#fic like

"Maybe you just suck at this." As Ink had on chess, his king falling by Nightmare's own pieces in a period of time that kept shortening every play. As such, they had resorted to cards, dominoes, and dice. The games became simpler to play, and easier to explain, once it came the inability of Ink forgetting one or two of their rules. Ink caught his own die in between his naked fingers, to where Nightmare could peer upon the uncommonly seen darkness of his palms. Funnily enough, it was because the gloves that Ink wore did not survive the splash of a fallen inkwell. "Or maybe you're not really trying."

"A game of chances doesn't need an intentional attempt, unless you're speaking of superstition." And Ink was a creature of belief, Nightmare knew that very well. Had he been able to gauge Ink's limits better, ever-changing as they were in his many moods, he would have poked, implied that They could ever show Themselves real in a thing so insignificant as a game. As Nightmare didn't want their meeting to end quite so soon, he did not. "Although I must admit that I start to hold more belief in the idea that there is something that you did to your die."

"We could swap dice—" Ink said, shrugging his comments off like water to fish scale. The desire to see him frown at him instead was counterproductive, so Nightmare pointedly ignored it. "—and I'd still win. It's all about the... vibe. The jazz."

"The music genre," Nightmare said dryly, eye following the way Ink's die fell on the table again, a six once more. It had been annoying the first few times, and so were the rest. He had never prided himself in being a good loser, after all. "I believe you're mocking me."

"Hm? I'm not."

The way his eyes crinkled up didn't inspire much trust in him, nonetheless. He did not look down when he saw Ink shift, his searching hand catching the small cube within it once more.

"Well, Night, what I think is happening is that you're seeing the six like the ending," Ink purred, his chin falling on the back of his hand, elbow on the table, while his other hand brushed through the air in a lazy stroke upwards. He smirked, the gesture somewhat cocky in how easy it came to his expression. "And I see it as a mean to the ending, so it's not that important and it's way easier to get. Pippins love me, monsters fear me. Go fish."

A huff. Instead of dignifying that with an answer, Nightmare gestured to his closed fist. "Just give me your die."

Ink snorted, but did not refuse his petition, straightening up until he sat straight. He dropped the die on the table, the cube rolling down to a stop in front of Nightmare. When he picked it up, swapping it with his own, it felt only natural to roll it. He couldn't understand it. Ink did not play proper chess, he could not maintain a stoic expression on the cards, and he wasn't anything special with the dominoes. However— he would be daft to ignore the simplest of explanations. Ink was the one who painted them. It wouldn't be too strange to imagine him creating him unequally.

And yet. When the die rolled, it wasn't a six. Nightmare felt tempted to do it again, and so he did. A four.

Ink rolled his own die, the one he had taken from him in exchange, and it crashed against his own, weak enough not to fear neither of them leaving the table. Instead, it bounced just so, before slowing to a stop. The pale face that stared at the ceiling held six black dots on it. The victorious smirk that Ink gave to him resembled a fox's.

"See? You still suck."

"You're still a guest of mine," Nightmare reminded him, his eye twitching just so when Ink smiled at him all the same. Even so, he couldn't deny its appeal. Confidence was a power of its own, after all. And he was already fond of him. It was only natural. "Were you anyone else, I would expect more politeness out of you."

"But I'm not anyone else, am I?"

A wink. As if it was a guiding gesture, Nightmare looked away, both annoyed and uneasy with the way the same reaction came to him like all the times before. The warmth in his face was familiar, but he couldn't disguise it any other way that was not feigning ignorance of its existence. "Please."

"Uh-huh. Gotcha. So— two out of three?" Ink said. When Nightmare looked back down, he saw his hand capturing both dice inside the trap of his fingers. "We could make it more... dramatic, y'know? Put more stakes in."

"Stakes," Nightmare echoed dryly, not so inspired by the inevitable threat of his defeat. "Betting, you mean."

"You always get me, pal." Ink made a gesture with his free hand, thumb up while his index pointed at him. It made him remember the way in which his brother gestured before an arrow materialized. It gave him the uncomfortable desire to evade its shape. Regardless, before Nightmare could properly react to it, Ink dropped it. "So— some gold?"

Was this a bait of some kind?

"I will not participate in this sick source of entertainment," Nightmare said. Naturally, Ink snorted at that, but did not offer anything. Seeing it as a cue for him to continue, he coughed, and added, "I see no reason for it. You've already proven yourself, have you not? It'd be senseless."

"I thought you liked me when I'm senseless," Ink teased. Nightmare gave no outward reaction to that, except for a flick of his tentacle that he couldn't quite suppress in time. "No gold, then. What about something bigger?"

He looked to the side, before his eye met Ink once more. Noncommittally, he said, "I believe that you're the one who desires something else entirely."

"That's so vague," Ink said. Nonetheless, he did not deny it, "What are you, a coward? C'mon. If you're gonna play the guessing game, I'm waiting for you to say something way more daring."

Would it be considered too delusional to imply that he wanted a kiss?

There was an impervious need to ignore the way his mouth seemed to dry at the fantasy, so he did. Instead, Nightmare allowed himself the temporary silence, letting his eye roam in the relaxed line of Ink's posture. Whatever he wanted, it was not something he did with so much strength. Either something already bestowed on him by his quality of being, or something so mundane that its acquisition didn't present itself as something too pleasant.

"So?"

"The dice," Nightmare decided, then, carefully keeping his eye away from Ink's face. Instead, it stopped at his scarf, barely able to pinpoint the messy writing that decorated its insides, like the imprint of organs upon the inner body. "You want them. Do you not?"

"I painted them, Nightmare," Ink said, a strange tilt to his voice. Amusement, perhaps. "You saw me do it. It didn't take me very long, either. What? Five minute tops?"

"I believe that it was more like three."

"...You just came up with the first thing you saw because you have no imagination, didn't you?"

Regardless of his choice of words, Ink didn't sound particularly disappointed. It looked like interest, when Nightmare looked up at his eyelights. They were quite a distracting thing like that, almost feline in nature, yellow and pink. A blink, and they were gone. Nightmare tapped his phalanges against the table, thoughtful. "That's what I would have done."

"Oh, yeah. Your awfully sentimental thing you got going on."

Had he been any more, he would have suggested a kiss. Nightmare clicked his tongue. "It has been quite a lovely night, has it not? I would have looked at the dice, and remembered your hands."

"Huh? That's freaky. Do you know you're freaky?"

"It is not something I hear often."

"I think you should. I think you're a freak," Ink said. Even so, he clung to the dice tighter. There was a weird look to his face, before he turned away, frowning. From that angle, Nightmare could only see a sliver of his eyelight, rose and delicate. And then, a smile. "Stars. Okay, I'll bite. You're so gross. I'll get the dice. You?"

"I'll make you read something to me," Nightmare said, after a moment passed. He licked his lips, then added, "Line by line. Until I find myself satisfied."

"That somehow makes you even more of a freak." Ink finally looked at him, somehow looking a bit more refreshed. "You're cray-cray. Nuts. Bananas. Have you tortured people like that before?"

He had not. "I will not discard the possibility."

That made Ink laugh, and then cover his mouth with a hand. A few head shakes were enough to break him from the trance, however, and he let the die fall onto the table. "Okay. Two to three, then?"

A nod. Nightmare picked up one of the dice. "We'll point to the lowest number."

"Uh-huh. Someone's feeling creative around here," Ink said. Funnily enough, it didn't sound ironic. His hand caught a die of its own, and that was that. "Scared of my sixes? Y'know the Pippins smell fear."

"I have forcefully acquired some respect for your skills outside of battle," Nightmare admitted. He stopped, for a moment, and then added, "And I suppose I could be considered to be Fear. In a literal way."

"I swear you weren't as corny before," Ink commented. He leaned forward, and, for an instant, Nightmare feared he would try to touch him— but then, the die fell. A three. "Can't you keep quiet when I say stuff like that? I feel like it'd add to your character."

"I would, but you're not the master of me."

Ink didn't deny it. As such, Nightmare decided to roll once more, following the way his eyelights dropped to the table. Seeing his face, he didn't need to see the result. A whistle came out of Ink's mouth as he raised his eyebrows. "You got me."

"Did I?" Nightmare said. When he looked down, however, there were only twin threes facing one another in the table. Something like bitterness bubbled up inside him at it, and he barely managed not to let it pool into a growl. Choosing to ignore his caprice, he forced himself to pick the piece back up and throw once more to break the tie. However, when he attempted to do so, he felt Ink's hand pushing his hand away, his fingertips barely grazing the die before being forced to withdraw.

His tentacle flicked again, before stilling.

"The point goes to the house," Ink said. As if it was a password of his own making, that made Ink take his own hand back. When he did, however, he picked up one of the dice, and cradled it closer to his chest. "See? Like a casino. Now we are one to zero."

Something in him seemed to relax at the ease in which Ink moved his hands. He huffed nonetheless, "I seem to have the feeling that casinos are not as familiar to you as you're trying to imply."

"Stop reading in between my lines." Ink brushed the other dice closer to him. Even so, Nightmare could see the way he was smiling. "And antagonize me more directly. Where's the drama?"

"You talk like an actor," Nightmare said. "I wonder what would it take for you to see this as something more than a play."

"What? I like plays. I think they're fun." Ink's die started to roll in his palm, practiced. Usually, when he threw, the turning was made in the air. They looked at each other, cyan to cyan. He wondered whether it was an attempt of intimidation. "But y'know, talking like that... If I see this as a play, then what's our deal? Two actors alternating spotlight, hm?"

"Oh, no. Instead, I presume," Nightmare said, "that you believe yourself an actor talking to a character that plays itself."

Something in his words made Ink pause, clumsy, his die slipping to the floor of the library. The object made a quiet sound, muffled by the fur of his carpet, before Ink reacted, leaning down just to. Nightmare saw it happen, Ink's hand reaching down before stopping. At that angle, he couldn't see his face when said, "...Ah, six."

The highest number; an instant defeat.

Ink straightened up, pressing the die against the table before letting it go, the black dots greeting Nightmare's eye as Ink withdrew his hand. It had not changed numbers, in the transition between floor to hand. As such, it remained the same against the mantle. "Two points for you, and zero mine. Guess that makes you the winner, hm?"

They met each other's eyes again, and he licked his lips. Ink was frowning. "Not quite yet. I still have to roll mine."

"You so suck, y'know?" Ink said. "Stretching it out like this isn't a need. Even with a tie, you'll—"

"If it is a tie, we will repeat all the rolls." One of his tentacles flicked against the air, stretching a muscle that did not exist. He lied, "I was never a fanatic of the division between guest and host, anyway."

Ink gave him a weird look, which he promptly ignored. A sigh. He took his own die in hand, rolling it once, then twice, and threw it to the table. The die spun a few times, before it finally settled over the mantle. A single black dot covered the face that pointed towards the ceiling.

The lowest number; an instant victory.

There was some sort of poetry on that, Nightmare thought. He knew Ink felt the same, as, when he looked at him, his frown had risen until it could be barely considered such. Instead, his mouth bore a smile, dumb in its unsure length. Soon, Nightmare realized that his own face mirrored such an expression, and he forced himself to cough just to allow it to leave. As his head naturally turned away for such a gesture, Ink spoke again:

"So— you wanted me to... write something? Read?"

"...Read," Nightmare corrected. Truth be told, he thought it impossible to achieve; his luck until now could only point towards it. But even then, he guessed that it could change. That, sometimes, he could go against fate. He looked towards Ink, and saw his chin being pressed against his palm, his weight against the table as his head draped over his hand. "I wanted you to read, to me."

"So? What's the editor's pick?" Ink said, gesturing to the books that decorated his walls. His personal library held hundred of them; naturally, Nightmare could come up with a few that would match Ink's cadence. It was a thought he had indulged on before, shamefully. This time, however, he already had a distinct idea. "Winner's choice? Are you gonna make me search for it as a power move?"

He saw the way Ink perked up, then, clearly not as against the idea as he seemed to imply. Seeing his straightened back, both palms now pressed against the table, Nightmare clicked his tongue. Then, he said, "Your scarf."

"...What?"

"The notes of your scarf," he said. "Read them to me."

The reaction was as expected. Naturally, Ink leaned to the side, then down, a river of black paint leaking from his gaping mouth. There was a moment, after it stopped, where Ink just looked down to the floor, as if contemplating the effect of his own surprise against the carpet. Then, devoid of guilt, he straightened up again. Nightmare couldn't help but look at the way a bit of vantablack still clung to the corner of his mouth, somewhat charming. "You— you sly dog! What do you even mean with that!"

"Ah, please. Do not be a sore loser," Nightmare tutted, leaning forward just so just to admire the way Ink reacted, a bird with ruffled feathers. "I told you, did I not?"

"I wasn't— stars, you planned that from the beginning!" he realized. His knuckles passed over his mouth, and the paint was cleansed from his face. Ink started to laugh, the melodic sound soon turning into a snort, which made him cover his lips with a hand. "Creators, you're so bad."

"Oh, very much so."

That made Ink laugh again, the sound cut short by the way his hand pressed tighter around his mouth, shoulders trembling. Ink shook his head, an odd expression in his face as he finally brought his hand down. He was vaguely flushed, a rainbow against the marble tones of his skeleton. He would have looked annoyed, had his voice not trembled slightly when he repeated, "bad."

Nightmare rolled his eye, unable to deny that he felt fondness for such a creature. He brushed Ink aside with a hand, giving him some time to settle. Sooner than later, Ink turned calmer again, although he never quite tamed the expression in his face, both frown and tense smile.

"So... You want me to read..." Ink said, his hands instinctively cradling the tails of his scarf. "This thing."

"Yes." He felt no need to gesture, although he allowed his eye to drop to the sliver of Ink's neck, and the cloth that covered it. "It is quite dear to you, is it not? And you... It would be... nourishing, to know what you find most important. The things you cradle closer to your chest."

"Freak behavior," Ink said. He looked away for a moment— and, for a moment, it seemed as if his blush deepened. When his eye let Nightmare's again, he was unsure on whether that had been a trick of the light. "You just want me to snitch on Dream, don't ya?"

"You don't hold my brother so close," Nightmare said, "if you're so keen on visiting me."

That made Ink snort. However, another emotion seemed to settle on him, as he looked away, the corners of his mouth twitching down. He stood up from his seat, then, looking down on the table, and, for a moment, Nightmare thought he had poked too much. Whether he had misread just how far he could push him before Ink snapped.

His train of thought was soon stopped as Ink pushed the dice away off from the table with a hand, soft thumps signaling the moment they touched the carpet. He didn't know which face he made when Ink turned around, sitting on the table with a single jump.

Nightmare was aware of the way he was staring at the way Ink dislodged his scarf from underneath him, pooling the tails on his lap, however.

"Let's just read it, then," Ink said, looking down at him. It wasn't quite a smile on his face, even if in appearance it mirrored it very closely. His eyes were wrong, cyan and purple. "I'm gonna censor some things, though."

"Naturally," Nightmare said, finding his mouth startlingly dry. He refused to look down at the way Ink's scarf remained just close enough for him to read the text by eye. This worry of his never quite disappeared, even as Ink's hands started cradling the tips of his scarf, denying him the same closeness. "It is just— I was just wondering. About you."

"Me?" Ink repeated. He finally made a proper smile, the tilt of his head making him look confused. Or, perhaps, the emotion was sold on the way a question mark shaped his eyelight, before a blink wiped it off. "...I don't write a lot about me here. Mostly just stuff I have to do for other people."

"There must be something that you've written about yourself, for your eyes alone," Nightmare said. "That— is what I want you to read. The thing I desire to hear."

Freak behavior, Ink would probably say. Instead, he hummed, and looked down, dropping the tails of his scarf just to press a hand against its core, to where it pooled over his clavicles. He stopped for a moment, thoughtful, and pulled, widening the circle of it until he could read it as one would a parchment.

"Your name," Ink started, his voice acquiring a certain tone that allowed him to know he was reading, "is Ink. And you protect the multiverse. It's— y'know. Just in case I forget."

Nightmare kept quiet, unwilling to let the trance stop. He swallowed, his arms crossing over the table. He felt too open.

"The multiverse is made from multiple AUs, which are derived from a single media, named..." Ink glanced at him, then coughed. "The Creators of these AUs are important. Basic stuff. They love you, and you love Them."

He continued, "This part here is more... about interactive things. There's... people, that see you as a friend. I list their names here— y'know. Broomie, the others. Avoid these AUs, since they're multiversal aware... Script— fate stuff, too. Okay."

"Continue," Nightmare said. "If you may."

When Ink's blush deepened, then, it looked real. The sensation of it didn't appear pleasant, as Ink frowned with it. He kept looking down, to his scarf, "You have truces. The most important one right now is with Nightmare, and his guys. You'll know it's him, because..."

A cough. Ink looked to the side, his frown twitching. He muttered, "...Geez. Okay, this part is not important."

"It is about me," Nightmare said, disappointment feeling him at the chance of abandoning his own character before its resolution. "Unless you wrote something so uncharitable as to avoid mentioning it altogether, I don't see why—"

"A woobie," Ink blurted. Nightmare blinked at him, slow. "I mean, it's not— You'll know it's him because he looks like a woobie."

"...Pardon?"

"I see you have grown familiar with my little... device, brother," Nightmare said. To say that it was little would be quite a misrepresentation, for it was capable of holding all of his brother's team without much trouble. It resembled— and was heavily based on— the Barrier of this universe's Underground, something not made out of pure human magic but rather of a collection of feelings that mended together into shape.

It was quite easy for him to replicate, of course. Which had led into this situation.

In front of him, tinted green by the shape of the magic barrier, pure negativity, Dream scowled. An unfitting expression, of course, although it had grown onto him the more he saw it appear. As a child, his brother was never allowed to show such an unbecoming frown.

"So it was you." The rise in negativity: of course he was the cause. Dream's blades met the hue of the magic, making a clinking sound as if crashing against glass. Next to him, his knight, an Underswap variant of a Sans, was less violent, merely testing the hold of the barrier with a foot. He seemed to be expecting it to burn, as the tap was always followed by withdrawing his foot with startling speed. "A trap? I didn't think you would use such... underhanded things."

"Isn't it said that everything's fair in war?" Nightmare's tentacles flexed; and as so, his own team came out of hiding. As their souls carried his mark, their emotions could not be felt by Dream's animic sight. A show of his strength. "Besides, I desire not to injure you. I, merely, want to discuss something with you."

"Discuss," Dream repeated, dry. He lowered his blades, and his pose fell, although he could see the murderous glint still in his eyes. Nightmare would not come any near until it, too, faltered. "You want to discuss something?"

"Indeed," he said. He walked— keeping his distance while circling the circumference of the barrier itself. Shades of green; he could almost fool himself into thinking he could still see the yellow of his brother's cape and the azure of Blue's gloves. Dream never gave him the sight of his back, turning with him, while his knight stood his ground, overseeing his men from where they revealed themselves out of the woods.

Greatly outnumbered. They were missing a member.

"Brother, where is he?" He said, the sounds of his steps dying down as his walk gave way to a stop. "The pale one."

"You know his name," Blue said. When Nightmare tilted his head, mildly interested, he took notice that he still was not looking at him. Still on guard. "He's not here."

"You must be lying," Nightmare said. Ink would have told him if he decided to abandon the Stars altogether— if they weren't there, as they weren't ever before, that'd only mean exile or sickness. "Tell me the truth, Star. Unless neither of you are interested in talking with me no more, which— well. Would lead to these gentlemen doing the talking instead."

An effort to corner something already caged.

"You don't want to talk," Dream said, upon seeing his team get closer to the barrier. They could not touch, not without crashing with the magic, but he could see that the gesture brought him anxiety. "Do you, brother?"

"You hold me in such bad regard, Dream." He shook his head. "Do you truly believe I wouldn't attempt, at least once, to end this without a speck of dust? Do you think of me a beast?"

"You're my brother," Dream said, strained. Nonetheless, he was smart enough to raise his weapons again. Twin swords. "I know you. What do you want?"

"Leave." His tentacle twitched, and Killer pressed the tip of his knife against the barrier. Even as it was connected with Nightmare's own magic, he didn't feel the pain of it when he started to cut it open. "Let me claim this universe, and the people inside. Let me own the ground and the misery within."

"There's people here." His brother's knight interrupted. Similarly tainted with positivity at the soul, he couldn't quite discern his emotions. But he could recognize disgust. "There's children here."

Emotions were always at their most tasteful when they were still untouched by the complexity of higher conscience. "I'm aware."

"Their hopes are mine to protect," Dream said. "No, we won't do that. You—"

"Then," he said, the corners of his mouth curling up, "I suppose you just have to show me just how far your desires—"

The touch of bristles upon his back, flexible. They found the weakness between his tentacles, and pushed gently. He tensed, and his words died in his throat.

"Hey," Ink said. He didn't have to turn around to see that they were smiling. "Sorry for coming late."

"Guardian," Nightmare greeted, courteous. He could not turn back upon the implied warning that any false move would be answered with acidic paint on his spine, even if he knew by now that Ink would not dare. Their vial of paint, a gift, weighed down on his pocket. "How fortunate of you to appear now. You quite resemble a shadow."

"A shadow," Ink repeated, and the pressure on his back lightened ever so slightly. There was no need to fight just yet, as his attempt to intimidate his brother's team ended with them being just far enough that the idea of one of them interrupting without risking his wellbeing was unthinkable. "That's so abstract, y'know?"

"Well," he started, looking to the side just to toy with the idea that his answer truly needed contemplation, "it only felt fitting, considering that your absence left me quite... rattled. And, as I hope you're aware, you're of silent steps."

"That's all you," Ink said. They sounded quite entertained, and acted as so, tapping him lightly on the back with the bristles of their paintbrush. "Caught you monologuing over your— what? Green ball?"

"My barrier," he corrected, although he couldn't help but add, "although I can't deny it does resemble that, does it not?"

"It does!" Ink said. "I was like— y'know. I mean. It is nice looking, sturdy— but it's all— simple shaped. Couldn't you have made it a cube?"

"There's a certain elegance to the sphere," Nightmare argued. "Even, smooth. No angles— or maybe an infinite amount. Does the sun and all its planets share that shape?"

"Hm. Not evenly," Ink said. "Not in all AUs."

"My mistake," Nightmare said, "to ask both the astronomer and the wanderer."

This time, their paintbrush met his spine a bit more firmly. He heard Ink snort, however, and he knew they were not upset. "Hey. But really, what's the deal with the ball?"

"Of magic composition, a barrier," Nightmare quoted, "of wishes, a shield."

"Ha! So you are familiar with the common worldbuilding, after all." He heard the crunch of the snow as Ink walked; paintbrush still in hand, threat still present. He had missed the sight of their fanged smile. "Of our magic, a single illusion for humans to conjure?"

"Not quite," Nightmare said, leaving it as that. He shook his head. "This, of course, is only reliant on my magic."

"Only on yours?" He followed Ink's eyes as they went down— up to meet his own eyelight. An once-over. "You're looney. That looks pretty sturdy, how are you not falling down by now?"

"You'd be impressed by my magic skills," Nightmare said. Ink smiled at him, a glint in their eyes, and he had to cough to hide whatever sound he was about to make. "I found a way to... make its creation more efficient, of course. I would not falter in such a foolish way."

"Barrier making? More efficient?" Ink whistled, and he saw the way they check him out once more. "You're such a nerd."

"I prefer to think of myself as an intellectual."

"Right," Ink said. "A man of a thousand hands and a million thoughts. Because you're so smart."

"Such a sharp tongue that you have," Nightmare commented, trying to ignore the way in which they were gravitating closer. He would not steal a kiss. "Combined with your clever steps, it's no wonder that you appear to me as a shadow."

Ink smiled at him, head tilted. "Would that make you the sun? Or the lamplight?"

"Neither." No, he preferred to be the ground. To hold the shades in itself— to invite it in, as the sun devours the world. He leaned closer; if he did so just enough, he'd be able to breathe in their scent, paint and rainwater. "No, I would not—"

"Brother," The sound of his title immediately snapped him back to the moment; he turned his head around, and the situation had not changed. They were still about to fight— they were still looking at him. "...Brother. The people inside this universe are not yours to take. I challenge you for their safety."

"...I've made a mistake," Nightmare said. Ink looked up at him from his place, sitting cross legged on the floor. They placed the book down. "This— a horrible mistake."

Ink just stared at him. The question marks of their eyes made him die a bit. They smiled at him. "C'mon, you're a confessed torturer. Can't be that serious."

But it was. He briefly considered sitting down, just to see them eye to eye, but Ink was already up and coming closer. The motion resulted on their elbows resting on his desk, their torso leaning forward.

"Hmmm?"

He really should have planned a better scenery for this kind of thing. Still, he couldn't let himself be intimidated, much less so when Ink was being so brave about it. "You're cruel."

This was not the response they expected. Nightmare saw him get their arms back to their sides, their back straightening. Ink's lost face stared back at him, their eyes wider than usual.

"You—" he couldn't help the way his hand shielded his mouth for a moment, as if he couldn't figure out the reason why his voice was acting. "You're— all I think about, now."

He had to fight against the instinctual need to hide himself like a child. It was sickening. He had vowed to himself to never let himself feel this small. And yet.

"You plague my mind," Nightmare said —as his hand went down from his mouth, it landed on his chest, squeezing the fabric with the need to touch— "since when, I don't know."

Ink's breath hitched with realization, flustered like one who'd suddenly find their seed peeking out from the ground in leaves. Oh. Oh!

"I don't know how," Nightmare continued, something like bitterness on his tongue before it cleared to something warmer. "But you've— you've enthralled me. I want you. As such, I need you."

"...huh."

"If you want me to beg—" Nightmare took a moment. Whatever he was about to say died in his mouth. "All I need now is a promise. An attempt. Anything."

"This is— hm. This— y'know—" Ink fidgeted with his hands, surprised when he found his cheeks warm. It was a sickening, horrible feeling. It tasted purple in his mouth, it tasted pink. The same feeling willed him to cover his mouth with both hands, unwilling to let it out on the floor.

When Nightmare looked at him cover himself as if he had something to hide, Ink felt something new. A new type of fear he never knew before. Why?

"...Of course," Nightmare said after a moment. He had never seen Ink turn those colors before. He wondered if this view would become familiar to him. "This means that if you accept, I'll make sure you're taken care of."

Ink looked at him with a type of confusion so sharp it was almost disgusted. "...Huh?"

"A truce between lovers would be quite a solid thing, don't you believe?" He said dryly, his fingers twitching with the dread of someone who hasn't been told yes. "Whatever you need, I'll acquire it for you. Whatever you want, you'll have. But you'll give yourself to me."

"But not the AUs," Ink said after a moment. He couldn't distinguish the emotion in his own voice as he put his hands down. "You wouldn't stop your show just to have me, won't you?"

"I'm afraid not," Nightmare said. His eye looked down on them. He couldn't help but smile bitterly. "Of course not. You'll make no slave out of me."

"...You're funny," Ink murmured. "I like you. You're— you're intriguing, dynamic. I'd like to know where your character arc is going. I like your color palette."

"...Is that a yes?"

"I don't see why anybody would choose to feel sadness," Nightmare said. He moved closer, just enough so his thigh would brush against Ink's. "You have happiness beneath your fingertips, courage... affection. I don't see why you'd take the option of suffering through your own sadness when it's unnecessary."

"Well—" Ink looked to the side, in thought. As he looked back at him, as if sensing something in Nightmare's expression, he smiled. "—what's it to you?"

"Pardon?"

Ink kept smiling. "Why would I drink the blue when I could just not do it?"

Nightmare looked away. Even when their joining hasn't been recent, he still struggled with keeping a poker face whenever Ink smiled like that. "...Well—"

Nightmare thought about it for a second, maybe more. Naturally, his thoughts drifted to the very balance he chose to forsake. "—You can't feel happiness if there's nothing to compensate it for."

"Nope," Ink said. "Not for me. I could just feel happiness all the time, if I wanted to."

"It's a thing about contrasts, then," Nightmare said instead. He closed his eye, unwilling yet to look at him. "You can't enjoy happiness if there's nothing to compare it to."

"You're getting colder," Ink said. He tilted his head, as if to look at Nightmare better, before he took his hand, slipping something inside it. When their eyes met, he didn't make any particular expression, yet his eyes shone with the hue of someone in the middle of reading. "Think again?"

"Hm." Nightmare turned his head to look at them, accepting the offering without any particular word. By its shape, he already knew what it was. His next words were hesitant, a bit clumsy: "maybe... You drink it to look normal. People wouldn't accept someone that wouldn't feel as they did."

"Pf. C'mon, now that's just depressing," Ink said. He snorted when Nightmare just gave him an unimpressed glare, which he promptly responded with an elbow to his arm. "You're thinking about it way too hard."

"Am I, now?"

"You totally are," Ink said. "Making stuff way more complicated than necessary— you do that a lot, y'know?"

He could feel his eye twitching. "Won't you just tell me?"

"I will," Ink said. He faked a yawn. "It's rather simple, really— mhm. A simple, simple thing—"

"Which is?"

"Huh, impatient," Ink said. He winked at him when Nightmare made a huff. "Y'know. Usually people just do stuff because they feel like it."

"Because they feel like it," Nightmare echoed, feeling somewhat disappointed. Still, this didn't clear his question. "But why? Why feel sadness, when it's a feeling everyone would rather discard if the choice arose?"

"See? Thinking way too hard about it."

"Ink— I insist. Is it not about the contrast? About normalcy? Why to feel, when it's—"

"An emotion," Ink said. "You're weird, y'know?"

"You— You vex me," Nightmare said. It was like trying to do a puzzle in the dark. "Incredibly so. You choose unnecessary, undesirable things— you love to make your own life more complicated than it should."

"Then we're the same," Ink said. His hands felt twitchy, so he looked down to look at them, curious of the way they dug into the cloth of his overalls. As in echo, he commented, "I don't get it. Why insist on knowing? Isn't it enough to just... let it be?"

"A life without knowledge is nothing better than the life of an animal, you must understand it well. Though...—" Nightmare looked down at him, at the way his hands seemed confused and lost. "—Though I assume a life without emotion is nothing better than the life of a machine."

"It's not," Ink said quietly. He took a moment before he looked up again. "...Still. You're pretty much a weirdo."

"...I've been called worse," Nightmare said after a moment. It felt somewhat disgraceful to know that he wasn't speaking in deceit.

Ink smiled at him. "Y'know... I wasn't lying. I do it just because, because I like feeling blue. Even if there wasn't any yellow for me, I'd still choose to drink it every time. I'd still like it, even if it was my only emotion."

"You're lying to me," he said. Ink only kept on smiling. It was not a lie. "...Where is the beauty in sorrow?"

"Where's the beauty in joy?" Ink echoed, almost teasingly. "You're a complicated guy, Nightmare. But that's why I like when you get serious with me."

Nightmare raised an eyebrow at him as Ink's hand insisted on his own, making his phalanges close on the vial of glass within. As if Nightmare would have ever let it fall.