’s no reply, and you could feel your heart beginning to beat just a little faster than normal, could feel your heart race and thump just a little rapidly against your ribcage.

You puff your cheeks and allow a soft exhale to escape your lips before beginning to turn the knob and finally opening the door. You open it slightly, and upon hearing the door creak you could almost swear that your breath hitches in your throat. It takes you a few moments to fully open the door, having found the need to stop and calm yourself down, and it takes you another few to be able to finally go inside and step into the room.

Upon your arrival, darkness, as always, begins to greet you. Silence begins to surround you as well, and the only sound you could hear is the sound of your own breathing, which is soft and quiet and doesn’t particularly bother you that much.

You begin to look around, allowing your gaze to scan everything around you. Is there something wrong? You aren’t sure. Is the bed out of place? No. Is the couch out of place? Nope. Is the bookshelf out of place? No. Are there any books missing? No.

Not that you’re certain with any of your answers, but it’s not like you’ll be able to discover the truth easily with the room still being dark. You begin to walk toward where the light switch is, trying to figure out the exact location of where it’s placed. You finally find it and you’re about to switch the lights on until a voice from somewhere around the room begins to speak, startling you and almost making you shriek.

“You’re impossibly fast and strong,” the voice begins, and immediately you drop your hands from the wall, allowing it to rest against your side, motionless and still as you turn around, allowing your gaze to wander in search of whoever the speaker had been.

“Who the fuck…?” you mumble softly as you narrow your eyes into a squint in order to see better in the dark. There’s a person in front of you, and though you couldn’t figure out who exactly it is due to the darkness still surrounding you, you could still tell that the figure’s a man.

“Who’s there?” you ask, saying the words as loudly as you could. You clench your hands into fists against your side as you open your mouth to continue, trying to sound threating and intimidating as you say your next words. “If you don’t reveal yourself I’m going to have to call the police.”

You hear a sound of chuckling coming from in front of you, and you narrow your eyes again as if in concentration, having found the sound familiar and recognizable. You rack your brain, searching through your mind and trying to discover as to where you’ve heard the sound before. As soon as the answer finally hits you, your eyes almost widen in disbelief.

“L-Lance…?” you call out, your voice soft as a whisper, though with the silence surrounding the both of you, it’s too loud, seemingly echoing around the room. There’s uncertainty and tentativeness evident in your voice, and it still doesn’t seem to go away as you open your mouth to continue. “Lance, is that you?”

“Yes,” the man, now known as Lance, replies, his voice just as soft and as quiet as yours. It takes him a few moments to continue, and when he finally does the words come out louder, seemingly more cheerful, more enthusiastic than before. “But that’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

“W-what…?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows at him even though you’re certain that he couldn’t clearly see you. “I don’t understand…”

“It’s okay,” he says after a moment, and even without being able to clearly see him you could still that he’s smiling as he says the words. “I’m just going to start over.”

You blink once, twice, thrice at him, still not being able to figure out what exactly it is that he means. A few moments of silence begins to settle between the two of you and you’re about to open your mouth to ask him what he meant by his previous words but before you could even do so, he’s already interrupted you, clearing his throat as if in preparation to speak his next words.

“You’re impossibly fast and strong,” he repeats, his voice soft and quiet. He almost sounds like a ghost, and if you didn’t know it was him you’d probably been out of your room now, running for your safety, running for your life. But you know it’s him, so instead of feeling spooked out and creeped by it, you just feel confused. You don’t open your mouth to interrupt him, though, expecting him to continue his words and finally explain whatever it is he’s trying to do, whatever it is that’s going on.

A moment of silence passes between you and he finally opens his mouth to continue his words. Only, no explanation seems to come out of his mouth. Instead, it seems to be a continuation of his previous words, and just like before, it doesn’t really make sense that much.

“You’re impossibly fast and strong,” he repeats once more, in that same soft, ghostly tone of voice that he’s used before to creep you, probably even weird you out. It takes him a moment to continue, and when he does you could almost swear that his voice has gotten quieter and the room just got colder, like it’s trying to really scare you. “Your skin is pale white and ice cold. Your eyes change colour, and sometimes you speak—like you’re from a different time. You never eat or drink anything. You don’t go out in the sunlight…”

He pauses, and takes another deep breath, like he’s trying to prepare himself for his next words, for the climax of it all. It takes him a moment to finally open his mouth and continue and when he does, the words come out softer than before, almost as though it’s a whisper. “… How old are you?”

“Um,” you begin, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion at his words. “I’m old enough, I guess…? Is there something wrong?” You voice your reply out with so much uncertainty that it almost seems like a question than an actual, factual statement. Still, Lance doesn’t even seem deterred by the uncertainty in your voice or your seemingly vague response. You could almost even swear that he’s nodding along at your words, almost as if he’s trying to encourage you to say something, to do something, though you aren’t exactly sure what that certain something is, or whatever it is he’s trying to get at.

He walks a few steps forward, stopping only when he’s a few feet away from you. He plants his feet on the ground and keeps his distance, almost as if he’s scared to get too close to you, almost as if he’s scared to get too near to you. You briefly ponder about the strangeness of this, of everything that’s happening right now. Is there something wrong with you? Why is your boyfriend acting strange? Did you do something wrong? Did he got possessed by some sort of ghost?

You shake your head and try to dismiss all the previous thoughts in your head, deeming them too farfetched and unlikely to happen. You tell yourself that you’re just going to ask him whatever the problem with him—with the two of you today—but right now you have to think of a way to properly address your concerns, to properly ask your questions.

There’s a moment of silence surrounding the both of you and this time, it’s him who opens his mouth to break it. When the words finally escape his mouth, they come out soft, gentle, though just like before, still a bit ghostly and breathy. “… And how long have you been ‘old enough’?”

You furrow your eyebrows at his words once more, allowing a frown to make its way toward the corners of your lips. “Um,” you say and the uncertainty is back in your voice, and you think that this time, it’s seemingly worse than before. “For a while now?”

He nods his head once more at your words, seemingly in approval. It takes him a moment to continue and when he does his voice has seemed to drop an octave and his words seem to have sounded just a little softer, gentler than before. “I know what you are.”

“What?” you ask, sounding evidently confused. Your voice seems to have risen an octave higher as you continue your words. “Look,” you say, and your tone seems to have shifted from one of confusion to one of frustration and annoyance. “I don’t know what it is you’re doing but it really confuses me. What are we doing? Why am I a part of this? What even is this? Are we trying to do something funny?”

You’re panting for breath by the time your little speech ends, and you huff in annoyance as you turn around and begin to fumble for the light switch once more. You open the light switch on and watch as light begins to flood the room, squinting your eyes at the sudden brightness of the area. It’s only after a few moments that you finally turn around, and as soon as you do, you almost shriek in surprise and shock because standing only a few metres away from you is Lee Lance, your boyfriend who’s been acting weird the moment you arrive at your apartment… but still your boyfriend.

Anyway, he’s standing too close to you and the action is too unexpected that you have to place a hand on your chest in order to calm your heart down. You narrow your eyes into a glare as you look at him, allowing another frown to decorate your features. “You nearly killed me there!” you remark, voice rising an octave higher with every word you speak. When you finally open your mouth to voice out your next words, the annoyance and irritation is gone, replaced by something akin to curiosity, and possibly a bit of confusion. “What the hell was that for, anyway?”

“You really don’t know what that is?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. When he opens his mouth to continue, you could almost swear that he sounds disappointed, even sad. “You really don’t know what I—we’re—trying to do earlier?”

“No,” you reply, shaking your head in exasperation. You allow a sigh of frustration as you open your mouth to continue, in a voice that clearly shows off your irritation, as well as your annoyance (to the topic, not him. Everyone knows that you—or even everybody—can never be mad to someone as adorable as Lee Lance). “Am I supposed to?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice sounding soft as a whisper. A frown makes its way toward the corners of his lips and it takes him a moment to continue. When the words are finally out of his lips, they sound soft, almost as if he’s unsatisfied by the answer that you’ve previously given him. “I was trying to get you to re-enact your favourite scene from your favourite film.”

“What favourite film?” you ask, almost as if in disbelief. You raise an eyebrow at him, almost as if you find his words incredulous and nonsensical, which is what they are… but still. “I don’t remember my favourite film having a scene as ugly as that.”

“What?” he asks, his eyes widening in disbelief. He furrows his eyebrows at you in confusion and his mouth open and closes, like he’s about to say something but decides not to at the last moment. He seems shocked at your words, almost as if he couldn’t believe whatever it is that has come out of your mouth. It takes him a moment to finally recover and he looks torn, heartbroken by the time he opens his mouth to break the growing silence between you and say something.

“But I…” he begins, his voice sounding confused. He trails off for a bit, and he seems like he’s trying to think of the proper words to say next. It takes him a moment to continue and when he does his voice is soft, gentle and you could almost swear that he sounds just a little sadder than before. “But I thought your favourite film was Twilight.”

For a moment, you’re silent, seemingly unable to say anything, seemingly rendered speechless by his words. But then a few moments later you’re laughing and it’s the kind of laugh that hurts because it’s so loud and noisy that it almost seems like a screech than an actual laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that has everyone—your friends, your family, and even your acquaintances—dubbing you as some kind of dying hyena—or whale, depending on who you’re with.

It’s the kind of laugh that has you rolling on the floor and clutching your stomach and kicking your legs in the air because you couldn’t hold the laughter in and you couldn’t stop it no matter how much you try. It’s the kind of laugh that has you crying and gasping for breath, and it’s the kind of laugh that seems a lot more like a scream for help than an actual laughter. And well, it’s the kind of laugh that people has different opinions of: it’s the kind of laugh that others find cute and adorable and also the kind of laugh that seems to frustrate and annoy people more than anything else in the world.

In this case, it seems like it’s the latter. While Lance and you have been together for a while now that he knows you more than anyone else (sometimes even more than yourself) and probably knows that you mean no harm with your laughter, you do know that the sound of it could be mocking to other people. You do know that it sounds like you’re making fun of them, of their mistakes, even if you’re not, even if you didn’t mean to.

When you quickly notice the expression on his face—sad and pouty and seemingly disappointed with the turn of events—the laughter that seems to keep bubbling up in your throat immediately dies down. You quickly try to break the silence, clearing your throat as if in an attempt to make things less awkward. It takes you a moment to speak, having to delay for a bit in order to think of the proper words to say next, but when the words finally spill out of your lips, they come out soft, breathy, gentle.

“Hey,” you say, and he looks up at you the moment you open your mouth to speak. He looks like a puppy, a very cute one, if you might add, and immediately, you feel guilty for even laughing at him—his words—in the first place. “I’m so sorry for doing that. It’s just that I… I got caught in the moment… And your words… they’re really funny that I couldn’t help laughing…”

You trail off, allowing your words, both spoken and unspoken, to hang in the air between the two of you. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you lower your head, almost as if in shame and embarrassment, and look at the floor instead of at him. You don’t even know whatever it was that you’d said, but you silently hope that you’ve managed to, at the very least, say the right things. You don’t know what you’re going to do if it doesn’t come out the right way.

“It’s okay,” he says after a moment. You look up at him the moment the first word begins to leave his mouth, and you could see that there’s a small smile trying to make its way toward the corners of his lips. “It’s not really a big deal.”

Your eyes widen, seemingly going hopeful at his words. “Really?” you ask and you could almost swear that your eyes are bright with something that is akin to joy and delight.

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding his head at your words. You could almost swear that the smile on his face transforms into something akin to a smirk, though before you could even study it further and think about it even more, it’s already gone and replaced by something else that you aren’t quite sure of. “But I thought your favourite film is Twilight?” he continues, his tone laced with curiosity and inquiry.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head and giving him a look of disgust upon the mention of the name. “It’s not my favourite film at all. As a matter of fact, it’s too far from it.”

“What?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrow in confusion. He looks like he couldn’t just make sense of your words, and when he opens his mouth to continue, confusion seeps into his tone, dark and really, really obvious. “But you always try to quote it to me whenever you can…?”

The way he voices out his words make it seem like he’s asking you a question, which you think is what he’s probably trying to do, considering that he only seems to be getting more and more confused with your replies and answers.

“I’m doing it ironically,” you reply, and you allow a small smile to make its way toward your lips as you look at him once more, trying to study the expression on his features. You could see that he’s still giving you that confused look of his, like he’s trying to silently ask you to explain whatever it is that you meant, like he’s trying to silently ask you to elaborate the words you’ve previously uttered. You merely give him a small smile as you open your mouth and begin doing so.

“I’m trying to mock it,” you say, and you lick your lips almost as if to prepare yourself for the next words you’re going to utter. “I’m trying to make fun of the film by acting like I really, really love it when in reality, I just really, really hate it. It’s like I’m making it into a meme—only it doesn’t spread from one person to another.”

Silence is the only thing that seems to accompany you for a moment. There’s no words spoken between the two of you; you’re watching him, waiting for his expression to shift into something new and he, on the other hand, seems to be mulling your words over, almost as if he’s trying to process your words in his brain.

And then a moment later it’s finally over, and he’s nodding his head at your words, almost as if in understanding. “Oh,” he says softly, like it’s a remark of some sort, a comment of some kind. “Oh,” he says again, repeating his words as he nods his head and looks up at you. “So that’s what it was.”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding your head as well in agreement. The corners of your lips quirk up into a small smile as you open your mouth to say something. “That’s what it was.”

Another few moments of silence passes between the two of you, and it only seems to grow by the second. You’re both silent, seemingly still not having found the words to say. But then a few seconds later the silence is finally over, and he’s opening his mouth to say something and break it, all the while holding out his arms for you as some sort of greeting.

“Come here,” he says, his voice soft, gentle as though it were a whisper. You could see that the corners of his lips are quirked up into a small smile, and you could see that his eyes are bright with something akin to love, aglow with something akin to joy and adoration. “I haven’t greeted you properly the moment you arrived home.”

For a moment, you’re quiet, seemingly taken aback by the suddenness of his actions. And then you’re raising an eyebrow at him, seemingly in amusement. “Really?” you ask, and your voice is playful, mischievous, almost as though you’re teasing him (which is what you are currently doing… probably.)

His bottom lip juts out into a pout and he looks up at you with wide, puppy eyes. He’s trying to act cute again, manipulating you and trying to get you to do whatever it is that he wants. “Come here,” he repeats once more, and you could notice that the tone of his voice seems childlike. You bite your lip and try to hide the smile that threatens to encompass your features, shaking your head at him. He pouts once more at you, and tries to urge you to reconsider your options once more by wiggling his outstretched arms into the air, which you promptly ignore.

When you refuse to open your mouth and say a word or go over to him to be trapped in his embrace, he opens his mouth to speak once more. “Come over here,” he repeats, seemingly for the umpteenth time that day. You could almost swear that he sounds like he’s whining now, like he’s some sort of a child who didn’t manage to get their desired present for their birthday, or even the Holidays. You raise an eyebrow at him in amusement once more, though you refuse to open your mouth to say anything, merely waiting for him to continue his own words. Which he does, a moment later, in a voice that seems to reek of childish whines and complaints. “Please?”

When you merely remain quiet, refusing to say anything to him once more, he opens his mouth to repeat his words, seemingly in a voice much softer, much gentler than before. He wiggles his arms around once more, and he does it with a cute pout on his face and a puppy look in his eyes that makes you weak and susceptible to damages (and manipulations).

You narrow your eyes into a glare as you look at him, shaking your head and muttering about how much you hate him under your breath before slowly walking over toward where he is, only stopping until you’re inches away from him. His smile immediately turns into a grin and he quickly wraps his arms around your form and traps you in his embrace, resting his head against your shoulder. You automatically wrap your arms around his frame and he tries to sway the both of you from side to side, humming a song that you don’t know the name of as he does.

“Welcome home,” he greets after a moment, finally stopping from his swaying, his voice soft as a whisper. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t greet you properly a while ago.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, your voice just as soft. You move a bit so that you could bury your head against his chest, allowing the familiar scent of him to fill your nose. You allow a smile to encompass your face as you wallow in the comfortable silence that surrounds the both of you.

“Really?” he asks after a while, beginning to hum another song once more. His fingers begin to trace shapes against your back and the action is so relaxing, so comforting that it’s almost lulling you to sleep.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, nodding your head at his words. You could hear him chuckle softly at the sound of your voice and you unwrap one of your arms around his form so that you could punch him lightly on the chest. He only laughs at your actions, which promptly earns him another light punch to the chest before you finally drop it on your side, motionless and stationary.

(You know you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you’ve done something to hurt him. He’s just that precious, and you know that more than anyone and everyone else.)

“I liked your acting, anyway,” you continue after a while, still in response to his previous words. “It was good. And cute, too. It’s too believable and real that I almost fell for it.”

“Really?” he says, his voice seemingly a confused murmur. Even without looking at him, you could tell that there’s a frown making its way toward the corners of his lips. “I thought you don’t like the film.”

“I don’t,” you reply, seemingly in agreement and clarification. Your voice sounds like a gibberish murmur at this point now, what with your voice sounding as soft as a whisper and the material of his clothing muffling the sound of your voice. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it.”

“Really?” he asks again, one of his hands moving to stroke your hair. He does it so gently, so softly that you could feel your eyes closing on their own accord. You think that it’s only a matter of time before you’re already falling asleep in his arms, standing still and motionless like a mannequin.

“Yeah,” you reply once more, nodding your head at his words. You’re almost certain that your words sound like a sleepy mumble now, nonsensical and seemingly just a soft, gibberish blabber. “And it means that you’re a really good actor.”

He chuckles at your words, and the sound of it, unlike before, begins to lull you into oblivion. He continues to stroke your hair, in that same soft, gentle way before. A moment of comfortable silence begins to envelop the both of you, and he breaks it a moment later as he opens his mouth to say something.

“You’re sleepy,” he remarks, his voice a soft murmur. You nod your head at his words, finding it difficult for you to keep your eyes open at this point. You raise an arm and grip the hem of his shirt, and your mind is so blank that you aren’t even sure why you did that. You think that maybe you just like the way he feels so comfortable, so relaxing that you couldn’t bear to let him go. You settle for that thought, never even once trying to question it.

“Should we go to sleep, then?” he asks, his voice sounding just as soft and as gentle as before. His tone is light, playful, seemingly almost teasing, though with how sleepy you are your brain doesn’t even have the time to identify the tone of his words. You just merely nod your head in response and you could hear another chuckle coming from him once more before you finally hear him mumble a reply—a soft affirmative, a whispered agreement.

“Okay,” he says, seemingly uttering the words more to himself than to you or anyone else. “Let’s get you to bed then.”

You just nod your head once more at his words, though it’s more out of obligation than an understanding. You don’t even manage to register whatever it is that has happened in the next few minutes. It’s just a huge chunk of blankness and emptiness for you. You don’t even realize he’s carried you into the bed until you’re finally lying on it, being tucked under the comfort of your thick blankets. You don’t even realize that you’re in bed until he’s moved to lie down beside you, one of his arms coming to wrap around your form as if in comfort and security.

You turn around to face him, opening your mouth and calling his name softly. “Lance…?” you say tentatively, almost as though you’re unsure. “Are you awake?”

For a moment, there’s silence. For a moment, you think that he’s finally fallen asleep. You’re about to close your eyes and swallow back whatever it is that you’re about to say but then you hear the sheets beginning to rustle. It’s only a matter of moments before he’s moving to turn around to face you, allowing a small smile to grace his lips as he does so.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice soft, gentle and laced with something akin to exhaustion, tiredness. In the dim lighting of the room, you watch as he raises an arm to rub his eyes with the back of his hand, almost as if he’s trying to chase the sleepiness away. “What is it?”

You bite your lip, like you’re mulling things over and over in your head for a moment before finally opening your mouth to speak. “Thank you.”

He laughs, and the sound is breathy, soft. It’s a comforting sound, a relaxing sound that you think that you wouldn’t mind at all if it becomes a lullaby of some sort. “What for?” he asks, and you could see that his eyes are aglow, twinkling with something akin to happiness.

“For this,” you say, gesturing to the blankets around your form. You pause, allowing a brief moment of silence to encompass the both of you before continuing. “For the things you’ve done for me. For everything.”

He closes his eyes and grins at you, and when he opens his mouth to speak, you could almost swear that you detect a hint of giddiness and joy. “It’s alright,” he replies, voice just as soft and as gentle as before.

There’s another moment of silence settling between the two of you and it’s you who breaks it this time. You take a deep breath before opening your mouth to say something. “I love you,” you murmur after a moment of silence and at your words, his grin seems to widen just a fraction.

“I love you, too,” he replies, and his voice doesn’t seem like a whisper anymore. He says the words a little louder than before, with a mixture of cheerfulness and enthusiasm and something akin to delight. He opens his eyes and looks at you, giving you another grin as he continues his words. “I love you so, so, so, so, so, so, so much.”

For a moment, neither of the two of you open your mouth to speak. The both of you bask as another comfortable silence surrounds the two of you. You allow a smile to grace your lips as you continue to look at him, almost as though you’re trying to memorize his features, almost as though you’re trying to commit anything and every single thing about him into your memory.

You silently marvel at how beautiful he looks, silently marvel at the fact that he’s someone you could call yours. Even now, after being together for a while now, you’re still in awe whenever it comes to him. You still couldn’t believe that he chose you, and the fact that he’s finally someone you can call yours over and over again… you don’t think you’re ever going to get tired of it. Not now, and certainly not ever.

You could almost swear that your stomach begins to flutter at the thought, could almost swear that your heart begins to thump loudly against your ribcage. You briefly wonder whether or not he could hear it from the silence of the room, briefly wonder whether or not he could discover your emotions from the way your heart pounds against your chest.

“Go to sleep,” you say after a moment, and your voice sounds more like an order than anything else. You pause and allow a few moments of silence to settle between the two of you before you open your mouth to continue. “It’s getting a little late now. And aren’t you tired, exhausted, too?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and when he utters the words, his voice is still cheery, enthusiastic, the joy still evident in the way he voices them out. You could still sense the smile on his face as he says the words, could still sense the giddiness behind the way he’s said them, and it’s so cute, he’s so cute that you couldn’t help the smile that threatens to break your face into two. “Good night. Sleep tight.”

“Good night,” you reply, your voice soft and seemingly whisper-like. There’s still a giddy smile on your face as you utter the words and it doesn’t disappear even as you open your mouth to continue your previous words. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite, okay?”

The only response you get from him is a soft a hum of agreement, and you allow a small smile to make its way towards the corners of your lips before you move so that you’re finally lying on your back. You pull the blanket over your head, closing your eyes and taking a breath before allowing the sleep to finally consume you, allowing the oblivion to finally envelop you in its arms and take you away, bringing you to a place you’ve never seen before, a place you’ve never been before.