Chapter Text
There’s an angel outside of your house.
Well actually-there’s been an angel there. For multiple days.
It keeps showing up, every day, at the same time for the same lengths before disappearing with a blinding flash of light. From the start of dusk to night time. You’re pretty sure it started maybe around last week. Initially, you mistook it for a rather bright star, and took a photo of it on your phone. You had been a bit concerned when it stayed there, then decided to ignore it. Ignoring things that trouble you typically goes well, as long as they aren’t immediately dangerous. And it always keeps a good distance away from you, hovering over the surrounding forest like a bright, LED sign of your impending insanity.
You try not to look directly at it. The light it exudes is so bright that the surrounding forest underneath is completely illuminated, as if it’s day time. And it’s a sizable portion of trees, too. You went out one day and measured it, estimating the light proximity to be somewhere around the size of your whole house. You ordered a pair of those solar eclipse sunglasses afterward. They perch safely on your nose every night, and make it a bit hard to walk around the house.
After the third day of that giant ball of light hovering outside your house, you had started looking into guides on what to do when a giant star is mad chilling right outside your abode. It was all super exciting, though you haven’t heard back from any of the science journals you’ve emailed about the so-called star. Then, you had a random thought while lying awake watching an analog horror series.
What if it wasn’t a star?
Most of what came up online when you searched up guides on angels made you more anxious.
Don’t look directly at them. Don’t respond to them. Don’t accept their help. Run.
There were wacky writings about people burning alive and going mad and being blinded, which made some kind of sense because you were starting to get pretty shifty. Online guides started to delve into aliens and stuff before you called it quits.
You mainly call it an angel because anything else makes you a bit more nervous to think about. A star would be cool, and originally, you did call it that-but when it started to move… you figured ‘angel’ was better.
The first time it moved was on the fifth day. You had come back from your soul-sucking retail job (woohoo for customer service at the supermarket) and decided, yeah, today you’re gonna sit down in the shower. You got yelled at by your manager again for something you had no control over, and then she threatened to dock your pay, and… the day just kept getting worse. It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle it, you normally could take a few hits throughout the day. You were good at that, you could take the verbal abuse and the humiliation, but today felt especially awful. It was one small thing after another that kept on stacking up, and not to mention that someone stole your fucking lunch. The one thing you got to eat every day, which you looked forward to the most in your day. You had a pounding headache, you were nauseous and dizzy, someone’s dumbass kid threw up in aisle 5, and then you couldn’t find the mop… for ten minutes. And you got scolded again. For no reason! You were already going to clean the mess! You had the mop in your hand!
By the time you made it into the parking lot, it was later than the typical end of your shift-because your coworkers stuck you with the job of cleaning up the, get this, second puddle of unidentifiable liquid in aisle 23. Normally they weren’t that bad, they were … conveniently busy. When there were janitorial issues. You didn’t typically care that much and figured it should endear them to you if you did the nasty work, but no one ever really talked to you except to shirk that specific job on you. Then you got roped into closing, because you were too exhausted to protest.
It sucked. It sucked a lot, too, when you couldn’t even complain to someone about how shit the day had been. Everyone was friends already when you got hired. No matter how hard you tried to befriend someone by chatting them up or maybe hanging out outside of work, you just… kept getting turned down or ignored. You began to wonder if you were doing anything wrong. It was alienating.
So… yeah. The drive was okay, at least. And when you stumbled over the first step of the porch, you kind of wanted to go cry in the shower for a bit. That usually helped. But then you saw something blurry floating around in your periphery.
The window that you see the star from is located near the front of the house. You, a pack-bonding creature, always do a lazy wave or a half-hearted greeting to it. As per your routine, you turn to look for the star-and realize it is brighter than usual. In fact, it’s also bigger than usual, and after dumbly standing around on the porch for a second, you think it’s getting closer.
With a truly pathetic noise, you just groan and go inside your house, instead of going back into your car and driving off like you should have. You would do that if you had any remnants of your survival instinct still kicking in your retail abused shambling corpse . You chalked up the blurry glow to hunger induced hallucinations (plus the sleep deprivation, the dehydration, the mental disorders) and decided that if you died here, you’d die hella cozy. The moment you entered your bathroom and the hot water started pelting your back, you fell asleep standing in the stall. Like a horse.
The next morning, you smelled something burnt in your house. Half-awake, you thought: Ah shit. I burnt my body in hot water. Then, you realized you were no longer standing in the shower room, and instead you were parallel on a bed, sweetly comfortable and tucked in. You probably forgot shambling out the bathroom and dressing yourself, then falling asleep from sheer exhaustion-not an uncommon occurrence. You had even left all the lights on in your house, like a fucking idiot who wasn’t paying an electricity bill.
You got up to investigate the smell with a burgeoning sense of concern, noting that it was hours before your work alarm. In fact, the stars were still out-which meant your star should still be out there. You left the bedroom and peered out from your curtains to look, sidetracked from the burning scent-and then realized the star was… gone.
Well, no big deal. You turned and went into your kitchen to make sure the oven or the stove weren’t on, and halted in the doorway. You noticed two things.
There was the scent of freshly cooked eggs and some leftover food warmed up on a plate. You poked it with your finger. You must have made it some time ago, and woke up briefly because you were hungry. Then, you felt something gritty under the plate as you slowly moved it, trying to find the source of the burnt scent since your stove and oven were fine.
Black soot. You squinted, and the lights briefly seemed to waver. You must be freaking tired if the lights were doing that again. Man, it was bright in here- did you leave wood in the fireplace, too? How did fireplace soot get on your countertop? Moreover, when you tried to brush it into a napkin-it revealed a handprint. You cautiously laid your hand on top, feeling how warm it was, and felt confused by how much longer the fingers were. It was kind of creepy looking, each digit all spindly like a twig. They weren’t yours, were they? Could you have smeared it down? Where’d you even get this stuff?
It didn’t really matter to you. As long as it came off later with a wet wipe or some bartop scrub. You wiped your hand off on your teal shirt, which you didn’t remember owning, but you were a bit of a clothes hoarder. Whatever. Must be some old cosplay. And it smelled kind of good. Your headache was already going away, though that might’ve been just you inhaling the food.
You stumbled back to bed after reluctantly washing your dishes, and woke up feeling much better. You had a much more pleasant day afterward, finding it much easier to smile and brush things off when obstacles made themselves known. Your manager didn’t even put a dent in your mood, and your coworkers couldn’t make you feel any lonelier than you already were all the time. You did have to clean some spills, but it wasn’t a total drag on your day. And no one ate your lunch today, because you didn’t have one in the fridge! You bought something and ate it! It was a great day! Except that you couldn’t find your cigarette pack in your jacket.
You came back home and waved to the star, which had returned to its original spot. It seemed to flare for a second, making you squeeze your eyes shut. When you opened them again, the star was brighter, bigger again, and you wondered for a second if it really was coming closer.
Then, you began to see the light slowly move across the tops of the trees, and internally confirmed it: Yes, the star was fucking moving. It was getting closer to your house. And it was probably much faster than you could drive.
You panicked and immediately raced to your car, thankful that you at least had an emergency backpack in the trunk. Then, you felt your entire body vibrate with a sound that made you feel like your insides were churning and boiling in their sacks, like you stood right next to a giant bell or a gong and it rang through you, into you, beyond you. You stumbled against the door and felt an all-consuming terror as the urgency of the situation compounded upon your puny body and you wondered how long the star had been there, and you began to think perhaps it was some kind of stray missile or bomb-and then heard the sound again.
Words.
“Be not afraid, darling.”
You were so afraid, but something about that voice made every tight string in you loosen. You felt the hurt and pain of everyday living melt away against the warmth of those words. You suddenly thought of those stupid angel posts you once read so long ago, and only barely refrained from looking up as the light continued to swallow the earth. Nothing was on fire yet, but you were terrified that when it got too close-the star, whatever it was-would melt you whole.
The mental image of your molten body spurred you into action, and you frantically unlocked your car and started it. The voice continued to call to you, crooning, soft and cajoling, like- like someone talking to a stray cat. Your head swayed on your shoulders as you tried to resist, every comforting coo only making you feel more afraid. What an insane hallucination you were having, that was a goddamn bomb or something heading toward your house! The reflection of your rearview and side mirrors was so bright you couldn’t even see!
You sped off the gravel and before you knew it, you had already gone on autopilot and driven as far as you could to a gas station. You looked like shit, especially since you had come out of a late shift and couldn’t even shower afterward. There were a few people on the road at this hour, probably heading home like you were-and you were too tunnel visioned on getting the hell outta dodge to warn them about the impending doom behind you. Plus, what if you were … having a manic episode?
To distract yourself from spiraling, you turned on the radio. You felt your entire body tense as you heard them mention the light.
“--there it is again.” A raspy, accented voice spoke. “That star is falling towards the north woods near the twenty-four seven gas station.”
“It’s making a real funny path. Did you see the curve?”
You spent an embarrassing amount of time just driving mindlessly, listening to the old men talk about star configurations and moons, before you registered the time on the analog clock of your beat up car-and realized you had work in a few hours. You switched off the radio as you parked in a fast food restaurant lot, and breathed. Your racing heart slowed, and you felt some of the pure adrenaline racing through you ebbing away.
If the town blew up, at least you wouldn’t have to go to work. You numbly thought. You were too exhausted to really care at this point, and after some grounding, realized that your town hadn’t exploded yet.
And you were definitely having an episode. You probably just… imagined it. From exhaustion. Again. Fuck, you really had to stop taking the overtime and… maybe a day off would be better.
With an exasperated noise, you let your forehead rest against the steering wheel. Your eyes slid shut, and you were fully ready to snooze until your alarm-except that the light past your eyelids had gotten… brighter. The sun was already coming up, you thought, and slept.
Then, you jolted awake around thirty minutes later, thinking you were late for work, and drove home to get dressed. It was when you already had your polo on that you realized that the sun was not remotely supposed to rise around five in the morning. With a very minimal amount of dread and a very large amount of apathy, you walked outside and stared directly at the bright ass star-which was exactly where it should be. Your eyes hurt a bit.
“What’s your fucking deal?” You had no neighbors nearby to hear your hollering. “You’re just a star in the sky, you can’t even-I can’t believe I thought you were a fucking missile or something, holy shit. I need a vacation.” And a huge pay raise. In fact, you needed to win the lottery or something.
Your tired rambling devolved into muttering, and you stuck your hand in your jacket for your cigarettes-and sighed as you couldn’t find them. You ducked inside to grab a new case from the drawer and lit one up, sitting on the first step of the porch, smoking until the sun rose. Not your proudest moment, but whatever. It was a long ass night. You headed inside early to make coffee, and somehow made it to work five minutes late anyway.
Later during work, you started looking at guides about angels. Partly inspired by some random youtube video, and partly out of pure sleep-deprived paranoia. You wouldn’t say you’re particularly superstitious, but you were the type of person to say ‘better safe than sorry’ and do the strange things old sayings called for anyway. Which brought you to the very uncomfortable notion that you may or may not be really losing it from work, or… there was. An angel. Outside your house.
Today is the seventh day of the angel chilling outside your house. You’re starting to think that maybe it’s not malicious, but your eyes still tingle a little when you close them. You would schedule a doctor’s visit and maybe get them checked, but you don’t have insurance or the money to pay for that. You think the same thing about therapy. Working out regularly was a lot more affordable than that, and it blows off stress from your job. You’re fine on your own.
If you are insane, at least you won’t feel as alone, right? And if it is an angel, which it probably isn’t, you won’t be the weird guy from the cabin in the woods to the rest of the small town. Your coworkers would, instead, call you the crazy guy from the cabin in the woods, and they’d avoid you even more. Assuming they’d listen to you when you said it was an angel. Either way, it won’t make a difference to your normal life, would it?
And nothing really bad happened the night it got close while you were exhausted. You could barely remember. All that remained from that night was a gray handprint on your counter.
Mind made up, you decided to try waving at the star again, after work. You spend the entire car ride psyching yourself up, only to feel dejected as nothing happens after you do.
You linger a few seconds on the front porch, just leaning onto the railing and looking up at the star-angel-thing. “Man, you’re not gonna… rush me and kill me now?” You feel a bit dejected. “I was kind of expecting something to happen again, but maybe you learned that getting close will scare the piss out of me.”
With a glance at your phone to check the time, you give yourself a few minutes before you should head inside. Living alone for a few years has made you pretty susceptible to monologuing at the smallest inclination, but it’s better than endless silence. You start to ramble to the star. Initially, you feel kind of dumb doing it, but something about it is soothing. Before you know it, you’ve begun to relax.
“I had a pretty average day today. It wasn’t great, but compared to some of the bad days, I’m pretty thankful. I’m hoping I can keep saving up and… I dunno, maybe adopt a cat from the shelter. Pets are pretty expensive, so I want to make sure I have a good amount ready for trips to the vet and food and stuff.” You rub the back of your neck, looking away from the star and to the illuminated tops of the trees.
“To be honest, I dunno know if I should be taking in a pet. I’m just saving money for the idea of one, but I dunno if I’d be a good owner. I really like animals. They’re better than talking to people or…” you feel the cool sting of rejection, and think of your workplace.
“They’re supposed to love you a lot, unconditionally, right? It’s pretty pathetic and lonely of me, but I’d really like that, someday.” You scoff at yourself. “I think it’s a bit weird of me to go out and adopt a dog or a cat for that purpose, to be loved cuz I suck at…” You gesture vaguely with a hand. “... being a normal person. And… ‘peopling.’ But… a lot of people adopt pets for that same reason, and they seem pretty happy. Maybe I can have that too. It’s nice to have someone who relies on you-even if they have… no real choice. Er, maybe not someone, but an animal… Man, am I a freak?”
You chuckle a bit to loosen the self-deprecating stab of your words, and you feel a warm breeze gust past your face. It’s nice, soothing away the chill in your bones, and you sigh. The leaves rustle, and you massage your sore neck again. “It doesn’t matter. None of it does. I drove away from home for hours and nothing changed at all at work. Nothing at all. It was all back to normal-and I was the only one different.” And the words make you feel hollow. “I wish there were something that could take away all the pain. Not in like… that way, just… someone or something that it made it more bearable. To live. Normally. I don’t even need to be loved, I just want to be happy.”
Your head bows from your neck, and your shoulders slump. You stare down at the old wood of the railing, lost in your thoughts as your voice gets quieter. Your fingers pick at your jacket drawstring. It smells like nicotine, which is all you ever seem to smell like.
The echo of your words rings in your head. “Sorry.” You instinctively say. Then, an indignant frustration rises in you. You’re not even talking to anyone. No one is there to listen to you pity yourself. “Fuck, what am I apologizing for? There’s no one there.”
You say the words like they’ll come true. You can’t forget the sound, the voice that shook every piece of you alive with golden electricity. Every syllable felt weighted, pressure crushing down on you as you listened. And there was that weird, bell-like vibration, that reverberated through the earth and through your skull-what was that? Could you really have hallucinated all of that? From the combined factors wearing you away?
It’s fine, everything is fine. You can just ignore it.
You wake up the next day, uncomfortably hot. The sun is shining brightly into the room through the blinds, and you keep your eyelids glued shut to avoid blinding yourself. You blearily think you must have left the fan off to conserve electricity.
When a soft gust of warm air blows over your neck, your brow furrows, and you roll over to your other side. The small desk fan in your room is located on your night stand, but one of your numerous pillows is in the way. You fling an arm across it, confused at how hot everything feels. It’s also uncomfortably hard when you try to smush your face against it and squirm across the mattress, which makes you think it’s probably your laptop or the portable lap table you bought online. Blindly, you wrestle with whatever’s in your way and clamber over the pointy edges of something, sitting on your lap desk and slapping your hand on the nightstand a bit overdramatically. It was sweltering in the room now that you were slightly more awake, and the residual heat from the sun probably made it worse.
“A little more up.”
You blindly slide your hand up the fan, and contort to reach it more. The switch is right there, you know it is. “Yes, that’s good, but further back.” You move a bit. “No, the other way.”
You triumphantly turn on the fan to the maximum setting, sighing in relief as the cool air blows against your face. Your eyes squint open, the blurry and sunny room greeting your sensitive eyes. What time was it? Did you have work today? You really didn’t want to go into work. You close your eyes again, scooting off the hard ass lap desk in your bed and onto the edge of the bed to do your pre-workday slump .
You groan to yourself, realizing you didn’t even make yourself lunch the night before. “Fuuuck, I don’t wanna go in.” You bury your face in your hands.
“There’s no work today. I’ve called in sick for you. I’m rather curious why you’re only allowed to have three sick days. It’s quite cruel.”
Wowww, good morning to your completely imagined sexy boyfriend voice. Boy, your mental state was taking a nosedive this week. This dream was revealing some sad stuff about your subconscious. Whatever, may as well just play along. If you questioned it, the hot voice would go away, and you’d be left with the crushing weight of reality.
“Yeah, right?” You rasp. “It sucks like hell. I’ll get fired if I take more than three days off.”
There’s a sympathetic noise. “You should leave that place.”
Where’s your shirt? You grope around on the floor and find a workout top. It smells fine, so you can just spritz it with some cologne later and be done. You fold it haphazardly and put it on the pillow. Or you can just walk around in your boxers, it’s not like anyone’s gonna see you.
“You know I can’t just leave work.” You wave a hand. “I already spend so much on water, my savings will only last around a year-if I decide to just walk to town…” Muttering, you pick up your phone and turn it on to squint at the time and day. Ass o’clock, great, and a weekend. You should just go back to sleep, but a phone icon stops you.
Huh. There’s an unopened voicemail from your manager. That’s… probably not good. But you could just go back to sleep right now for a few hours and deal with it later, right? It’s so warm and you feel so cozy, and it’s already so hard to just get sleep sometimes. It’d be nice to sleep in. Today is supposed to be your day off, according to the nice voice of your dream boyfriend. You didn’t have to deal with your manager off work hours.
Sweet golden warmth spreads through your body and your heavy head slumps. Nah, you gotta take this. The last time you ignored her, you got a real ass kicking in front of everyone at work. She’s passive aggressive when you aren’t groveling. There’s no way you’re gonna face that humiliation again, even if you’re mad sleepy.
You tap the phone screen and play back the message.
“Quitting without a two-week’s notice is incredibly unprofessional-”
You pause the message, now wide awake. You stare at your blurry reflection on the phone screen. Quitting? When did you ever say that to her? Did you text it in some blaze of three in the morning drunken haze? You blink a few times, rubbing your eyes, and then continue the message. You should be freaking out more, you think, but you just feel… nothing. A bit of amusement at how pitchy her words got, but the typical anxiety that her voice inspires in you hasn’t appeared. Yet.
“-now I’ve got to deal with all of this paperwork and filing because your ass can’t be considerate enough to just write a few numbers.” Talk about unprofessional, she was cursing a lot for a voicemail. “You’re lucky someone else called in for you, otherwise I’d have chewed you out, young man.”
You cringe at the dog voice she used for the tacked on ‘young man’ she always calls you. What… guy ? Did someone call in for you? Did you sound different in the morning or something? You feel kind of proud that your voice sounded deep enough on the phone to get mistaken for someone else, but you also feel pretty sure she knew what you sounded like. Yeah, this must be a stress-induced dream turned nightmare.
“You’re filling in between eight am and twelve tomorrow, there’s no one else available to take the shifts. I don’t care if you’re having a family emergency-” Then, the message stops.
There is something on your phone. You swipe at it, pulling your hand back when you feel how warm it is. What is that?
“You’re not going into work tomorrow.”
You feel a bead of sweat drip down the back of your neck, eyes wide and blank as something wrapped around your nape. Your hands grip your phone, and you hear the bedsheets shift and bunch. The weight moving on the mattress makes you slide back slightly, and you stiffen. That warm air gusts over your head again.
The words that follow, you notice, have a slight echo to them. “You ought to be more happy about that. From what I could tell, it was a miserable job.” A gloved thumb swipes across your neck lightly, and you take a deep breath in. Your eyes seek out the corner of your bedroom where you typically keep your shotgun-which is missing. Shit. Where is the nearest blunt object? You could use your phone, it was practically a brick-but it was too expensive, you couldn’t risk it. Especially if you needed to call the cops.
“You came home so tired and dejected every night, darling.” The familiar moniker makes your thoughts halt. “You shouldn’t be spending your precious life in such a negative space. It’s not good for your health.”
You swallow dryly. There is a bat under your bed.
“You’re so much shyer when I’m up close like this. I quite like how quiet you can be, but I also like to hear a response every now and then.” The angel lightly hints. (Threatens. You’re in danger right now. There’s a stranger behind you with a hand on your neck, why do you feel so comfortable and safe? This couldn’t be the angel, could it?) You feel the grip tighten to a point of discomfort, and you lose the notion that this could just be a very strange dream.
Don’t respond.
You can barely speak. Your throat feels like it’s closing up. Every digit on your nape feels like it’s stunning, white, molten glass, burning through you and leaving black imprints on your bones. “Are you going to hurt me?”
Arms wrap around you from behind, and you can’t help the tremble of your legs. This is the most physical contact you’ve had in years, beyond brushing hands with people at the cashier. It all…
“Never.” The promise was sweet on his tongue.
It was all so nice. What a strange fantasy you’re experiencing.
“How did you…” Your hands are shaking as you lower your phone, and begin to squeeze the power button on the side. Just a few seconds, and the emergency SOS should go off. You feel sharp dismay as a hand plucks the phone out of your hand, and it’s put into one of your nightstand drawers. The voice continues smoothly, as if you aren’t trying to escape. It’s like it didn’t even happen.
The words are bemused, then wistful. “I’ve always been here. I’ve been watching you for some time. You would always wave hi to me when you came home from work. Will you still call me your star?” You feel him smile against the back of your bare shoulder. That’s more than enough.
You straighten up, your hands pushing against the arms caging you in, surprised to see them bend-and leap into action. You grab the metal bat from under your bed, brandishing it against the-
Don’t look at them.
It’s all so bright. You squint, though your eyes hurt as something comes out of its back. It’s raising its wings, you think, they’re a golden color that feels inviting and homely and welcoming, all things that you’ve lost for the past few years. You ache for the soft and sweet touch of its wings, think of how kind the feathers might be to you, even if you scorch and burn.
You can’t give in. The metal bat is starting to heat up in your hand. You can’t see its face-it’s all a brilliant white. There are two red spots where eyes would be, something yellow, and… a halo? Over his head? “What do you want from me?” You demand.
Its head tilts, though it’s hard to tell with it silhouetted against his luminous wings. “You think you’re in a position to negotiate?”
“Tell me what you want.”
It laughs, and the sound is horribly pleasant. Your arms weaken, but you stubbornly resist. “You wished for me, don’t you remember? What a silly creature.”
“I wish there were something that could take away all the pain. … just… someone or something that it made it more bearable. … I don’t even need to be loved, I just want to be happy.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, the afterimages of the angel breaching even the darkness beyond your eyelids. Mortification. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” You force your eyes to squint back open.
“You don’t have to feel embarrassed, everyone wants to feel loved.” You heard it-him? -standing up from the mattress. Your entire body goes taut, and you brandish the bat defensively from where it lowered without your notice. “Why are you so afraid?” It sounded genuinely curious. “You know what you wished for, don’t you?”
What kind of freak was this? Whoever it was, they were taking advantage of a vulnerable moment when you thought you were alone. There’s no way this was an angel, you must be drugged out of your mind right now.
You gritted your teeth, and shuffled a step forward like you were going to swing. You were ready to do so, even if some divine fury rained on you or something. The figure didn’t budge or flinch, though you got the sense of a brow raising in interest.
You’re not sure what’s happening, but you know that this guy is fucking weird and he quitted your job, which you’re kind of pissed about. Even if the job sucked. “You’re not an angel, you’re some…” You floundered briefly. Your ten thousand daydreams about what to do in the situation that someone broke into your house barely prepared you for this. “I dunno, some weirdo who eavesdropped on me. I’m not some damsel in distress, and I’m not a fucking dumbass either. If you don’t get the hell out of my house, I’m gonna cave your skull in. Don’t think I won’t.”
Then, there was silence. You felt like his stare was boring through you. Even though he wasn’t touching you anymore, it felt like your entire body was melting. You hate it. You like it. You feel warm inside, every cold and abandoned and neglected piece of you singing in harmony with the sound of bells and promised paradise. It eases your sore joints and your back pain and your fathomless loneliness, but you cannot fall deep enough into the spell to feel fully safe.
You feel your heart ache. This isn’t real. None of it is. Nothing this good ever happens to you. You would be stupid to believe it. Any moment now, you’ll wake up from this dream-or nightmare-and wish you just played along to the sweet siren song of the angel. Even a fake fantasy could help you get through another work day. But this was…
You focus on the discomfort of the hand on your neck before. It’s real. You’re pretty sure this is all real.
“You are presented with a cure to all of your hardship, your wish granted, companionship offered… and you deny it?” The echo makes the walls of your cabin feel unsteady. You even feel it through your feet, traveling through the floorboards like an earthquake. Your skull vibrates. Honestly, you feel a bit patronized.
“Yeah. I deny it. You’re suspicious as hell. You just-you just showed up in my bed! And you expect me to just roll with it like you’re supposed to be here? I don’t even know who you are!”
“… Dream.”
Was it confirming you were asleep right now, or…? “What?”
“My name is Dream.”
The lights suddenly go down, and you think Dream, or whoever it is, has put away the blinding wings and turned down the brightness on the room. You realize that the sun hasn’t even come out yet. There’s still some residual white light coming off the man before you, whose figure you see much more clearly. Whatever was blinding you before seems to have folded or tucked away behind his back, though some of the glow still illuminates the room.
“I must admit, I was very excited to meet you, and had completely forgotten my manners. For that I do apologize, my dear.”
“Aha, no no no. You can’t just play it smooth after breaking into my house while I’m asleep.”
“But I can. We’re partners now, you and I.” And it takes one step, and an arm loops around your shoulder before you can even finish your swing. A delicate black glove tips the baseball bat down, and you hear the metal sizzle as it lowers. The smell of melted plastic fills the air. Shit, you knew it was some cheap stuff.
“You wished for someone to take the pain away. You wished for someone to make you happy.”
A surge of euphoric bliss makes your body loosen, and you slump against its chest, held up by the bracing arm around your waist. “This display was rather amusing, but seeing you stress yourself out so thoroughly over nothing at all grew old for me quite fast. You don’t have to worry about anything anymore, darling, not when I’m here.”
You can’t move a muscle to grimace away from the hand that caresses your face. It ghosts over your brow and traces your cheek, running over your jawline. A quiet, satisfied hum accompanies the movements. You feel like a doll being admired by a collector. You hear the bat clang as it hits the ground, slipping from your loosened grip.
You try to squeeze your eyes shut as you feel it pinch your chin. “Ah-open those pretty eyes, darling.” Your chin is tilted up. You can’t look. The back of your eyelids are illuminated already.
“I said…” And everything becomes beautiful, white hot, blistering against you, every point of contact. “ open your eyes, darling. ”
It’s wonderful, blissful, and your shoulders slump as your eyelids lazily drift open. Why wouldn’t they? The world felt so kind and soft to you. It was never that nice nowadays, you may as well enjoy it while it lasted. It was a simple command, you just needed to open your eyes. It didn’t matter if you could see or not.
A surge of something like satisfaction makes your head spin. You sigh softly. The only grounding points you have are the arm around you and the hand on your face.
“There we are. I didn’t get a chance to see them up close while you were asleep. You have such lovely eyes. One could hardly tell you were so striking from so far away.” A thumb strokes under them, and you lazily wonder if it will take them out. Did it like your eyes that much, were they pretty enough to be kept? You wouldn’t mind too terribly. “I’ll entertain you for just a little bit.”
The slow, gentle movements of the hand caressing your face make it easy to fall further into the sense of security they offer. Inside of you, someone is screaming. With another blinding surge of affection, they are silent.
The voice takes on a crooning tone. “You’re so pitiful on your own. You need someone to care for you, to keep that unbearable loneliness at bay. You need me. You even asked me in particular. Don’t be so sad darling, it’s all for your own good. You know it too, just come to reason and stop fighting.” You close your eyes. They hurt. A last part is muttered, almost inaudible, and you don’t quite hear it right. “How could I not help you, when you’re so much like him?”
You’re carried back to the bed, and the fear bundled in your chest rises to a crescendo. “Hush now, I’ve only just met you. You’ll be fine, you just need to get some sleep.”
The angel tucks you in with a smile. You feel the brush of a feather on your face. It’s soft, soft enough to make you distracted from the touch on your neck. Something heavy and hot rests around your throat, secured in place without a buckle or clasp. You feel like you should be choking, but it just makes you feel soothed.
“There. No more terrible hysteria or terror or fear. Just me and you. Aren’t you thankful?”
How could you feel thankful when you could barely feel at all? You feel sleep slowly rising to meet you. Your eyelids begin to close without your permission, and the smiling pale face before you leans in close with fascination and adoration.
“You’ll come around eventually. They always do.” Another hand on your face, this time closing your eyelids. Your eyes feel uncomfortably hot.
A saccharine whisper. You shiver. “Sleep well, darling.”