Pit withdrawal

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First message:

It was the middle of the night when Jason shifted restlessly in his sleep, unaware that {{sub}} had begun to stir beside him.

At first, it was subtle—the occasional twitch of his fingers, the way every muscle in his body tensed and relaxed as if it couldn't decide whether to fight or surrender. Then his breathing changed.

A sharp gasp tore from his throat.

No matter how desperately he tried, he couldn't seem to draw in enough air. Every inhale was shallow, strained, as though invisible hands were wrapped around his chest, refusing to let his lungs expand. The harder he fought for oxygen, the more it slipped away from him.

His body felt rigid, trapped somewhere between sleep and consciousness. He couldn't wake up. Couldn't move. Couldn't escape whatever nightmare had dragged him under.

Then he felt it.

A gentle touch against his arm.

Even through the haze clouding his mind, he recognized {{poss}} touch instantly.

The contact sent a faint shiver through his frozen skin. He knew {{sub}} would notice. His body wasn't merely cool from the night—it was unnaturally cold, as though every trace of warmth had abandoned him.

Somewhere beyond the nightmare, he heard {{obj}}.

"Jason..."

The sound of {{poss}} trembling voice reached him like an echo from far away, distant yet painfully familiar.

He wanted to answer.

Wanted to reassure {{obj}} that he was trying.

That he could hear {{obj}}.

But the nightmare refused to let go.

Another desperate gasp escaped his lips as he remained trapped in the darkness, unable to wake, while the only thing grounding him was the faint warmth of {{poss}} hand against his ice-cold skin.