imsorrymydearest

Nightmare? Maybe.

Every ounce of yourself slips away when you dream. Flushed out like water, like the ocean; pulling back, numbing your senses, dulling the lights to complete blackness. And then you come back as something like yourself again, when the tide comes back in, salt spray stinging your eyes, your nose, spattering your skin in beads of transparent freckles. What you felt - just a whisper of a touch - was amplified in electric jolts, like the world in your head was echoing, pulsing with your blood, every nonexistent slip of skin sending sparks coursing through to the bone, hazy and dreamy and distant, but agonisingly strong.

His skin - their skin - is cold, burning cold. It is tanned to a soft, honey brown, but solid and etched in deep, piercing eyes and beaming grin. Their hair is smooth and silky between your fingers. You barely register yourself reaching up to touch it, an arm wavering and extending out from atop of your sheets into the dark midair, and into the murky brightness of the dream's sky. But when you do, those shockwaves greet you with full, overwhelming force, like a drug, spiralling up your wrist and arms, boiling blood shooting into your brain and releasing in an electric shudder. A harsh breath escapes you at the action.

His eyes sparkle with dark laughter.

It is slow to register it all, never quite knowing when a dream starts, everything in it still forming before and around you as you existed in a haven that was nowhere and everywhere. Something dried and crimson stained a grass patch a stretch of a distance away from you, the grass warm and pastel to your eyes. It was bare and blackened to Alex's. His gifted mask was left bloodied and ripped amongst the flora of pinpricked white daisies, empty eyeholes stuck through by the green blades. A different shudder racked through your body when your stare lingered on it.

Hushing came from every direction - from the skies, which were blanketed with glittering silver-lined clouds and azure sleepy blues, from the ground beneath your curled up form, from the wind, murmuring in your head. Of course their mouth didn't move when they spoke to you. It didn't need to. This was his land.

The grasses flailed in seawater for a brief moment, your hands licked clean by the wetness, before it disappeared as soon as you glanced down to see it.

"You come. Come back to us. I've been waiting. He's been waiting since dawn."

The voice of seventeen children of the Moon, flowing together in a broken harmony. The sky glitched, froze into a sickening green, then returned to its clouded blues, cast over by the new night.

The water shifted, then lapped somewhere behind you. Your head swam and ached by turning to see it, but when you did, you could almost feel yourself smiling.

The fairy fountain pooled around the stone pillars and high standing circle, the water alight and glowing with pure turquoise. Rosy pink lights danced and bobbed over the surface, tiny white wings hovering and fluttering in their wake. The Ocarina.

BEN.

They said nothing else. Their smile never faltered, the pupils of his eyes expanded to cover their depths. An intensity of so many stares, all in one, watching you, reading you. Craving you.

And you were already theirs. Already his.

Everything's a horrifying, dizzying rush after the sweet calmness of the moment. Bronze hands grabbed onto yours, a tight, firm hold, and your senses reacted violently, jaw dropping and eyes widening at the almost sickening feeling of touch from a place like this. A place, a dream, that has been broken and shattered, reaching for reality but not quite there. Hands crossing beyond the boundary of what's imagined, what is and what is not, honing onto physics after mastering and manipulating the mind.

Fingers dug into your skin, round, unhinged eyes boring into yours. Their face is right in your stunned stupor, breaths nonexistent. To look at them too long is enough to kickstart a sort of madness. He won't ever stop smiling.

When damp, lightning lips pressed against your own, the fountain swam in itself, painting itself that same stark neon green, glitching in digital squares of black and white and red, flashing up into the clouds before sparking out. They taste of apples and chlorine and a subtle sweetness, and it floods your senses with their tongue, green locks tickling the skin of your flushed cheeks. What can be felt has been made numb, returning with full force every few seconds, enough to get drunk off of. A heat that's freezing cold and bright with electric charge, and something else, something new and ancient, a secret, under the Moon.

Blood drips, then ʂpiʅʅʂ like the fountain, down your back, running over the grassy grounds beneath you like honey, painting the greens red. Then blue. Then red again. It doesn't hurt.

BEN's smile grows when they let out a gleeful chortle, not at all deterred. A mocha hand dips down to slide through the redness, soaking it up, eyes deepening into midnight voids. Their lips are slightly swollen, and they grin contentedly. They want to do it again.

They know you do too.

Wings have grown from the watering of blood. They are dainty and delicate, glossed with angel white, slightly see-through and glittered with Divine Magic. From over the hill, the Mask Salesman watches on, at the sweet sight of BEN and his Mo❍n. The Children are laughing, they are playing and singing in discorded celestia, spinning around maypoles and bunting in navy and silver and white and gold.

In the still darkness of the night, your bedroom hums and glows with the light of your computer, at the corner of your desk. It glows that same green, flickers with your pulse.

Arms hold you tightly. They coil like snakes, and strangle like one too, squeezing tightly, grin sharpening in turn. You do not fight it. You will not fight the bite of a Moon Child's love.

Their lips drag against your skin, wetting the skin of your cheek and the corner of your mouth slightly with the movement, forehead pressing against yours. BEN's gaze locks onto your big Bambi blinks, transfixed. When you relax in their hold, they hold you closer, your skin aching against the feeling of the blazing chill. Your blood is electric and raw in your veins, pupils dilated.

You are safe here.

They're glad you did that.