[center][h2]Caelum Harrington[/h2][/center]
Caelum jerked up suddenly, the transition from being asleep to panicked and alert so swift he truly considered his life to be in danger those first few seconds. Chest heaving with harsh breaths, he unclenched his hands from where they’d been gripping the bedding, and swept his fringe away from a damp forehead. The air grew stuffier with each exhalation, making him faintly queasy. He shambled out of bed to open the small window of his bedroom to let in some fresh air – such that it was. Checking the time on his phone, he raked a resigned hand through his hair; it was early, much, much too early.

He showered as quickly as possible, so as to not wake his flatmate. He’d rather not listen to Matt’s grumblings this early. He was exhausted, as if he’d not slept at all. The few hours he did get weren’t enough, and it showed. Caelum nearly winced at his pale, drawn face, bloodshot sclera, and the dark rings beneath his eyes. He looked so obviously unwell he was sure to get snide comments. Fuck, but he did not need that on top of everything else. For one, that dream was still lingering at the edges of his mind, promising to haunt him for the rest of the day.

The Dream. He really didn’t want to think about it, at least not before some coffee. Problem was, it didn’t take long before he was ready for the day and gulping down the nearly scalding liquid. It was still dark outside; it might be appropriate for his brooding mood, but made him all the more resentful. He could (should) be sleeping. After exhausting the worst of his scornful energy by scorching innocuous objects with his glare, Caelum retreated back to his room. 

First on his agenda was filling out the dream diary – it felt plain stupid, but it was a recommendation that’d helped him take it off his mind the first time he’d had the damned dream. It was just so different from any of his others, but no matter how much he contemplated why they’d begun, which events may have led to each reiteration, or why they’d stayed exactly the same – until now – Caelum hadn’t been able to puzzle out anything specific. 

Tonight, the beaked creature spoke of attaining new responsibilities – as if he didn’t have enough of those already – and having to fight. Was that about his family? Didn’t the goblin man know how much he’d struggled already to get where he was? What fucking else was he supposed to do?! He’d been facing reality for a while, now. As for his worth, well.

His pen screeched along the pages as he brutally noted down the latest nightly development. He glared down at his work, frustrated and dissatisfied, then fiercely blotted out all he’d written about his silly little dreams in quick, diagonal slashes. It took a good while to go through all the material, but by the end of it, he felt…he wasn’t sure if it could be described as ‘better’, since it left him oddly numb and hollow. He’d been intending to rip out the pages, and throw it all away, but he just didn’t care anymore.

[i]Stupid dream meanings.[/i] It was an uncharitable thought but lacked any force. Though the following [i]Why are you wasting your time on something so worthless?[/i] was such a lifelike impression of something his father might say, it disgusted him enough to get right into gear. He booted up his laptop, and began the grueling process of checking over his uni work, readings, notes, etc., editing, learning, or adding to the various coursework required. 

Then there was the social media, wherein he mostly saw posts by his former associates proclaiming their recent enjoyment of the holidays and their enviable new energy levels. [i]Smug bastards.[/i] Some guy went on a date, a (former) friend raved about her curriculum, yada yada yada, all those pictures of all their joy and success, it made him sick. Sometimes, he wondered why he bothered at all.

But then, the answer, as it tended to be, was his father dearest. ‘You must build up your image’ and ‘How [i]are[/i] those admission essays going’ and ‘[i]No[/i] new associates at all? Surely, then, you must have realized what a barren path you’ve chosen to tread’ and ‘I suspect you can still recover from this minor detour’ and ‘[i]If you would only try hard enough[/i]’. It was an endless barrage upon his conscience, and even when he was alone, Caelum couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he was committing a terrible mistake, or perhaps, that he himself was one.

Such were the types of thoughts he had to do his best to suppress as he finished his school work. Of course, following that, he still had work set to him by his father, i.e. preparing for a transferal next school year while planning how to take advantage of any and all possible opportunities [i]this[/i] year, building up his stock portfolio, and so on and so forth. By the time he was finishing up, Matt was waking up – it was the sound of running water that had Caelum quickly pack, actually. 

He left the flat before there’d be any chance for his cohabitant to accost him with idle chit-chat. It meant he’d had no chance to replenish his smokes – which he’d really begun to miss after a few days without – or get his breakfast yet, but he’d take that over the prospect of conversation right now. Though he’d be a bit early either way, he hurried to get to university.