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Cole's breath comes out in sporadic repetition; in and out, in and out, in and out. His forehead is sticky with imaginary sweat (he's a ghost, he doesn't sweat), and he reaches a hand up to wipe "it" away. His room is dark, so he doesn't think much of not being able to see his own hand in the low light. His mind too hazy from the nightmare he had just woken up from and is already fading from his memory to worry about it.
He remains sitting with his black covers bunched in his hands, kneading the fabric until his breathing settles. However, even if his breathing is calm, his mind is not. He lays back and attempts to sleep again, closing his eyes and pulling up the duvet over his head again, but nothing worked to lull him.
They don't need you.
Wrong.
You're a ghost, what use are you?
They do need me.
They'd be better off to leave you behind.
Stop.
He needs to stop thinking. These thoughts, surely reminiscent of his nightmare (he doesn't want to believe anything else of it), refuse to allow him rest, no matter how hard he tries to shoo them.
After half an hour of this, struggling against a restless mind that won't stop harassing him with his deepest fears, he gives up, throwing the covers off and sitting up. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, now as fully awake as he could possibly be at… He takes a look at the red digital clock beside his bed. 3:42AM. He doesn't deserve this shit, he should be sleeping . His mouth is parched with anxiety, a bitter, perhaps cruel irony to his situation. He can't touch even a drop of water without being sent to the Cursed Realm.
Except, the Cursed Realm was destroyed. Where would he go? Would he just disappear forever? He shivers at the thought. All the more incentive not to find out.
Sighing, he stands up slowly and approaches the door. He doesn't even bother opening it, and just walks right through and starts heading towards the kitchen. He thinks he has some leftover cake from earlier. If he can't quench the unnecessary thirst that grips him, he can at least try to eat away the anxiety instead. It's far from a healthy habit, but it's better in his mind than waking up the others. He's not worth losing sleep over.
It doesn't take Cole long to rummage through the fridge and find the chocolate cake with strawberry buttercream frosting. He sets the container on the table and grabs himself a fork, all the while neglecting to notice or care about the transparency of his own skin. He's a ghost, he's transparent all the time. He doesn't notice how much worse it seems.
The container lid comes off with a satisfying pop and it doesn't take him long to start eating. It doesn't taste like much; the flavor is extremely muted as a ghost, but he doesn't mind. Not too much.
He doesn't quite know how long he sits there, finishing off the cake that he had bought the day before, but he knows that he isn't feeling any better by it. Food isn't going to fix an overwhelming sense of loneliness. He slumps over, knocking his head on the table, and groans. That's when he hears a door open and close; his head snaps up to face the noise. He sees Jay down the hall, not leaving his bedroom, but his lab, looking utterly exhausted.
Jay makes his way to the kitchen to grab a late night snack or glass of water before heading off to bed; his feet are as slurred as his thoughts and he keeps stumbling on his own toes. He enters the kitchen and sighs upon seeing the empty cake container on the table. "Damn it, Cole. Pick up after yourself," he mutters, picking up the garbage and tossing it into the bin.
He doesn't notice the other who sits less than a foot away from him while he fills a glass from the cupboard with ice from the freezer and water.