There was absolutely nothing to see in the darkness, which was welcomed for a change, yet his eyes were wide open, his form stilled, blinking into the nothingness, unfocused, unable to block out his mind, and that's something he'd mastered years ago.

Remarkable, the nonenty of the sounds of the traffic outside the hotel, the restless buzz of the city. Never had that before.

Then again, he'd never had the novelty of waking up to the squeak of the bed when someone else turned their side in it, mumbling incoherently before falling asleep again, before that one particular allotment. Never had anyone just sleeping, let alone turning sides in it, not to mention tangling limbs and shared air until it became difficult to breath, as it were, before…

Resting alone in an empty bed used to be a rare luxury, not having to share dreams, not having to stay alert for projections. Just a deep, thoughtless cave for Arthur alone to curl into. Something soft, something cold, just like his free subconscious, which was now playing tricks on him. Hearing a key turn…

Interesting, really, how such a long lived irritation such as that can be missed so fucking fiercely.