A/N: I know Kagerou Day was a week ago; don't look at me like that.

Yet another fic that I wrote after sponging up the novels' writing style. I think this one was specifically inspired by book 3 but I don't entirely remember at this point. (They all read the same anyway; Jin isn't a particularly good novel writer like that.)

My whole body jolts as my eyes snap open, and luckily I immediately press a hand to my mouth.

Ah, how sad is it that that's the sort of thing that I'm thankful for? I guess it's something that I've trained for years, so by this point, would it even be called a habit anymore? It's more like an instinct. A survival instinct, trained and honed for the situation that I never hoped would happen, but seems to have come true on this very day.

My first thought is to look in front of me where twenty, or maybe thirty meters away, stands a professor. He continues his lecture undaunted, relentlessly plunging forwards with the history of some ancient civilization or another, heedless of my own situation. I, meanwhile, am sitting here unnaturally rigid, still holding my hand over my face, and I can already feel the sweat pouring down my body as my heart thuds in my chest. Well, with that sort of reaction from him, I seem to have stopped myself from making any unduly loud noises, at least.

A quick glance at my immediate surroundings informs me that I failed to stop myself from making any noise at all, however, as the other students around me—ah, including that one girl who is sitting in her normal seat two rows in front of me, who sometimes I fantasize about turning to me, giving me a smile, saying something like a kind word or two—I barely even know her name, but she's the kind of girl a guy can't help but daydream about, you know?—but she and several others are giving me strange looks, and I duck my head before I can make eye contact and let them know that I've acknowledged their stares. Perhaps, if I don't look around with the face of a guilty criminal, I won't need to accept that I've probably just done something excessively embarrassing. Ah, this isn't the way I'd hoped that girl's first look at me would be…! Well, I suppose I never was really good about these things, anyway. Ah, an unmarried future is almost certain for me…

I'm still holding my hand to my mouth, I realize, and I slowly lower it. My mouth feels dry, though, and I swallow, knowing it won't do anything.

It's been something I had been trying to avoid, but under these circumstances, it was almost inevitable, wasn't it? I had stayed up late last night, absorbed in a TV program regarding the advances of computer animation and its impact on the anime industry, and as a result had gotten fairly little sleep. Though I'm pretty sure every single other person in this class had already done it at least once or twice, except for one girl who always sat at the very front, I had managed to make it almost to the end of the year without dozing off in class.

Though it wasn't that it happened every time I slept anymore, surely this is such an inopportune circumstance that it's all but inevitable I'd have one of those dreams.

Those dreams that actually aren't really dreams at all.

Back when we both were still living at home, Momo had told me that sometimes I woke up screaming, but the truth was I'd known that long before she said anything to me about it. Even on the days when I didn't pull myself back to this world in time to catch myself, I still felt the familiar dryness, the raw feeling of my throat after I'd made such noises. So I'd started getting into the habit of waking up from those sorts of dreams and putting a hand over my mouth to stop myself.

It's exactly this sort of circumstance I've feared all along.

The sound of a bell echoes through the lecture hall and I jump before I can stop myself, and for good measure I keep my gaze glued to my shoes so I don't have to discover who saw me do that, either. Other students shuffle around me, and after a few seconds, feeling my clothes still sticking to my sweaty skin, I join them in packing up my things and leaving.

Surely, the criminal who acts like a criminal will be caught, while the criminal who acts innocent might still get away with his offense.

Ah, even with that excitement I still feel tired enough that I might doze off again. If lunch doesn't wake me up, it's probably a better idea to skip my afternoon class, after all.

"Hey, Kisaragi."

The sound of my name catches my attention before I can help it, and I look to find one of those people who I wouldn't quite call a friend—a casual acquaintance? Or something like that—acknowledging my existence. It's one of those things that doesn't happen often enough such that I tend to consider it a remarkable thing, when it's not due to an occurrence that is otherwise unexpected. So, surely, this is going to be a conversation about that noise that I made.

I try to feign a casual smile, but I'm unused to such expressions. I don't even need to see the strange reaction in his face to know that it's probably come out as some sort of weird grimace. Ah, God, strike me down on the spot if you are kind and generous. Haven't I already fulfilled my one purpose in life?

"Ah—hey, Futabashi."

"I don't think I've ever seen you doze off in class before!"

Without giving me any chance to steel myself for this conversation he launches straight into it. My pitiful smile falters and I feel myself stumble as my already-weakened legs threaten to give out from underneath me.

"And that noise you made when you woke up sure was something! What was that, some weird hiccup? You're lucky the professor didn't hear you!"

I try to take a deep breath, even as I feel my pulse starting to pound again and a ringing pick up in my ears. Maybe this is my way of being struck down, after all. Certainly, it feels like the weight of the whole world is being pressed upon me with each word. I'm amazed that I'm still standing upright under such circumstances.

Though the strain must show on my face, because Futabashi's expression changes as he takes a closer look at me. "Ah, Kisaragi, are you okay…?"

I go to respond and my voice cracks, but I continue undaunted. "Yeah, ah, you know. Nightmares, sometimes…"

It isn't that I don't like to think about it. Or, I don't like to think about it, but it isn't that I particularly avoid thinking about it. I don't think I'd ever be able to face the rest of them ever again if I avoid it. But it isn't the sort of thing I like to dwell on, when I have a chance to do otherwise.

It is, after all, completely terrifying. Especially when you look back on it and realize that all of it really happened.

"So that's why? Yeah, you seemed kind of shocked when you woke up. It was weird! Kinda worried me, honestly. But you're okay now?"

"Ah, thank you for thinking about me." I mumble such a thing automatically, and immediately feel embarrassed for it. I'm not usually that socially awkward anymore, okay! But, this conversation is shutting down most of my ability to react like a normal human being…

He laughs, and though I expect such a thing I wind up jumping anyway. Actually, I don't think my hands have stopped shaking since I stopped covering my mouth, though I didn't notice it before right this moment. "It's not that big a deal, is it? Hey, what sort of a dream was it; can you talk about it? Scary, but about what?"

Ah, is that it? Is Futabashi the sort of person who's into zombies and ghost stories and other sorts of things that are supposed to be terrifying? To such a person, a nightmare that scares me so much that I scream myself awake is surely an interesting topic, the sort of thing to probe into until he can picture in his mind every detail of what I saw. "Ah, you know, it's nothing…" but I'm still shaking, and even though I'm keeping my eyes on the ground, he can probably see the strange face I'm making…

"Nah, come on man, spill! I really like scary stuff, y'know?"

For all my inability to interact with normal society and retreat to my room at the end of every day to take comfort in the electronic presence of my computer as a relief from the pressures of true social interaction, it seems I can still be quite good at reading people. This is a conversation I don't want to continue, but the words come from my mouth before I can realize it and stop them. "… My friends."

"Hmm?" He seems surprised that I'm actually answering him. Well, I'm surprised, too. Maybe I've been shouldering this heavy burden alone for too long, and that's why it's all spilling out now. None of the others want to know what happened to them before—well, most of them say they do, but everyone always asks me to stop if I talk about it for long enough so I think they're actually deeply disturbed by it after all. But perhaps my conscience wants the chance to relieve itself to a person who has nothing to do with these nightmares, and that's why my words are coming out now.

"I'm with my friends… Well, I call them my friends, but I guess at that point I didn't really know them at all. But, one of them… gets this thing inside of him. This terrifying, black thing, and it turns his whole presence black. But, I think, he's gone, and only the thing inside of him really remains. And at that point, it's too late. Since, he shoots someone, and then… punches another. Just, punches him, right through his chest, and he's dead already. Then… someone else, he shoves her over. Stomps on her head. And, one of the others… I don't even see what happens, but it's like a second later that she's dead on the ground, too. Then he takes it—her—crushes her, just, like it's nothing. Then he's next to me, grabs my head and—" Unconsciously my whole head twitches to the side. I don't quite remember him snapping my neck, though that had to be what he did, to kill me so fast from that position. I guess he did it before I even realized anything.

"… Then you woke up?"

I swallow in my dry throat again. "Y-yeah. Then I woke up." My voice cracks once more.

I look up and see the expression on his face, and immediately realize my mistake. Such a thing is surely ridiculous, excessive, and overblown even from an imagination standpoint. It's not the sort of thing a normal person could dream up, but even though I now recognize that, I've already admitted to it. I duck my head again.

"Ah, but, you know, I watched a lot of late-night TV dramas and such when I was a kid, right? And they were full of these sorts of things. So, I guess, somehow they stuck with me, and that's what gives me nightmares! When I was younger, such things…"

Even though I had flubbed my delivery, and lost steam at the end, surely there isn't anyone who wouldn't call such a performance award-winning. Even for all my faults, I had delivered with such believable conviction that it must have been taken as truth. Though, it's helped by the fact that I had just been describing such a disturbing scene that being a little—or, a lot…—unsteady with my explanation was not only justified, but expected.

Or at least, I hope all these things. I don't want to be accused of coming up with such a tale from my own imagination.

The truth is so far from any reasonable expectations of reality that to most people, it isn't even the faintest possibility.

That's something I've long ago accepted about my time with the Mekakushi-Dan.

"Oh, but in that case, it's kind of good, right? As you get older, you'll start to forget about those things, and the nightmares will stop."

"Y-yeah." I nod my head, though I'm sure my doubt comes through as I give voice to the lie.

These are nightmares that it's certain I'll never, ever forget.