[ Even for someone who sleeps like a log, sleep has been hard to come by of late. The things that are happening in both of the cities are as unnerving as they are horrendous, and the ramping up of the Blight has begun to overwhelm Atsumu. He's still only exhibiting early stages of it himself, probably helped by the blue flowers that Kaeya had gently encouraged Atsumu to keep in his own room. After long days of helping out in the disaster that Highstorm is quickly becoming, holding the pot that contains a couple of blooms close to his body has acted as a security blanket for him.
But whether or not it has helped to keep the Blight from completely wrecking havoc on him, no one can be out there for long without succumbing to it. His limbs are fine, and his blood still runs smooth and liquidy through his veins.
But as he finds himself nodding off, exhausting ripping consciousness away from him, he's still finding himself transported to a dream world unlike anything his brain would ever cook up on it's own.
He's a spectator in all of this, but his own stomach still twists up anxiously as he watches. This is no longer the first time that he's seem someone die. That has long since past, but he's yet to become desensitized enough to horrors for this to stop affecting him, and by the time the dying man is offering some sort of perverse congratulation for his own murder, Atsumu is stumbling over his own legs to try to walk backwards away from this grotesque theater. Even in a real setting he would be making a lot of noise in his attempt to get away, but in a dream like this the sound seems to echo particularly loud and damning. ]
3-A
But whether or not it has helped to keep the Blight from completely wrecking havoc on him, no one can be out there for long without succumbing to it. His limbs are fine, and his blood still runs smooth and liquidy through his veins.
But as he finds himself nodding off, exhausting ripping consciousness away from him, he's still finding himself transported to a dream world unlike anything his brain would ever cook up on it's own.
He's a spectator in all of this, but his own stomach still twists up anxiously as he watches. This is no longer the first time that he's seem someone die. That has long since past, but he's yet to become desensitized enough to horrors for this to stop affecting him, and by the time the dying man is offering some sort of perverse congratulation for his own murder, Atsumu is stumbling over his own legs to try to walk backwards away from this grotesque theater. Even in a real setting he would be making a lot of noise in his attempt to get away, but in a dream like this the sound seems to echo particularly loud and damning. ]