Laguna had known fear his entire life.
Fear was in his room at night when his closet door was left slightly open. Fear was in the boys at school who didn't play with him. Fear gripped his heart when he walked up to his parents on quaking legs and told them that he wanted to pursue a career in writing.
Frankly, fear was his oldest and closest friend.
Perhaps growing up like this was what set Laguna on the path towards becoming a journalist, a writer. He was sensitive and a part of him liked recording the experiences that touched a nerve within him. It was his way of dealing with life.
Laguna lay curled up in a ball on his couch, his machine gun on the floor beside him. The night was quiet and he lived alone in his already cramped apartment. He had left the lone window cracked open because it was hot as hell without an air conditioner or a working fan. A cool burst of air barely grazed his burning cheek and, although it felt good, he shuddered. It might have been the wind slipping between the cracks of his window, but all he could think of was how it could have been someone breathing on him from somewhere he couldn't see.
Needless to say, being alone terrified Laguna. It was possibly his greatest fear—and he had a lot. Without his friends beside him, he felt a creeping sense of dread...like something was going to go wrong. As they parted ways today, Kiros tried joking that the bed bugs wouldn't want to chew on his dirty ass anyway, while Ward simply grunted with encouragement. And Laguna laughed to hide his embarrassment because their eyes said it all. He hadn't been like this before Raine died, and that disturbing mixture of annoyance, nervousness and pity made him feel all the more desperate for their support.
Lately, he had been visited by spirits. Not like actual ghosts. No, they were the ones his mind conjured up on its own. When sirens screamed outside in the middle of the night, his eyes would shoot open, his body flailing wildly on his couch. After the initial panic wore off and he had collected the cast-aside blankets and pillows, he'd wonder idly if he might be next to go, if he might just collapse the next time he did his morning stretches. Sometimes he heard a baby crying on the lower level of his apartment complex and he'd tense, anticipating a banging sound silencing the child. Then there were those times when he would be staring at himself in the mirror, studying his cold, bruised face and he would remember there had been a time when he used to smile through it all.
It had been a while since he had put pen to paper. Ever since it was decided that joining the military would be best for him, he had less and less time, much less desire to write. It was a shame, too, because it was the only thing that made his worries go away.
For a little while, at least.
A bead of sweat slid down Laguna's forehead and he briefly considered calling Kiros to ask him if he could stay over at his place for his fan. He sighed and pressed his face more firmly against his moist pillow. He wished he could go to sleep so he could just stop thinking so much.
A/N: Thank you to Bebedora for helping me out.