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There’s a haunted, far away look in Dream’s eyes when Ink sees him.
He’s standing in the kitchen past midnight, silhouette all dimly lit by the blue night light plugged into the wall behind him. His features are blurry and static with the darkness, black pits in his eyes swallowing the little light that reflects off his circlet.
Ink takes in the fuzzy quality of his eyelights and pulls out his pocket journal. There’s a bright yellow tab with a strip of pink on it for Dream that he tugs the pages to, and skims the words - until he finds what he’s looking for.
Dream is sleepwalking. He warned Ink about it a few days ago. Dream wasn't too worried about it. Something about it just being a little creepy, but nothing Ink couldn't handle. There's nothing written about waking up Dream.
He pockets the book and looks back up at Dream - only to realize he’s gone. Disappeared from where he was standing before, while Ink was looking away.
There’s an awkward pause of silence where Ink knows he probably should feel some kind of way to this, but nothing rises up. He chalks it up to the haze of exhaustion that lays heavy around his shoulders like a shawl. It feels like the tap turned on for his emotions, and they all filtered out. His head feels blissfully empty, for once, so he unintentionally listens to the house for noise to keep it occupied. Then, he hears it.
In the silence, there is breathing.
In the silence, there is breathing right behind him.
Ink turns around and locks eyes with Dream, whose smiling face has gone empty.
His eyes are so dark and deep. They feel as though he could fall endlessly into them, and never come out.
“Dream,” he says, quietly. Dream’s eyes are unfocused and absent. Dream is Ink's friend. Dream would not kill Ink. “Dream, you’re sleepwalking.”
His roommate does not answer. Ink pulls out his book and goes back to Dream’s section. He makes a noise of resolution and puts it back into his pajama pocket, turning to Dream.
“Okay, let’s just get you back to bed.”