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Sometimes, Sly would be ripped from Aoba's subconscious, drawn up in defense from a nightmare. A nightmare about rough hands and a Bowie knife and a searing strip of blood across his throat. It was as if Aoba dredged him up just to throw him in the way of that dream to protect himself. It figured that he would be used like that. So he weathered the dream each time, unable to stop from waking up covered in sweat and shivering. And each time, Mink would remain asleep beside him until Sly turned away and shut his stinging eyes to try and go back to sleep.
The nightmare had been particularly bad, this time, and Sly could have sworn that he had seen his own body crumpled below him, severed from his head at the neck. He startled awake with a cry, sitting up and panting, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He almost didn't hear the movement next to him. "Aoba?" A groggy voice asked, and Sly turned away from Mink.
"Don't-"
"What's wrong?" Mink sat up beside him, reaching out to brush his hand over Sly's hair. Sly squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still see the bloodied dreamscape in his mind's eye.
But the silence didn't seem to be good enough for Mink. "Sly?" He tried again, shifting closer. Sly gave him a quick nod. No sense in lying or pretending to be his precious Aoba. Mink didn't say anything, but he lay back down, this time on his back.
"Come here, Sly." He ordered. Sly turned to glance at him, debating, skittish. But he looked so inviting, and so warm. Sly couldn't turn down the offer, not when the alternative meant suffering on his own. He lay down next to Mink, half on his chest, and Mink wrapped his arms around him, enveloping Sly in his warmth and scent.
But even that wasn’t enough to completely erase the wisps of the nightmare from his mind. All Sly could see when he closed his eyes were flames and blood. All he could hear was himself choking. All he could feel were dark, dangerous hands on him, and they made him feel nauseous.
"Mink," he said quietly, hesitantly, speaking into the darkness. He knew Mink still thought of him as a demon. A plague on Aoba that he put up with just because Aoba asked him to. Just because he looked the same. Sometimes, he wanted to tempt Mink into crushing him to pieces. "Would you ever hurt me?"
Mink didn't answer for a long while. Sly almost repeated himself, unsure if Mink had even heard. But eventually, Mink took a deep breath and turned his head to press his lips to Sly's temple. "Never again," he promised.
And he stroked his hand gently over Sly’s hair, lulling him back to sleep and back into the depths of Aoba’s consciousness.
The next morning, Mink left early, and when he came back from work, he headed straight for their room to hang a small dream catcher over their bed.
"What's that for?" Aoba asked, admiring the weave of the sinew cord, reaching out to brush his fingertips over the beaded feathers hanging from the wooden circle.
"For you," Mink answered gruffly, and Aoba just smiled and flushed, pleased with the spontaneous gift. He wondered, though, why the voice inside of him, Sly’s voice, seemed subdued and accepting of it. Almost... Touched.
Either way, it didn't matter. After that night, the nightmares ceased. But sometimes, Sly would still wake himself up, even if just to look up at the dream catcher before sinking back into Mink's embrace. Because for the first time in a long while, it meant he was safe, and cared for. And that was enough.