Work Text:
Temperature-less air brushed skin, the noiseless escape of a bullet from a gun, and the anticipation of impact halted as Alfendi jolted upright in bed. Hand flew to his bare chest, his fingers brushed over raised scar skin, a sigh escaping his lips as his nightmare hadn't escaped into reality. He took another breath to steady himself, glancing around the near-pitch black room. There were no guns. There were no ominous figures. Only a slender figure lay curled to his right, sheet and blankets clutched in small hands, tight over her shoulder as if they were a shield from the rest of the world. Lucy's hair was roughly mussed, a product of frequent tossing in her sleep, and her crimson eyes were closed, soft breathing her only signal of life. Her stable presence soothed him briefly, but in order to further calm his racing heart, he tossed aside the bed covers and rose, making his way to the bathroom.
There, he glared at his reflection over the sink, brows furrowed and uncut hair tangled around his shoulders. Alfendi’s slender frame reflected back, blemished only by the round scar of a bullet hole, on his torso underneath his chest. He touched it again, searching glowing, reflected golden eyes for an answer; mind full of excuses, of reasons, of justifications for the pain he suffered to this moment.
“Another nightmare, Alfendi?” Lucy’s arms wrapped around his slender waist, laying her head against his bony back. He froze for a moment, hand falling from his chest to lay on Lucy’s warm arm.
“Yes.”
“No one will hurt you, you know that, right?” Lucy slowly drew her hands back from his stomach, gently pulling his gaze her way.
“No one will hurt me, yes, but you, Lucy-” Alfendi’s voice almost rose an octave, emotion laden in his words, facing Lucy’s sleepy, soft face.
“No one will hurt me either, Alfendi,” Lucy murmured, taking his bony hands in hers, “You’re safe. I’m safe.” She gently rubbed his hands, feeling over raised knuckles and taut skin, lifting her gaze to meet his fearful eyes.
“Yes. You’re right,” Alfendi exhaled, taking her hands in his, “I just can’t seem to shake these nightmares.” Lucy reached up and cradled his cheek, her hand soft to the touch.
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” She smiled, gently pulling him away from the bathroom, and out into the larger expanse of their house.
Lucy urged him into a seat at their dining room table, where he sat out of place while shirtless and in boxers. Lucy started the stove, the flame quietly clicking to life, and she filled a small saucepan with milk. Moonlight slid in from an uncovered window, and with the accompaniment of the beating flame upon the stove, their humble dwelling didn’t seem so dark anymore. Lucy left the milk to warm on the stove, taking a seat next to Alfendi at the table. He stayed quiet, glancing at the soft smile on her face that never seemed to fade, hoping the fear he felt didn’t bleed over into his eyes.
“Do ya want to talk about it?” She asked quietly, her gaze lowered to her hands upon the table, to Alfendi’s skinny frame in the dining room chair, to the round, but healed, scar on his chest.
“I’m not sure what else there is to say, truthfully,” Alfendi murmured, “It’s just the memory on repeat, and I wake up right before it hits me.
“I mean, sometimes it’s different. Sometimes you’re there, or it’s Katrielle, or father, or -” his voice sped up, more agitated, hands quivering as he lifted them to his face.
“Alfendi, it’s okay. No more,” Lucy cut him off, taking hold of his hand and intertwining her fingers with his, “It’s just a dream now. I’m not hurt, Katrielle isn’t hurt, Mr. Layton isn’t hurt, and you cannot be hurt anymore.” She smiled as their eyes met, gently releasing his hand to stand up and turn the stove off. Silently, he watched as she removed two mugs from the cupboard, and slowly poured the warm milk in, one at a time. Returning the empty pot to the stove, Lucy handed Alfendi his signature blue and red mug, her other hand holding her pink mug, the one she used every morning for her tea. As the mug exchanged hands, Alfendi wondered if the warmth he felt came from the mug or Lucy’s fingertips.
“Warm milk? Am I a child, now, Lucy?” He snickered, raising the mug to his lips and sipping the warm, soothing liquid.
“You know I don’t think that of you. Warm milk will help calm you down and get back to sleep,” Lucy grinned, sipping from the mug - a gift for her birthday from Alfendi, “See? I’m drinking it too, Al.”
“I know. I’m just pissy.” Alfendi relented; she only called his nickname when she needed to make a point.
“I know.”
The two sipped their drinks in silence, the warmth and gentle aroma of the milk soothing their nerves and quieting their souls. They finished in silence, Lucy taking the mug from Alfendi without a word, setting them in the sink and urging Alfendi from his chair. As she led the way back to their room in the dark, Alfendi’s hand quickly found hers, Lucy’s warmth drawing him closer and closer.
Lucy returned to laying in the perfect divet she made on their bed, teasingly patting Alfendi’s pillow, his eyes making out the vague shape of hers in the dark. He laid down, expecting simply to roll over and head back into a - hopefully - restful sleep, but was surprised as soft hands laid upon his back, surprised as hair and head nuzzled into his chest. Lucy curled as close to him as possible, filling the space between them with supple skin and soft fabric, her smooth legs intertwining with his. Her quiet breaths hit against his chest, and her hair smelled like the lavender she used in her baths. Lucy’s calm and steady breathing - despite having just laid down - let Alfendi match her pace, his breathing slowing as he, in return, placed his hands on her back, pulling her close.
“I think...I’ll sleep well tonight after all, Lucy,” Alfendi whispered, “Thank you.”