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His dreams were never peaceful. Guy wouldn’t go as far as to call them nightmares, but he’d never really looked forward to sleeping all that much.
(He remembered a time when he was younger, more foolish, and the thought of sleeping was so unbearable he decided to simply go without. That determination managed to last a good three days before he spontaneously passed out right in front of Luke himself, reportedly causing him to cry so loudly he’d attracted the attention of a nearby guard.
Maybe Luke had saved him even then.)
Now on the worse days, all Guy did was take a bit out of his stash of sleep-inducing medicine he kept just for this purpose. Hardly an elegant solution, but it did the job.
“Are you...” Luke trails off. “You look tired?”
“It is late,” Guy replies easily. The effects were already starting to set in. “Go to sleep soon, okay?”
“I’m not—”
“I’m not a kid anymore, I can stay up whenever I want!” Luke crossed his arms, petulant as usual.
Today, though, Guy was tired. Maybe another day he’d entertain the little noble until he gave up from exhaustion, but today he knew it would just worsen his headache. Instead, hoping Luke would give up, Guy grabbed his arm and forced him to lie down. “Good night.”
Luke struggled out of Guy’s grip, tumbling onto the floor. “Ow!” He sniffled, but remained stubbornly defiant.
Guy sighed. He’d managed to get Luke talking, and for what? For him to end up as a brat, of course. “If you’re not a kid, then you should know you have to sleep now.”
“Huh? That—that’s not how it works!”
“How would you know?” Exasperation suddenly boiled over into anger. He grabbed the collar of Luke’s tunic, pulling him up to his level. “You don’t know anything at all.” How naive he was, coddled by everyone and everything in a palace built on graves.
His other hand grabbed Luke’s throat, and—
“—me? Wake up!”
Before Guy even realizes he’s awake, he shoots upright, pushing Luke off him.
Immediately after, he snatches his hands back like he’d been burned. Awareness hits him just as quickly, and he registers: himself, covered in sweat, his hands, still shaking, and Luke, sprawled onto the floor.
“Luke!” First things first: Guy scrambles to his feet, helping Luke up. “What were you doing?”
“I couldn’t really sleep,” he admits. “And you were moving around a lot, so I thought I should wake you up before you fell.”
At least he hadn’t said something in his sleep. Guy lets out a nervous laugh. “That was it? No worries, then.”
“From the way you woke up, I don’t think so.”
Figures he wouldn’t be able to brush it off that easily. “Mm...a bad dream, it’s really not a big deal.” Remembering it makes his stomach churn. “How about you?”
“Huh?”
“I did push you.” He can’t have forgotten something that happened just seconds ago. “You didn’t hit anything?”
Luke stays still, letting Guy check him over. “It was just a push.”
Guy frowns. “Yeah, and it could’ve hurt you.” Like he could’ve hurt Luke in countless ways when he’d been too young to retaliate—had dreamed of it even.
(And he’s still dreaming of it…)
“I mean, not that seriously. I startled you, right?” As much as he’d changed since then, Luke’s frustrating stubbornness hasn’t.
“You shouldn’t let people hurt you,” he says slowly, like he’s teaching a child. Teaching a ten-year-old (a newborn) Luke to walk, carefully holding both his hands to keep him from falling.
(He fell anyway, bursting into tears at the sight of his bloodied knee. In that moment, Guy forgot to envy him for being so sheltered a scraped knee was the worst of his worries, only thinking about how to cheer him up.
You did good for your first try.)
“But...you didn’t.”
“I could have. You can’t just brush off someone hurting you, Luke.” On some level, Guy’s aware this is going nowhere, but at the same time he can’t just let it go. He can’t let Luke stay so trusting that he could kill him without even trying.
Luke’s confusion moves closer to curiosity—never a good sign. “What...was your nightmare like?” he asks, haltingly.
“It’s not a nightmare,” Guy retorts on instinct. “Just a bad dream.” Nightmares sounded like something serious, perhaps hypothetically like the vision of being attacked by one’s own best friend. He wondered if Luke had those types of nightmares after what he’d done, but as the quiet sleeper he was, Guy would never know.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.” Luke’s accompanying smile is tight. Somehow, somewhere, he’s sure to have found a way to blame himself for this. “Still early though, you should go back to sleep.”
Now who’s avoiding the question? Leaving this to stew was not an option. “Luke, what would you do if I tried to kill you?”
Luke freezes.
Guy waits, but Luke just swallows and fails to find his voice. “That wouldn’t happen,” he says after a long moment.
“It already has happened.” Courtesy of a curse slot, but it was still his own emotions driving his blade. “Tell me, Luke. If I tried to kill you, would you even defend yourself?”
Luke’s silence is all the answer Guy needs. As expected. “See, this is what I’m talking about.“ He sighs, forcing an exasperation he doesn’t quite feel to mask his mounting panic. “How are you going to—“
“I-it’s not that!” Luke interrupts. “It’s...you.” He looks down at his hands. “I trust you—I mean, I want you to trust me. So if you did try to hurt me...that would mean I broke that trust.”
“And you think that warrants your death.” It’s not a question, and Luke doesn’t move to confirm or deny it. Instead, he looks faintly like he’s going to throw up.
He’d fucked up. “Ahh, what am I doing!” Guy’s voice cracks, but his false cheeriness is still hard to beat. Years of practice and all that. He ruffles Luke’s hair, overwriting his tension with surprise. “Forget what I said. All that’s important is for you to live, got it?”
“But—“
“No buts. If you trust me, you’ll stay alive.” That one‘s a low blow. But it’s for a good cause, he rationalizes.
“...Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I promise I’ll stay alive. Because I trust you.” Luke is quiet, but he looks him in the eyes.
The morning sun is just starting to rise, but dawn is cold as usual. Guy breathes out, a weight he didn’t even notice lifting off his chest. His younger self would’ve hated the idea, no doubt, but now all he wanted was to see Luke live a long, happy life.
A simple wish, but the world had a way of denying him those.
(And when Luke declares he’ll sacrifice himself to clear the miasma—save the world—this dawn memory only comes back to mock him.)