I awake at the call of instinct.

In place of any alarm or indicator, I operate on my circadian rhythm alone. Though, to be fair, I'm not sure how long that'll last. If it's according to my old sleep schedule, then I'd be waking up at noon every day. Not exactly too productive for getting things done.

I breathe in a waft of the cold morning air.

It feels good.

Nothing quite like the sharp prick of weather to get your heart pumping.

I lean up from my sofa and think over the day prior.

Since I fell asleep at midnight, it should logically be around eight PM now.

I check my phone to verify. 8:03 AM, it reads.

Guess I'm not too far off the beaten path.

Without further ado, I get up. After heading towards my room, I stop just short of the door. On it is a yellow note. It's about the length of my finger for each of its respective dimensions.

I read over the text, leaning closer as I do so.

'Thank you for having me over, Camille. Sorry, but I had to leave early for my job, so we won't be seeing each other in the morning! That being said, I did prepare some breakfast for you, and if you ever need, please feel free to call! Remember, try not to do something stupid! You're a lot less on edge with these powers and me around, so as always, calling me to vent or whatnot is perfectly acceptable! You're my dearest friend, after all. Please, get some fighting done! I think you'll feel a lot better that way. Sorry for the ramble, but that's where the note ends! ๑(◕‿◕)๑ - Morgan.'

There's such a big message condensed within the note that it takes me several minutes to go over it. Morgan's handwriting is pretty and legible, so at least that helps speed up the process.

Finishing the last line, I start thinking over its contents and contemplate what Morgan has to say.

More specifically, her line on me being a lot less on edge.

Now, while I am confident I'm not a horrible person, that isn't to say that I'm not difficult. In that sense, I guess my 'edginess' and antisocial behaviour go hand in hand.

Was it that noticeable, though?

I can't help but be uncertain. My mind takes me back to what I was like prior and the overall mentality I acted with. The first thing that comes to mind is me suspecting Morgan might be trying to kill me. On further reflection, that's quite the degenerate thought.

Over ten years to adjust to her personality, and I still managed to get caught in the prospect of her being a killer after me. Maybe I am a fucking imbecile. Without exaggeration, I have to say I'm pretty unimpressed with my mindset.

I'm standing there, still staring at the note, when I come to a conclusion.

Alright.

From here on out, I'm going to interact with people. I'm a grown adult, for crying out loud. The fact is, I'm not in a healthy state at the moment. Obviously, my personality isn't going to shift 180°, but I can't bear the thought of me being an imbecile any longer.

I walk into my room, turning left towards my closet when I reveal the contents of what's inside.

Clothes. A countless series of coats, jackets, and otherwise favourable garments. Never been one for high fashion, but I'd be lying if I said some styles weren't just the tad bit appealing to me. Though, if I had to describe my sense of taste, it would have to be 'unorthodox'.

Not like I'm actively seeking to be contrarian.

Just like these things, that's all.

Anyways. Only a little while longer before I choose my outfit and...

There we go—one of my favourites: a white button shirt and a black military uniform from the 2010s to go with it. Hah. Brings back old memories. I distinctly remember walking into my last tournament with this getup on. You could say it's a bad omen to wear something you lost with, and I might agree. But in my case, a bad omen's as good as any. If misfortune comes to me, then I'll just have to thrust it upon another.

That being said...

Since I've taken the pleasure of dressing myself up, I might as well go the other step.

I walk to the wall on the right-hand side. Opening a wooden door, I enter a bathroom and flick the light on. There, I tidy my hair with a bamboo brush, wash my face with cold water, and take a moment to scratch my chin, observing the conveniently placed scar across my face that does well to endow me with an aesthetic of intimidation.

Perfect. Bloody brilliant. Just the right amount of eccentric nonchalance, which I enjoy from time to time. My complexion isn't exactly preening, but there's no real need for it to be.

On the way out to the living room, I spot a nice plate of fried eggs, tomatoes and sausage on the table, promptly devour it, and begin my way outside. I leave my apartment key in hand, locking it as an extra safety measure. The aversion I'm supposed to feel, that reeling revulsion against people and the outside world, is missing.

Metaphorically speaking, I'm riding the crest of a wave. High above all the others, overseeing the distant lows, about to descend into what I can only describe as 'animation'.