Flint laughs, even though it's not very funny. "Yeah. Lately. I used to sleep straight through the night, but these days..." He still falls asleep just fine—the last five minutes are proof of that—but it's inevitable that around 3 AM, his subconscious will get the better of him, and eject him forcefully from rest.

He hasn't had nightmares since he was a little boy. There's a piece of himself he wants to explain to Scout, some point he wants to make, something he just wants; but his thoughts pull in different directions, tangling in a mess, and the words jumble in his head.

Silently, Flint pulls on Scout's hand, until he can press his lips against the back of it. Not a kiss just yet, but it eases something in him. "Is it lately for you? Or just... always?"