The first time it happens, there's something living moving underneath him when he lands. The second time, the time he will remember as much as he can remember anything that happens between sleeping and waking, there are only the bedclothes swallowing him up, tangling between his bare, kicking legs. His eyes fly open and he suddenly stills, breathing hard as his gaze darts about the room. Everything is just barely familiar enough to make the fact that he doesn't know where he is all the more disconcerting.

His eyes light on a figure holding up a knife and he yelps, reflexively teleporting again even as he tries to get his hands under him and flee in a more conventional fashion. He reappears about a foot further away, on the edge of the bed, where he immediately becomes wedged in the little gap formed by the windowsill.