Chapter Text
It's 2 AM and you're in the attic (like before) and you can't breathe (again.) Thump-thump. Your heart's pumping blood in the wrong directions, you're pretty sure, but when you put your hand to your chest, nothing's beating.
The walls dance with 7 different silhouettes. Sometimes 8, when you spot probably-yours. Sometimes 9, but she's dead and you're not sure that's a socially appropriate thing to be. Thump-thump.
Nothing is beating. Nothing is bleeding. There is nobody there to kill you.
You black out anyway, because that's life. Thump-thump.
Thump-thump...thump…?
You bolt upright, heart pounding in the dark. Still alive. Your breaths are quick and shallow, but they exist and you still remember how to fill and empty your lungs. A comforting thought. Reassuring. Delicious. You roll it over in your head and chew on it.
A lone thump, followed by shuffling. Goosebumps run up and down your arms. Maybe you have a monster under your bed? Say it ain't so.
The shuffling grows distant. Not under your bed, then.
…
No, not shuffling. It's not shuffling, it's the sound of someone dragging their feet away from your door. The thump-thump was someone knocking at your door, muffled and uncertain.
Whoever stopped by your door in the middle of the night is leaving now. You push yourself up and out of bed, then out the door (pajamas and all.)
It's dim in the hall, even with your D.D.D. as a flashlight. The silhouette shuffles to a stop when they hear you. They clutch something close to their chest.
...Oh.
It's Belphie. His posture's stiff, shoulders up like a frightened animal. He's clinging to his pillow like it's a teddy bear or some other comfort object.
"Belphie?"
He flinches at your voice, blinking away from your flashlight app like a pretty ghost in an underfunded film. Something glistens on his cheeks, framing dark circles and red-rimmed eyes. "...What do you want?"
"I'm pretty sure that's my line, but a'ight. What's up? If you're gonna wake me at ass o'clock in the morning, I think I deserve an explanation."
"..." Belphie doesn't move, squeezing his pillow tighter.
A pause. A long pause, actually, as your eyes follow the lines, curves, and angles of his face. Your words lose their edge. "...Seriously, what's going on?"
Belphie's expression hardens as your tone goes soft; his jaw's set, lips pressed together in a thin, brittle line. "Fine. Can we go to your room?"
"..."
He doesn't wait for an answer, already shuffling away.
...You shuffle after him, wondering what self-preservation feels like. Wondering when it went away.
(It's okay. You'd already lost your mind, you're certain; forgot it on a bus somewhere in the human world, or maybe dropped it in the gutter while looking for something else of questionable value.)
"Will you compensate me for my sleep time?" you deadpan.
"No."
The way he says it draws a soft, suppressed laugh out of you.
You follow him inside, shutting the door behind you. Its hinges creak with disapproval.
Belphie flops onto your bed like it's his, and you nudge him to make space. "Did Beel eat your bed frame?"
...You get no reply, and wonder if he's fallen asleep before you glance over. He's curled up, shoulders quivering like a leaf in a cold rain. Not asleep, no. You've seen it once or twice before, back when he was still in the attic. Back when your nightmares weren't as bad, but your insomnia was, so you'd seek out the one guy with sleep problems as bad as yours.
Sometimes you'd find him in a panic attack.
You shift to a more comfortable position. The mattress creaks. You can hear Belphie's breathing, quick and irregular with silent sobs in between.
You're never sure what to do, but like always, you stay.
"Dying," he chokes out. "I, I—"
"You're not dying," you reply in a tone you hope is firm but comforting, words slow and steady to contrast his own. "I'm here. You're safe."
You're safe.
You can feel your own hands getting tingly, breath catching in your throat. Really? Now? You curse the timing.
"Do you n— Do you need me to hold you?" you say, because you need it too. You need that touch, and you hope you're not the only one, and it helps that he's nodding oh thank god he's nodding.
You settle around him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You're both sweaty and shaking badly and you can feel yourself getting lightheaded. Oh, you're going to die. You're going to die spooning the guy that killed you.
Your heart thumps against your ribs. You bury your face in Belphie's shoulders. His hair tickles your cheek. Clammy fingers lace with your own.
(C'est la vie, no? It is what it is.)
...
What a way to go.
Belphie's still there when you wake up, the two of you a tangle of limbs. Somewhere in the land of Nod, he'd rolled over to face you.
You watch his chest rise and fall through half-closed eyes. Slow. Steady.
Inhale,
exhale.
Inhale,
exhale.
(He has pretty eyelashes, long and delicate. You think about running your hands through his hair. Beautiful. Groggy as you are, you smile into your pillow. You hope his sleep is dreamless.)
…Your eyes slide shut. It's the weekend, you can indulge. Rest a little longer. He'd woken you up at ass o'clock. You deserve it.
(You hope Belphie's sleep is painless. You pray yours is, too.)