The following morning, Trafalgar had not slept at all. He had remained awake through the entire night, lying there with his eyes open in the dark until the black outside the windows slowly gave way to the pale light of dawn. Even now, already dressed and prepared to leave, the same restless feeling still clung to him like something thin and cold under the skin.
It irritated him more than anything else. A week had already passed since the war. The fighting was over. The dead were being buried. Everything should have settled by now, and yet sleep refused to come to him properly.
'This is getting annoying honestly. I don't have any trauma. I'm not shaken. So why can't I have some good sleep?'
