[ It is, as Klaus says, nice. Really really nice, in fact. Laying down feels amazing, and the weight of Klaus's arm is a small but constant reminder that he's tangible. Ben makes a small, wordless noise of agreement and spends the next ten or so minutes relaxing, heartbeat slowing, staring into the dim quiet of the still room.
There comes a point when he could, perhaps, have simply drifted off to sleep. After all the chaotic, emotional events of the day, he is worn out. But despite his exhaustion, as his mind is winding down, it snags on an unpleasant thought. An unpleasant thought that he can't push away, that digs itself deeper and deeper, like a splinter, or a fish hook.
Ben doesn't move. He stays where he is, but bit by bit, tension creeps back into his body. Now, not only is he not giving in to sleep, but he is fighting it. The fear is sharp and thin, pinning him in place. He doesn't even know if Klaus is even still awake when he whispers, so quietly: ]
What if I don't wake up?
[ There's no logic to wondering it, of course. No reason why going to sleep would have some special impact. But then there is no logic to why he is alive again in the first place. It had just happened; an interval of unconsciousness that felt like only a second to Ben but that could have been any length of time, and then he was here, alive, breathing. None of it makes sense. He doesn't know how it happened, so he doesn't know how to keep it from stopping. And irrational as it is, all Ben can think now is that, maybe if he goes to sleep, he won't ever ever wake up again. Not alive, not as a ghost. Just - nothing. ]
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There comes a point when he could, perhaps, have simply drifted off to sleep. After all the chaotic, emotional events of the day, he is worn out. But despite his exhaustion, as his mind is winding down, it snags on an unpleasant thought. An unpleasant thought that he can't push away, that digs itself deeper and deeper, like a splinter, or a fish hook.
Ben doesn't move. He stays where he is, but bit by bit, tension creeps back into his body. Now, not only is he not giving in to sleep, but he is fighting it. The fear is sharp and thin, pinning him in place. He doesn't even know if Klaus is even still awake when he whispers, so quietly: ]
What if I don't wake up?
[ There's no logic to wondering it, of course. No reason why going to sleep would have some special impact. But then there is no logic to why he is alive again in the first place. It had just happened; an interval of unconsciousness that felt like only a second to Ben but that could have been any length of time, and then he was here, alive, breathing. None of it makes sense. He doesn't know how it happened, so he doesn't know how to keep it from stopping. And irrational as it is, all Ben can think now is that, maybe if he goes to sleep, he won't ever ever wake up again. Not alive, not as a ghost. Just - nothing. ]