IN A U-HAUL GOING 100 MPH

the first clue is the arms wrapped around their middle. they’re a nice weight; not too heavy, very warm, calluses in the right places -- it’s just that they were never there before. not in the morning, at least, and at night they’re usually only there on their way somewhere else, but that’s a different story. and arms are just arms unless they’re attached to a body, and so forth.

the point is, yun has no idea who the arms belong to. and to whom this -- proper four-poster bed with soft sheets and too many pillows -- belongs to. because it isn’t theirs. and to whom this nicely decorated and lived-in bedroom belongs to. not theirs. same story.

then there’s something odd: they’re watching themself from behind where they are on the bed -- that is, not on the bed, on the floor instead, watching those silks slide off a brown shoulder interrupted by swirls of black ink, all the way down to the tailbone like an arrow and a wink. yun knows that back. and now they know those arms.

“how long have you been awake, hm?” says a voice yun knows, even roughed by sleep, anywhere, and their eyes snap open even though they already were, shoved back onto the bed by nothing at all. those arms, the hands, travel up between their breasts, fingertips ghosting over the skin in between, lips pressing endlessly into their hairline at their nape.

“am i dreaming, zevran?” yun asks. his arms pull them closer, like gravity. they feel his warm, bare chest, his heartbeat, like hitting the ground.

“it would be a shame to lose such a morning to dreams, no?” he says, mumbling the words into their skin, so impossibly real it is like hearing it from everywhere at once. in yun’s other eyes they’re seeing him mouth it from above; in another they’re so close they can only see his lips make the motions; in yet another they’re watching themself close their eyes and sink further into his arms.

the second clue is the lake they’ve stopped next to, the sun pleasant in the sky through their light clothing. they haven’t shed their armor, haven’t set down their weapons by a tree. there is nothing here but the lake and the freckles on their skin.

and they certainly didn’t walk here. they didn’t even wake up. perhaps this isn’t even the same day.

“what is this?” yun asks, because their first question wasn’t answered.

“a reward, i think?” zevran says, putting a toe in the waters. “for a job well done defeating the blight.”

“a bedroom. house, presumably,” yun says. “a lake.”

“the entire world. whatever you want, amor,” zevran says, smiling something sickly. “me, obviously.”

it’s like hearing someone talking in another room, yun thinks. someone is pounding on the door, the walls, screaming at you, but you aren’t listening, because the sun is warm, and the water is nice, and you are too at peace for someone else to ruin it for you, even if that someone else is you. 

“the blight’s over,” yun repeats, tongue slow and heavy. “whatever i want.”

“anything.”

“what about the others?” yun asks. “what about my clan?”

zevran, the shadow in the shadows of the trees, doesn’t stop smiling. “they won’t be able to make it, unfortunately.”

the pounding on the walls is getting louder. “excuse me?” yun says.

“pardon me -- perhaps it is fortunate, instead?” zevran says, eyes mere glints in the dark. “you are the one always worrying about disappointing your clan, failing your friends. so isn’t it better for them to be out of the way?” 

it takes a moment to realize the pounding is actually their heartbeat, finally waking up. but there is nothing to wake up from. nothing twists, nothing leaves. yun’s body tenses, pulling back on that old shirt called get ready.

“no clan to look at you with accusation because you’d left tamlen to die; no alistair to all but call you evil for approving of blood magic and sacrifice,” zevran says, putting a hand on his hip all casual like there was any way he could even know all this, “no leliana to resent you for not believing in her maker; no morrigan to look down on you for being soft; no sten to disapprove of you for being weak.

“only me,” says the thing in zevran’s skin, smiling with his mouth. the worst part is, it still doesn’t look wrong. “and isn’t that better?”

the third clue.

“why only him?” yun asks of the -- demon, right, there was a demon -- wearing zevran like a threat. 

“you seemed to like me well enough,” it says, still using his voice, his words, all wrong, all right. “you have told yourself over and over again, haven’t you? you don’t care about me like you do the rest of your companions. you can’t disappoint me because you don’t care about me. because you only keep me around for sex and fun.”

the words seem to separate themselves from him become their own entities, hanging in the air, circling around yun like flies, like buzzards of their own design. some of them echo in yun’s own voice.

“isn’t it true, my dear warden?”

yun finds their left hand clamped on his jaw the same way they found themself by the lake; immediately and without transition. their knees sat damp, half in the water on the shore, zevran’s hair blooming out under the clear water that’s gone up to his ears in the lapping waters like bright sunny seaweed. there is a knife in their other hand. it’s sitting on his windpipe.

“and here,” the demon says, teeth in that mouth sharper than the ones yun knew, “is the proof. so is that a knife? or are you simply glad to see me?”

yun’s jaw hurt. dimly, they realize it’s because they’ve been clenching it.

“you see how easy it is to kill me? for you to kill him?” it continues, even while its -- his -- bobbing neck presses beads of blood onto the blade, runs down that brown skin criss-crossed with scars and ink and blossoms into bright red flowers in the water. it reaches up and presses the knife even further down. “you mean to argue that you care about him, yes? how is that possible? do you even feel any guilt?”

“you’re not him,” yun says. it doesn’t feel real. why don’t they care? they urge the knife farther. shut up.

“so, you’re going to kill me,” says the demon. “do it, then. i am not alive, and i cannot die. you know about the fade, yes? i am a concept. i am memory. i am what will keep you awake.” it takes his hand off the blade, dyeing the entire lake red. “do it. slit his throat to wake up. but i will be there, every time you look at him. i will be there, and i will look like you, hunched over his body like monsters do and a knife glittering red.”

yun doesn’t remember dragging the knife. maybe that’s another dream thing.

“lie to yourself,” it continues, maddeningly, blood bubbling out of his mouth like brooks, “tell yourself this isn’t real. but remember this: you don’t feel remorse. this doesn’t feel wrong to you. you are dead!”

the knife is sticking out of his chest, unblocking the dams on all those red red rivers, until eventually even the grass, the trees, the sky, is red, then redder, then black.

yun takes a breath.

remember this.

yun snorts.