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The crackling and popping sounds of the fires beside him was the only thing he heard, along with the screams of eternal agony that pierced through his ears and was sure his eardrums would burst. He wanted to cover his ears, block out all the blood curdling screams, but when he did, the sounds still echoed in his ears loud and clear. Burning, bright shards of fire passed through him, yet it never burned his skin. He didn't feel the warmth of the fires around him. The ground was dark, spilled blood boiling underneath his feet.
His eyes widen in shock as a familiar figure appears through the fires. His breath catches in his throat and he starts to shake. He saw a glimpse of her. Her black hair was a sprawled out mess, skin and flesh flaying off of her face in layers. Skin melted off her forehead, flesh almost cooked. Throughout the raging fires, she reaches out for him. A singular hand, holding their engagement ring in her ring finger, her fingers almost fully charred, phalanges exposed, almost like it was about to fall off her bones.
“Daniël… Daan…” she calls out, her voice barely heard throughout the anguished screams and the loud crackling of fires. Her voice was in a whine, almost at the edge of tears. Quickly, in a state of panic, Daan reaches out for the woman's hand, desperate, only to see Elise fall to the ground. The flames completely consumed her. Next, he heard a laugh. Cold, emotionless laugh. It echoed to his side, and so he whipped his head to the side. There he was. Tall and bulky, burning and peeling away, Eihner von Dutch. Just like Elise, his skin peeled away in thin layers and the fire cooked his skin. His eyelids were gone, staring at him with wide, beady eyes and a wide, almost inhuman grin. Blotches of skin burned away to a crisp on his face, his lips badly burnt.
Make it stop. Make it stop.
He repeated again and again, but it didn't. His eye rapidly switched from Elise’s burning corpse to the Baron’s sinister smile. Another, familiar giggle was heard behind him before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He reluctantly checked the hand and saw the familiar white gloves belonging to that feline. His breath immediately caught in his throat and he tried to move, do something, but he felt paralyzed in place, like sleep paralysis. What else could he do? He just wanted this nightmare to stop. He covered his eye and cried, and cried… and cried. He cried until his glands couldn't produce any more tears, while the cat whispered all manners of disgusting, deprived secrets of both his past and the cat's actions.
“Ah!” The man shot up with a yelp, his breath quick and unsteady. He holds his pounding heart as he tries to regulate his breathing. His eye darts around the room drenched in darkness, then calms down. He looks out of the window instead, covered by a transparent curtain, the world drenched in the pale moonlight and distant sounds of crickets singing.
“Mmm…” he heard a raspy, tired voice beside him, then the bed creaking. Daan turns his head and smiles just a bit at the person beside him. O'saa’s curly hair was in a state of disarray, and he could barely see the sleep in his eyes. He definitely woke him up with his yelp. O'saa rubs one of his eyes, muttering, “Something bad happened to you? I woke up to a sound from you.”
“Yeah… just a bad dream, don't worry about it.” Daan sighs, his voice hoarse and throat dry. He clears his throat, then reaches for the lamp on the bedside table. With a flick of a switch, the lamp lights the room in a soft yellow glow, finally giving O'saa a window to Daan's face. His pale face was dusted with red, his lip subtly quivering. Instead of his eyepatch, there was his missing eye, the place where his eyeball should've been was covered with pink tissue. His face and hair were damp with sweat, and his other good eye was red at the edges and puffy, tears down his cheek and droplets on his eyelashes. “Just… go back to sleep.” Daan added.
“In what a state you are in, I'd rather not.” The yellow mage refuses, sitting up with a groan. His earrings and bracelets were gone and he was shirtless. His lean stomach flexed and his strong arms tensed as he sat up. He slowly held the medic’s face, turning it to his. His thumb wipes off the doctor's tears, a strange, uncharacteristic softness to his gesture. Maybe he was simply misjudging? Maybe he felt pity? Daan knew O'saa hid his feelings behind spiked barriers, being part of a yellow mage ideology. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. All Daan could do was pathetically relax his face in O'saa’s rough hands, closing his eye as he allowed the mage to wipe the tears on his eyelashes away.
“Was this dream about your wife?” O'saa inquired, keeping his position on Daan's face, unable to let go with how relaxed he was in his arms. He was so easy to melt into a puddle. The medic only replied with a soft 'mhm’. A sigh left O'saa's mouth, more exasperated than anything, “You should clean up.”
The doctor pulls away, searching in the breast pocket of his silk pajamas for his handkerchief and dabbing it on his face, cleaning up the sweat and remaining tears. He folds the handkerchief and places it back in his pocket, murmuring, “I need a cigarette.”
He reaches to the drawer, pulls it back. He opens the case and draws a cigarette from the pack, placing it back and grabbing a lighter. He lights it up, his movements quick and clumsy as the flame from the small lighter ignites the cigarette, burning the filter and the tobacco. The smoke slowly lifts in the air, swirling in the atmosphere before dissipating. He desperately brings it to his lips for a drag. The mage just watched blankly. He never really had an issue with the nightmares and the nights where Daan cried and grieved over his wife. Grief worked its own ways with every person, adding the fact that he just recently lost his wife. Daan sighs, the sound exasperated and tired as he leans his head on O'saa's shoulder.
It gave the man comfort in such a simplistic action. He always thought O'saa would leave, knowing how expectant he is of everyone. But, for some reason, he didn't? Did O'saa see that he is in no shape to be left alone? He honestly… didn't understand him. He didn't even know what they were. He always held him after every nightmare so tenderly, always let him rest his head on his shoulders: like right now. He even slept in the same bed as him, but they never kissed, never did anything further than being a comfort.
Dammit, he just fucked himself even further with these thoughts.
“O'saa…” Daan calls out, his voice dropping, “Do you think…” He stops, gnawing on his cheek. He looks down, avoiding the mage's confused gaze for a few seconds before he shakes his head. If he even dared to ask, depending on O'saa's reply, he might not even fall back asleep. He takes the plunge anyway, “What are we? I—” He stammers for a bit, his throat dry, before he looks at the mage, unsure and scared of his response.
“...” O'saa remains silent, his face unreadable, which only scares Daan further. He fucked up so bad, he shouldn't have said anything. He tries to steer the situation, muttering, “Forget I said anything.”
He takes a longer, distressed drag, the nicotine and tobacco trying its best to organize his frayed nerves. He looks everywhere but at O'saa's face, not wanting to look at him for a moment longer. O'saa sighs quietly through his nose, a sound not unnoticed by Daan, then his cigarette is taken by the mage, the faint sound of the filter and tobacco burning with the lungful is heard. The smoke that leaves the mage's mouth fills Daan's nose instead with the acrid smell.
“In doubt of our relationship, my friend?” He inquired. He smokes one last time, burning the cigarette halfway through before he reaches over to place the cigarette on the ashtray. “I suppose I can assure you of our relationship.”
“What?” Daan stared at the mage, confused on just what he could be implying. There was a flash of a smile from O'saa, before the older man leaned in, connecting their lips together. He was shaken up for a few moments, before he melted against the mage's lips.
“I apologize for not doing this sooner…” The older man pulls away just a little to mutter his apology against the doctor's lips, “It was not my intention to make you confused.”
Daan didn't have any time before he was kissed again, but he didn't mind it at all. Instead, to show his appreciation, he tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, his hands reaching to splay across his bare chest. Their lips were moving in rhythm with love only they knew; no one else. In the heat of the moment, O'saa pushes the doctor back down on the bed and gets on top of him, putting his weight on his thighs. All the doctor could do is look up at the man taking control.
“I think you know what will happen next, don't you?” O'saa grins, meeting Daan's flustered gaze, watching how the man underneath him nodded. He's never seen Daan so flustered before, and the thoughts that invaded his head were not at all appropriate.
He leans down, pressing his hard body against Daan's soft one, their hands immediately found eachother, intertwining their fingers, as O'saa begins trailing a line of kisses on his neck.