A young man paced throughout his room, desperately cleaning. But everything had already been swiped spotless. Dimly, a small desk lamp barely illuminated the dorm.

The wood of the furniture shined. His bed was finely made. All the surfaces in the house dusted and every stray splatter or spot in the bathroom wiped. The entire dormitory apartment smelled sweet of lemon disinfectant wipes, liquid cleaners, and folded laundry. And yet, his brain still refused to free him enough to sleep. The alarm clock on his desk said 3 AM. It had begun taunting him, red LEDs peering direct at him. He glared back at it as if he expected to win a staring contest with it, or to blink and it could somehow read 2 am instead of the current time. Any kind of sign to tell him he wasn’t falling apart somewhat. Much to his own dismay, the passing of time isn’t something that one could wipe away.

Henry, not quite feeling like a Hero tonight, had a seat at his desk. Creak. Most times, at this point of year, it got a little disorganized as he studied. Notebooks and papers would accumulate, he would have stray pens out, a combination of large sticky notes and stray documents fastened, coordinating stray theories, key pages, appointments, and expressions. It didn’t read very chaotic. By most pupils’ ideals, Henry’s organizational structure seemed pretty on-point.

But as he proceeded to look around, replacing pacing with aimless peeking and tapping of his foot, his usually clean accommodation looked now unusually immaculate. Not a single stray pen. Notebooks got neatly organized. Every piece of stationary placed in its spot, including re-organizing all his sticky notes to make better use of space, and in a bit of weakness, even organized the desk that isn’t his. Normally ignorable, his roommate’s misalignment of items and one particularly dusty plastic plant looked, as incomprehensible as the feeling was, louder tonight. Not that said friend now stood here to look at this.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Henry muttered as he caressed the length of his face with both hands. He took a peek at the alarm. 3:03 AM. He groaned, leaned back in his armchair, and peered around the place. All looked still clean. All looked still spotless. Exactly as it looked the last point he watched at the clock. Just as it looked before that. His foot proceeded to tap. The moon proceeded to shine. The light continued to light. The chair continued to chair.

Henry did not believe he was sick. But presently, he seemed sick. His racing head wouldn’t let him settle. Usually, this racing is a significant clue to go for a quick jog. But it refused to take. Nothing seemed to work. He couldn’t concentrate on anything else. He’d gone for said run, and it didn’t work. So he found cleaning. Cleaning didn't calm him down. No amount of cleaning would settle anything down. So now he paced. He breathed. He paced again. It became excruciatingly repetitive.

In his mind, people kept reappearing. A small boy choking out words that wouldn’t leave his head. Old feelings he thought he’d dealt with re-emerging in confusing new ways. A death he’d never quite gotten over felt fresh all over again. But it wasn't the time for these kind of thoughts. Classes needed to be completed. A creeping, empty feeling of wanting to crawl back into bed and not leave for months slowly returning to him. So he staid up and fought it any way he could.

Henry had found running as an escape, initially. An activity that used to leave him pushing past his limits, noticing the stars and the way the wind whistled, and importantly, with a now clear mind, now left him running through the motions, noticing how much everything annoyed him, and his brain running in the same circles it looped before.

“Why am I doing this?” Henry mumbled. He needed something. Anything. Something that would allow him to sleep without tossing and turning.

3:15 AM. Still awake.

Henry stood up again and wandered through his room again. The man paced again. He sighed out loud again. He rubbed his forehead and the bridge of his nose again. As he kept moving, he kept moving. Looked inside every drawer of his desk and dresser, grabbing for anything of note. A material caught his eye. A cheap drawstring bag that he’d completely forgotten about. Emblazoned with the school logo. Maybe he could get rid of whatever clutter remained inside?

He opened the bag and stared into the darkness within. Within the darkness sat a lot of paper.

It held flyers. business cards, and student groups. A lot of them. Henry remembered a time when he had arrived a new student. He’d gone to all kinds of cheesy freshman events and picked up every business card, every button, and every free candy he could get his hand on.

Wait… Candy? that lollipop still looked fine. He ripped the plastic off and popped it into his mouth. He’d never smoked, but he had an odd craving for a cigarette. This would sate whatever odd oral fixation he currently developed. At the least, it gave him something to focus on that didn’t say 3:18 AM or realizing how he’d stopped tapping his foot. One by one, the objects inside the bag got sorted.

“10 percent off for students is cool, but it’s still out of my price range.” Some mall stores. Gone. “$1 off at OMOCAT SHOP. Expires.... 2 years ago.” Gone. “Student offer: First Session Free.” “UCS Canoeing club.” “Downtown Jazz Dance Studio.” “15% off at a cat café? There’s a cat café in town?” A memory flashed and tickled the back of his brain, reading these out loud. As the taste of the cheap sugar filled his mouth, he placed the feeling of being a hopeful, fresh-eyed student, scrambling for every advertisement and club flyer he could find, thinking he’d have the time to try everything, having his hopes crushed by the reality of schoolwork and study existing.

By the end of his little sorting adventure, Henry had a large stack of flyers and business cards that he’d thrown in the trash. A lot of it remained completely useless. The lollipop in his mouth staid, long since worn, now a plastic stick to chew on. But on the desk stood a small stack of things that he could try. There were things that were not expired. Things that interested him enough to keep the phone numbers. Things that kept his brain distracted a little.

A flyer for a student yoga club caught his eye. He thought he’d heard of it before. It didn’t seem a club, really, but something more social. An easy breezy meetup you could drop into once or twice and leave if it wasn’t your thing. It had a pleasant picture of a woman twirling gracefully and smiling with her arms extended like she lazily reached in front and behind her. Importantly, though... It didn’t cost a thing, and there was a class later today. It was too convenient to not at least give it a shot.

Hero looked at the clock. 3:42 AM. His eyes suddenly ached for sleep, but Hero instead prepped himself for a couple hours of staring at the ceiling from the comfort of his pillow.
Stretching a little as he stood out of his chair, his joints popped a bit. Ouch. Maybe yoga would be nice.