IN A COLD SWEAT, Y/N's eyes were darting around beneath his eyelids. The voice of a little boy filled his head and there was a blurry vision of a memory.
"Wake up! Please wake up!"
"Open your eyes, hermanita. Please!"
"Wake up!"
Y/N sat up with a gasp and let out a breath, waking up from his nightmare. The twenty-four-year-old stared into the darkness of his dimly lit room.
He shifted and sat on the side of the bed. Y/N rubbed his face and closed his eyes, processing the unpleasant dream he just had. Once again, the screaming...the crying...the futile calls for help.
It was all still there.
Y/N got up and went into the living area of the small worn down apartment. He had a ripped-up couch, a coffee table that served also as a dining table, and a desk by the window containing radio equipment.
He turned to his left and looked into the small dirty mirror hanging on the wall. Y/N rubbed his eyes, staring at himself for a moment. He brushed his finger over the scar on his cheek before exhaling and walking away.
The first thing he did afterward was to check the radio. No bathroom, no breakfast, no routine workout, just sit and turn on the device. It's been that way for some time now.
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He pressed the button on the microphone, taking a breath before speaking to it.
"Wednesday? Wednesday...2-15?"
That was the call sign for the person he usually spoke to. The number was said for added reassurance that it was indeed just them on the channel...and it also had meaning.
Y/N waited for a moment, but there was still no response. He figured they were away so he put the mic down, letting out a sigh. A knock at the door suddenly got his attention and he went to answer it.
On the other side was a young man about his age. His dirtied clothes matched Y/N's. The young man moved aside and let him in.
"Wow, you're up earlier than usual." Brent said sarcastically.
"Funny." Y/N replied as he closed the door.
Brent went to a cupboard nearby to grab the bottle of whiskey he knew Y/N had. He walked over to the table while eyeing the radio.
"Jane said anything?" He asked.
Y/N just shook his head, Brent nodded and started pouring the bourbon into glasses.
"Probably away doing something with my moms." Brent remarked.
The person they'd always radio was Brent's sister, Jane. They had gotten separated several years ago while traveling the country. When Y/N first discovered her communicating on the airwaves, it was by sheer luck or coincidence that she turned out to be related to his comrade and close friend. While they were currently in Boston she was in a town somewhere in Wyoming.
