Michael has never been in control in his dreams. Sometimes he wakes up while still inside a nightmare, but his consciousness exists only as a spectre: immobile, powerless, a silent passenger in a body he'd thought was his. It doesn't make him feel safe or free; once it's over, he always finds himself shaken and diminished and fiercely possessive of his own limbs.
His eyes dart nervously up to Wolfgang's, then back down. Wolfgang seems to think it'll be fine. What they did last time had turned out okay (mostly, sort of) and that had been a lot more complicated, right? With the moon and everything all happening at once? But none of that was a dream, and he wasn't the one asleep. He folds his arms, re-wrinkling the already wrinkled fabric of his ill-fitting work jacket and button-down shirt.
“What about the part where you're there, too, how does it do that? Do we have to fall asleep at the same time? 'Cause that might be hard. And you're sure it keeps you safe? Nothing bad happens, even by accident?”