"A scream," mumbles Wilde in an interruption, from atop his bed. "I dreamed about... It was a scream." Somehow it's difficult to say out loud. Even thinking the word makes him want to cry.

He goes quiet again then, returning to fussing over the ball of hedgehog spikes in his cupped hands. Sid won't uncurl for anything. It's setting him on edge. He can't even remember falling asleep, and his eyes feel like cotton balls.

He slips the little animal into the pocket of his hoodie, then stands up in the darkness. It doesn't make anything feel better.