Somebody!

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     It's quiet in Kunimi's dorm room. He sits quietly in his study, head slumped in front of his laptop. Multiple tabs are open, all relating to one topic he's writing about. But at this point, his eyes are merging the words that he doesn't even know if it's the right tab he's supposed to be looking at. He doesn't care if his screen is at its maximum brightness, or if the classical music his speaker is playing is helping him focus at all (Two hours ago, he stumbled upon an article on his way to getting to his actual topic about how classical music is very helpful for students. It never said it would help you stay up past midnight). This paper is mostly done anyway, he just has to write a conclusion. He scrolls up and down the document, skims almost every paragraph, and racks his brain until his ideas turn into one amalgamation of thought and begin to type everything down.

     He sort of regrets not starting the essay a week ago. The set deadline doesn't hit him until it's three days away. Kunimi doesn't even start the paper until it's two days away. He doesn't care about his grades that much, although he does exert effort when it's due (his brain also itches when he gets academic validation, weird). He just hopes to live a quiet life after this whole college ordeal, and he knows that whatever he's writing right now probably won't be important in the next sixty years of his life.

     Kunimi doesn't like how he can hear the rustling of the trees more than his background music. Every sound in his room is suddenly louder than what it's supposed to be: the ticking of his clock, the sound of his air conditioning unit, the clicks of his keyboard. His thoughts turn mushy and his movements become erratic.

     Am I going insane.

     Said clock sends an extra loud tick to Kunimi's ear this time as he sends a glare toward its direction. It reads 2 o'clock. His eyelids suddenly refuse to stay open and he can feel one of his legs finally fall asleep as it pulsates with pain the more he isn't asleep with it. His head finally hits the table with a concerningly loud thud. His neighbors are either too out to hear it or are probably in the same situation he's in to simply ignore it. Should he choose to sleep right now, he'd forget the channel of ideas he's about to put down for the conclusion. At times like these is where his mind turns on a slideshow of why mental health is more important, fuck studies, get laid, and die happy. Maybe his brain is right, or not. His thoughts do become irrational at this hour.

     Kunimi finally stands after six hours of writing. He's only eaten a granola bar and drank half a bottle of Gatorade to stay awake and now he's finally feeling the effects in his stomach. As he stands, he's sure every joint in his body just cracked. He chugs the remaining energy drink down (albeit warmer than he remembers) and saunters to his balcony. The sliding balcony door has been half open ever since he came home. Probably eight hours ago, he doesn't remember and doesn't care. It remains half open as his lean figure slips through the gap between it and the door frame. The night is concerningly quiet.

     Nature isn't as noisy as he remembers. His footsteps aren't loud even if he isn't wearing any shoes. His humming doesn't even feel like it reaches his ears.

     Maybe I am going insane.

     The lone wooden stool welcomes him as Kunimi sits on it. It's cold and dusty, but he doesn't care. He scooches himself and the stool closer to the railing allowing him to lean on it and most probably drift to sleep. He doesn't like the idea of sleeping on a balcony, moreover right against the border stopping him from falling two floors to a broken hip bone. He's putting more thought into his death than his essay right now, and he doesn't like that. His thoughts make him go deaf to the sound of his neighbor opening the balcony door.