His eyes stung, eyelids drooping and he felt so, so heavy. He wanted to just fall into unconsciousness, to fall asleep, to just have a few hours of respite…
However, his name was Kyouya Ootori, and it was one that the mythical 'sand man' must obviously fucking avoid. He tossed and turned and changed position, he stayed still and he tried again; he just couldn't do it. He couldn't fall asleep and he was too exhausted to stay awake, the frustration from that alone made it harder to swallow as an uncomfortable lump settled in his throat.
He just wanted some fucking sleep, having stayed awake for over thirty-six hours earlier in the week, and he almost wanted to sob.
Or punch the wall, whatever urge he gave into first.
He sat up in bed, covers pooling at his waist from where they'd previously been tucked under his chin, and blinked hard as a wave of dizziness nearly made him fall back again. Damn blood pressure, damn exhaustion, damn everything.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, hoping he wouldn't collapse as soon as he stood, and pushed himself to his feet; he might have stumbled a little on his way to the en suite, but nothing more.
He leant heavily on the sink, scowling up at the mirror above it, at his reflection and the dark bags under his eyes. He just wanted to sleep, whatever it took.
Anything. Anything. Any. Thing.
Didn't people usually find it easier to sleep after blood loss?
He almost laughed at that. Now that really would have completed the image; his hair was already wild, and his eyes held an almost crazed look. He was never really… stable when suffering from a lack of sleep.
He snatched a pair of scissors from the counter beside him. It was a good idea, wasn't it? It sounded like one, and it was better than the plan he came up with last time; of just slashing his wrists and sleeping forever.
He really wasn't stable in this state of mind.
He opened the scissors, gripping it by the joint, and brought it down to the pale flesh of his forearm. There was still a scar there from where he'd purposely scratched himself with the blade, but had only drawn a few drops of blood.
He positioned the blade so that the very tip – the sharpest point of the scissors, given how damn blunt they were – was pressed into his arm, and he dragged it across.
It left a raised, red line, but nothing more.
He tried again, pressing harder as he bit his lip. Another line, no blood.
Again, no blood.
Again, no damn blood.
He tried repositioning the blade, so that the straight edge was to his skin, and tried once more.
Barely a line.
Why couldn't he even cut right?!
Just as he was about to try again, he regained a little more sense of what he was doing. He was trying to cut himself! He hadn't harmed himself in so long, and he just randomly thought that it was a good idea…
He hated when his head got this messed up.
He put the scissors down and ran his fingers through his hair.
He could go to his computer, and attempt some coherent work…
Then again… There were knives in the kitchen that could probably do a much better job…
A/N: This is catharsis and, I guess, personal to me so I don't know if anyone else gets like this when they're too tired and can't sleep. Of course I inflict these things on Kyouya. And yeah, arm's sore and I feel like a zombie, so I'll just leave this here.