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『 ↳✧･ﾟ
i hate waking up just to feel like i'm more tired than i was before i went to sleep.
to be honest, i'm scared that one of these days, i just won't wake up.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 』
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Minho had assumed that he would be spending a lot of time catching up on sleep, during the first several days of his Christmas break. That turned out to be wrong.
He'd been tossing and turning in his bed, lying closed-eyed for hours, waiting to lose consciousness, nearly every night. And when he laid there, trying to empty his mind and turn it off, strange feelings he didn't know how to name took hold of his body. It was almost as if he felt uncomfortably weightless, so he gathered up an excessive amount of bedding and would pull it over himself or around himself in an attempt to weigh himself down, but that couldn't stop the dull ache in his chest and limbs that was unlike anything he'd felt before.
When he did finally fall asleep, it would only last a few hours, and sometimes he'd wake up again and again throughout those hours, before he just gave up and left his bed.
It was starting to make him feel sick, at times.
He'd never had issues with insomnia before. And, he'd certainly never felt this sensation that had been entering his body every night before.
As bad as he was in the night, the day wasn't much better. Minho kept ending up with repeating sets of twenty-four hours that he had no idea how to fill, and he hated wandering aimlessly around the house with nothing to do.
Because he could find nothing else to do (at least, nothing that he had the motivation to do), and because it would distract him from his weariness, Minho went back to his pancake-flipping job. He even had Chan visit him there one day, just for a moment, because he, too, was back to work. Despite being in somewhat of a mood, due to how tired he was, Minho was still a bit happy to see him.
