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Nightmare closes his remaining eye as the long-awaited sound of footsteps reaches him. They echo and resound about the tall ceiling and arched windows, bouncing off of straight-backed columns and their flawless foundations. Marble tiles are engraved with the tale of legend and myth, stories of a great and bitter battle, an epic of two warring kings who fought to the death.
Cool stone pushes against his back as he continues to feign his recline on the throne. Beside him is an empty mirror. Both thrones are high-backed, and cast glowing replicas of the sun and moon onto the floor within their respective times.
Before his feet, the mocking grin of the moon smiles at him. He isn’t aware of when he opened his eye again, and before his two pointed boots, there are bare feet, scorched by fire and stained with ash.
“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?” Dream idly states.
Nightmare snorts. “It has always been some time.”
“You aren’t meeting my eyes.”
The other rolls his remaining one. “I’m missing one to meet you with.”
He can hear Dream smile.
"Bitter over my victory?" He teases. Nightmare eyes the gold bleeding through the dark marble beneath Dream's feet. "There is no victory," he scoffs.
Nightmare finally trails his gaze up to Dream's face. There is still gold streaming down his chin. Molten lava barely contains itself in one of his sockets. "Funny of you to bring that up again."
His partner sprawls over the throne at his side with a huge sigh. "It's to keep in character. Soon enough, it'll be time again."
Nightmare looks down the great hall of windows into a large stained glass pane depicting the sun and moon in eclipse. Below it, there are two figures holding wine glasses, clicking them together over a grand feast and a huge dining table draped in fruit.
Silence pervades them both, pensive and longing.
"The night is still young." He states, noncommittally. "There's a little bit of time for dinner."
Dream gives him the side eye, though a smile quirks the corner of his mouth. "Sentimental."
Nightmare holds up a golden pocket watch that is intricately engraved with designs of swirling clouds and stars. It dangles from its chain between his gloved fingertips smugly, ticking quietly. Dream colors the same tone, if even richer, and Nightmare strides off to the dining hall.
"It'll be a waste of food," Dream complains from the throne room. Nightmare digs through his meager pantry, eyeballing things for rot. "Certainly not. We'll be alive for much longer than them."
Soon enough, a modest wooden table holds two plates carefully painted with wheat and lavender. They hold a small portion of meat and vegetables. Dream eats viciously, while Nightmare's food disappears outright within a few seconds.
They sit across from one another, once again complacent with silence. Or until Dream feels like talking again.
"How much longer do we have left?"
His cheek glows with magma beneath its dark surface, golden and orange, honey and amber. It must pain him, but Dream shows no signs of noticing. Nightmare stares for an added second, before snapping out of thought and taking out his pocket watch. His eyes narrow.
"... Five minutes." He states. He cannot be reluctant about the inevitable.
Dream quirks a grin, though the creases beneath his eyes seem to stand out more at this admission. Nightmare curses himself. "That's enough for a waltz, right?"
His partner blinks. The scarring over his eye twists with the movement. It raises something bitter in his chest, and he feels his ribs heat like bars of iron. "Certainly, if we move fast."
Dream's stool scrapes as he stands up. Nightmare's makes less noise, but he moves just as fast. They race one another to the throne room once more, where the moonlight streams in through wide-eyed windows and creeps about the tall bars that section each one off. The halls are tinted gold with the voice of a rich orchestra.
"You have to take your boots off. Those things will stab my toes." Dream grins. Nightmare rolls his eye, but obliges.
"Will you take the lead?" He asks. Dream answers without saying anything, placing a hand on his shoulder.
They sweep one another through the great hall of two kings, cursed to forever battle one another for dominance over the skies. For every hour of bloodshed, they silently hope to one day repay their debt with these small luxuries.
Nightmare allows Dream to rest his head on his shoulder. The ticking of the watch is their metronome. It keeps their pace and rhythm, a quiet reminder of what is to come. He holds onto his partner as Dream shudders with the ending notes of their waltz. Nightmare knows there is nothing to be done that will make it easier for Dream, so he remains silent, and holds tight.
"What is the time?" Dream asks again.
Nightmare closes his eyes as the skies begin to tinge with orange. "Dawn."
He lets out a shallow breath as Dream's dagger recedes from his sternum. It feels as though he has a fever.
A striking end to the waltz triumphantly and sharply brings its final note through the hall. Dream lays him on his throne, reverent and careful. Nightmare tries to keep his gaze on the sun, but it becomes too bright for him to keep his eye open. "Till we meet again." Nightmare utters.
Hollowly, weakly, Dream responds in kind. "Till we meet again."