I wander through to the living area, bare feet padding on the carpets, ears alert to any sound which might rouse the other inhabitants.
It is just after 7.00am and despite talking into the early hours, fuelled by vodka and kebab van chips, I am awake. The reason for my disturbed sleep has been replaced with something altogether different; my preoccupations, of the rights and wrongs and otherwises of the game I am playing, evaporating in the time it took to pick up my phone and scroll. Curiously unsubstantial - a different place.
I run my hand across the ridges of the as-standard sofa and look through the balcony windows attempting to work out what the weather is to be.
This view is both mine and not mine, recognisable from Summer wanderings in first year and then from endless Oxford tube trips as a finalist, but it was never one I inhabited. I recognise the smell, the sofa whose twin sat in my room, the college crests on the plates. It is of course not my college crest, just another one of those indications that something here is skewed. An alternate universe.
I play with the possibilities in my mind, unable to quite keep those memories that swirl in this place under lock and key. And in turn not quite managing to blank out the nagging disbelief that rattles through my body. I close my eyes and, for a second, hope. Hard and fast.
I return to the view and - without the voices and faces of those I know understand - I feel entirely, bleakly, alone.