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Recovery is a process. And like any, there are good days, and bad ones.
He has never thought to tell Eunbyeol about the dreams, didn't really think it was necessary, not anymore. Oh, they were frequent at first, leaving him sweat-soaked and breathless and, more often than not, with her name on his lips. The first night, he awoke in pitch black, wrapped in sheets that felt more stifling than comforting, and reached for his phone on instinct. He had nearly finished dialing her number before the panic subsided, the image of her, suffering from the effects of whatever poison Rika had concocted, fading from his vision, leaving him shaking and nauseous, yet lucid enough to know that she was sleeping and well, even if he could not bring himself to fall back asleep.
But over time, as he explored and fell in love with nature once again, as he learned to understand and accept himself, they lessened. By the time he returned home, returned to her, her image haunted his daydreams far more than his nightmares, and he figured that it was safe to let go.
Until now.
There is no reason for it to strike now, of all times. By now, her apartment is as familiar as his home, if not more so for her presence. They are both used to the process of preparing for bed together, their maintained separate residences for show more than for practice. It is natural for him to pull her close, heart squeezing tightly in his chest, even now, as she curls up against him, her head fitting into the crook of his neck and arm draped across his chest.
“Good night, my love,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head, and he can feel her lips curling into a smile against his neck.
“Good night.” Her sleepy reply is muffled but audible and he drifts to sleep easily in her arms.
The night is calm, snug in her presence. But soon, his vision is filled with darkness, not the warm, comforting sensation when he fell asleep, but instead cold and isolating, and he blinks as bars solidify in his vision. Thick metal bars, extending from the stone ceiling into the ground, save for the door. A cell.
He’s back in Magenta, locked and awaiting “salvation.”
But it’s worse, oh so much worse, because he can hear a door opening, can hear rough movement and a rougher “Stop that!” and horrible, soft, anguished weeping that makes his insides twist. And he knows, knows without a sliver of a doubt, that it’s Rika and her.
Several figures walk by, two of them, cloaked in black, half-marching, half-dragging a third while another stops in front of his door and throws back her hood, revealing long blond hair, painfully familiar green eyes, and once-gentle lips curved into a knife-like smile. “Hello again, V. Have you decided yet?”
He throws himself towards her without thought, hardly noticing the pain as his knees impact the hard ground and the bars dig into his shoulders when he reaches out, grasping for something. Anything. “Please, Rika. Don’t hurt her. Don’t drag her into this. Just let her go.” He knows he's begging at this point but he’s beyond caring, beyond wondering what Rika or even Eunbyeol might think of his pathetic display. His dignity is hardly a price to pay for her being safe.
But of course the only response he gets is a snarl, the beautiful bright green eyes he once adored narrowed in rage. “I see. Well then, V, you leave me no choice. Guards? Proceed.”
The words alone send a shiver down his spine and he find himself screaming, almost before Rika is done talking. “Eunbyeol? Eunbyeol!”
His cries are still not loud enough to drown out her screams: “No! NO! Please stop! V! V, make them stop! Please, save me!”
Rika offers him one, last, almost sad look before she turns her back and walks away, prim and proper, out of reach of his frantic, grasping hands, and then all he can do is screw his eyes shut and wish he could somehow do the same to his ears, so he doesn’t have to hear her calls. “Jihyun! Jihyun!”
How much longer can it—can she—last?
“Jihyun, love, wake up! JIHYUN!”
He jerks upright, trembling and nearly hyperventilating, to Eunbyeol’s dimly lit bedroom. The small light resting on her nightstand is on, casting a gentle yellow glow over the room, slowly overpowering the damp cell in this mind’s eye. Eunbyeol herself crouches beside him by the bed, brown eyes soft with concern that only seems to grow when he reaches for her, pulling her hard, desperately, into his shaking embrace. “Eunbyeol. You’re here,” is all he can manage.
“I’m here,” she agrees, her voice gentle, soothing unlike anything he has ever heard before, and coupled with the gentle stroke of her hand across his brow, brushing away the errant strands of hair, it is enough to tear the frayed remains of his self-control.
She says nothing as he cries, his face buried into her shoulder, only holds him tighter with soft, calming sounds and a warm presence that he has never known, not like this. Not this unwavering, unconditional support that at once feels so foreign and so natural, understanding and sweet and oh so much than he deserves.
Slowly, slowly his tears calm, leaving him drained, rocking gently back and forth in her arms as she hums an unfamiliar tune in his ear. After another moment, she pulls away, though still near enough that he can see the light reflecting in her eyes, rich and warm. “Feeling better?”
He manages a grunt, neither confirmation nor denial, and she nods, pressing the cup of water she keeps at her bedside into his hands. He takes it with still shaking fingers, notes her hands curling around his to keep it steady.
“A nightmare?” From the tone of her voice, she already knows the answer, but still she waits, endlessly patient for his own confirmation.
“Yes.” His confession is a whisper, a proof of his weakness, but again, she simply nods, taking the cup out of his hands and putting it down before gently tugging him back onto their bed. He lies down obediently, watching as she disentangles the sheets that were twisted in his panicked flailing, spreading the blanket oh so tenderly over them, and lies beside him, turned so that she curls around him, arms wrapped protectively across his chest.
“I had them too,” she says softly in his ear, and he almost starts at the words, but she sighs, a soft, bittersweet sound. “The number of nights I imagined what would have happened if Ray had been any more forceful, if Rika had been a little bit more determined… It’s inevitable, given what we’ve been through. It doesn’t make you any less of a person.”
He swallows, hard, around the lump in his throat. “I… I don’t…”
“I’m well, Jihyun. And so are you. And nothing is going to happen to you. To us.” She says the words with confidence, with a surety that he doesn’t feel. “All of that is over.” The bed creaks as she sits up, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead, and then his lips. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Eunbyeol.” The words feel right on his lips, and his body slowly relaxes, though he isn’t sure if it’s from the words or the warmth of her presence.
“I know,” she murmurs. “And no dream can change that.”
He nods, arranges himself to fall back asleep but…
“Don’t leave me.” The words, the plea, fall out of his mouth before he can think to stop them, hanging, small and pitiful, in the air between them, but she makes no move to pull away.
“I won’t,” she vows instead, an anchor in the maelstrom around him. “I’m not going anywhere, Jihyun.”
And she doesn’t.