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Jin doesn’t sleep as much as he probably should.
He knows it worries the people around him - his chronic lack of sleep, his insistence on staying in his trion body for as long as possible. They’ve brought it up more times than he can count, with concerned looks and gentle nudges. But for Jin, it feels like the only option he has.
On some nights, he does sleep - he is still human, after all - but those nights are few and far between. Even then, his rest is fitful, consumed by fear and the endless barrage of visions that blur the line between reality and imagination. Nightmares take root in his mind, a collision of his deepest fears and the futures he sees so clearly, yet wishes he could forget. He always wakes up feeling worse than before, drenched in sweat and shaking to his core.
Those are the nights when the weight of it all feels unbearable. His voice sticks in his throat, caught between a scream and a sob that never quite escapes. His hands tremble so violently he can barely hold the pillow he clutches against his chest, his only anchor as he tries to sift through the chaos of his thoughts. What was a vision? What was just his imagination? The boundaries blur until he’s left questioning everything.
But someone knows. Jin doesn’t know who, and they’ve never said anything, but night after night, when the worst of the dreams consume him, there’s always a bottle of water and a chocolate bar waiting for him outside his door. Neatly placed, always the same. He never hears them come or go, but the quiet gesture is enough to steady him, to remind him that he’s not entirely alone in this.
He takes the offerings without a word, sitting on his bed by the window as the city stirs awake around him. He drinks the water slowly, savouring the coolness as it washes away the lingering heat of his nightmares. The chocolate helps too, grounding him in the present as he tries to shake the images that haunt him: his friends lying broken and bloodied, hurt in ways he can’t prevent.
Jin has always seen things he doesn’t want to see. It’s his greatest strength and his greatest curse. He saw his mother’s death before it happened, and then the death of his master. He foresaw Mikumo getting gravely injured, Replica being taken away, Miwa standing helpless as his sister died, begging Jin to save her. He saw all of it. And no matter how hard he tried, he was powerless to stop it.
These visions replay in his dreams, overlapping with futures he’s managed to prevent, things he knows will happen soon, and horrifying scenarios he never allows himself to dwell on when awake. His subconscious drags them all to the surface, twisting them into a kaleidoscope of pain and guilt that he can’t escape.
Honestly, it’s no surprise that he wakes up most nights with a silent scream lodged in his throat. His body shakes uncontrollably, his muscles weak and unresponsive. Even if he wanted to stand, his legs wouldn’t hold him.
This is his routine. He waits for the tremors to subside, forces his breathing to even out, and eventually pulls himself together. The bottle of water is emptied, the chocolate wrapper neatly folded, and the remains of his nightmare shoved into the darkest corners of his mind.
When he feels stable enough, Jin slips on his jacket, grabs his rice crackers, and steps out into the world. By the time the sun has risen, he’s back to being the self-proclaimed power elite who knows all, sees all, and always knows exactly what to do.
Or at least, that’s what they think.