notes – Written as a request from a dear friend, but also because I've been meaning to write for Hyouka forever. This is rated about R-15, so, yeah!

the world conspires against me and I let them

He still dreams about her sometimes.

Insufferable dreams, dreams that make him wake up with a cold sweat and a disorienting feeling in his boxers. Hōtarō has never even liked dreaming in the first place – sleep was what it was, sleep. It baffles him how one can still expend energy while they are in bed. It's subconscious energy, but energy nonetheless. He dislikes dreaming of school. Satoshi is already patting his shoulder and urging him onwards through the day – there's no need to invade his thoughts at night. Spare him twelve hours of peace, at least. Maybe Satoshi thinks it is his job to make sure Hōtarō doesn't sink completely into himself, doesn't become a person of greys and blacks like he's always aspired to be. Hōtarō appreciates the effort on Satoshi's part. (Actually, no, not really.)

Nightmares are worse. Sometimes Ibara spawns herself in them. Hōtarō has a theory that she strolls into his nightmares when she feels she hasn't tormented him enough during club hours. Such a hardworking girl, that Ibara. Nightmares were tiresome. All the running, all the energy wasted on feeling afraid and panicky, and when you finally wake up, you feel even less rested. Hōtarō treasures the nights where he doesn't dream. They're nice.

Dreams about Chitanda are the absolute worst. He doesn't know how or why, but she's unrestrained and beautiful in his dreams. At least, in real life, he can hide his eyes under the pages of his novel. He can block out at least bits and pieces of her (until she comes and peeks over the top of the book). The Chitanda in his dreams is even more audacious. Exhausting. Her hair reaches her ankles, her eyes wide and set on him. At least she's wearing her school uniform this time. There are dreams where she's not wearing much at all. She irons herself against his arm, sings 'I can't stop thinking!' over and over and over and over – a breath – and over and over again.

And he surrenders, thinking, this person can't even leave me alone in my sleep. He asks her, "About what?"

And then she'll say: "You."

The Geography Prep room is the usual setting in his dreams. Cast in the glare of the afternoon sun with Satoshi and Ibara conveniently absent. Dream Chitanda sometimes lies on the tabletop, sometimes settles with standing against the door and wrapping her arms around him. She likes untucking his shirt (awesome, he'll have to tuck it back in later) and brushing her fingers underneath it. A little shy, a little bold. Hōtarō would prefer to at least sit down, but he doesn't get much say in instances like these. Also, he's distracted. By the softness of her hands, the way the top of her head fits under his chin, her chest pressed against his. Her lips.

Just when Hōtarō gets used to the scene in the Prep room, almost reluctantly enjoying it, his brain has to change the location. Tonight, he dreams about the hot springs they visited months ago. He's already making a mental list of how much energy he's spent and how to get it back. Then, he hears someone wading in the water. Of course. Dream Chitanda, hair twirled into a messy bun. At least she's in a towel. That's heartening, self. Your perverseness has some shade of decency.

Hōtarō thinks of escaping – but where to? This is not a place he has control over. As the girl advances on him, he presses a hand against himself and is glad that he's wearing a towel too. The Chitanda he dreams about takes this chance to close the distance between them immediately. She places her hand where his is and blushes. Hōtarō thinks 'oh please, don't act so modest' but his thoughts fizzle out after that because the heat of her fingers on him proves too difficult to ignore. He tries not to squeak and fails. The only consolation is that this is something privy only to him and Dream Chitanda – but even Hōtarō is too prideful to be satisfied with that.

Suddenly, she looks up and into his eyes, and for a moment, she is Eru Chitanda, the chairperson of the Classics Club. Not a fragment of his subconscious, but the real Chitanda, the way she stares at him, taking in all the details. Hōtarō feels his face heat, not from the steam of the hot springs or the soft hand on his towel, but from the way this girl looks at him. She always regards him with searching eyes, like she is trying to dig deeper inside. Hōtarō thinks he's just plain hollow underneath his skin, but Chitanda makes him reconsider this. Chitanda believes so much in so many things, Hōtarō wonders if he's been infected.

Then, she presses a hand against him and whispers into his ear, "I'm curious."

After all of that, he jolts awake. The Chitanda of his dream is no longer here, but she has left her presence. Hōtarō has to remind himself not to be angry at the real Chitanda. It wasn't her fault. Being angry would require energy he doesn't want to part with anyway. He has to drag himself out of his precious bed. He has to stalk down the darkened hallway. He has to switch on the light in the toilet and then get rid of the annoying feeling between his legs. That is probably the most tiring part of all of this. Hōtarō doesn't know why his classmates all do it willingly. He never asks. He wishes that he didn't need to do it because his arm always feels sore afterwards.

If Hōtarō could, he wouldn't even sleep or dream. But sleep is a vital part of his lifestyle. He sulks and returns to his bed, pulling his blanket halfway over himself. He glances at the clock sitting over his bed. There's two hours till he has to wake up and prepare for the day ahead.

He really doesn't know how he's surviving high school.