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Every other night that he tried to sleep, just any other person must do, he can only get in a few hours before being interrupted by his reoccurring nightmare.
"Ernu Ranbul!" rings in his ears and he tosses and turns, seeing visions of glass shattering and the colors of his magic, purple and pink, flying around like dust. A small royal blue stone which was once inside of Murr's core breaks apart like a mirror. He sees himself in each shard, but only for a millisecond before they disappear without a trace.
That dream is one of the only fully vivid memories Murr can recall after the Great Calamity shattered his soul and threw away his identity, reducing him to nothing but a slightly eccentric and feline-like wizard with an affinity for all things colorful and thrilling.
He wakes with a thin film of cold sweat clinging to his forehead, finding his sheets tossed to the ground and his body curled up in the most uncomfortable way possible.
The world feels as if it might be spinning as he sits up. His vision is dazed, his eyes feel heavy, his mind is cloudy, and his heart feels empty. There is only one person he can go to that won't dismiss him at this time of night.
Shylock's eyebrows furrow and he stirs half-asleep, having his nightly dream of his beloved Murr turning to stone. It unfolds in a slightly different way each time.
The first night, he saw his own hands wrapped around Murr's neck, draining him of everything he ever had. He whispered "Inviebelle,' and the rest shall not be remembered.
This time it was the Calamity. They had just collected a large amount of Murr's soul shards; Murr was becoming the man he once was, yet the moon grew hostile in response. It shattered his soul a second time, and summoned a beast so insurmountable that even the four of the Western wizards could not handle it.
Shylock chooses not to entertain these thoughts. Instead, he forces himself awake, as if it were second nature for him.
His legs drop off the side of his bed when he sits up and grabs his pipe from his nightstand. He stands and lazily strides over to the open window in his room, too lazy to pull up his sweatpants or put on a shirt, or to even tie up his hair; the window where he had the most perfect view of the moon, and sat on the windowsill.
The sound of jangling from his room's doorknob startles him while he is mid-exhaling a puff of smoke.
"Shylock?" the voice calls.
Ah... there he is. That despicable man.
He turns his head to the side to stare at his door. "Turn it the other way," he says. Murr does this every time, without fail.
It opens, and he sees Murr enter wearing his pajamas, clutching onto the pillow he always sleeps with. He says nothing as he shuts the door behind him, tossing the pillow onto Shylock's bed and walking to the windowsill to have a seat next to him.
"You had the dream again?" Shylock asks, before promptly taking another drag of his pipe.
"Nope! I just wanted to see you, Shylock." Murr lies as if it were some sort of game. It's unfortunate that Shylock can see through him so easily.
"You must improve on your acting skills if you want to deceive me... but I'm flattered. Did you miss me? It's a bit late for you to be awake." He reaches his hand out and places it on Murr's head, patting his hair.
"I miss you all the time!" Murr deflects.
"I doubt that yearning of yours is enough to keep you from getting a proper night's sleep, Murr."
Murr shifts around in place uncomfortably. Shylock never seems to let up on him whenever he knows something is up. "I don't think it's that big of a deal... you have bad dreams too, don't you?"
Shylock tilts his head a bit in contemplation. "I guess they could be considered bad dreams. Part of myself wishes they were true sometimes, just out of spite, but I'm sure if it were to ever really happen, I would never be the same."
"Can you tell me what they're about? Pretty please?"
"Ask me again when you turn 1000. I'll consider it then, as a birthday present." He jests as he carefully closes the curtains to block out the obnoxious light of the moon.
Shylock takes Murr's hand in his, gently, and leads the both of them to his bed. To his surprise, Murr doesn't flinch a bit. But maybe it's easy to not flinch when you're around someone so often. He also knows that Shylock wouldn't lay a finger on him (as much as Shylock he wishes he could), his touches with Murr are only actions of love and care.
They climb into his bed together without any words, as if it were something they did all the time. Casually, of course. It's just what good friends do.. if you could even call them that anymore.
Murr laid on his back next to Shylock, who was propped up against the headboard with his pipe hovering around his mouth.
"Do you think you can sleep again? Or do you need my help?" Shylock asks sweetly.
Murr doesn't like to answer questions with a no, instead, he lets his eyes dart around until Shylock receives the message. He hums as he puts the pipe in his mouth, inhaling the most that he can, exhaling slowly and gracefully with a light whisper of the familiar phrase “Inviebelle.”
The smoke that exits his lungs creates a trail of blue stardust, growing in size as it starts to spread around the ceiling to create an indoor night sky. A moon-less, dazzling, nearly painting-like visual made of iris purple and navy (with a tinge of cobalt) blue.
In Murr’s eyes, he thought he could see all of space itself. He had visions of planets and comets flying about, despite only being presented with a makeshift sky full of twinkling stars.
”You like what you see?” Shylock asked while staring at Murr, who was so fixated on Shylock’s magic he almost didn’t hear the question.
The ex-genius turned his head to look at him in awe with a gigantic, cheshire smile. “It feels like I’m in another world!” he pauses to shift so that he could lay on his side, staring up at Shylock still. “Hey, do you think the sage saw all of the stuff we see back where they’re from?”
Shylock puts the pipe on his nightstand and sinks into the bed, opening up his arms for Murr.
“I do think so.”
“You’re pretty amazing for this, Shylock!”
Shylock’s face heats up. It feels like Murr is just assaulting him with weird comments and compliments tonight... “It’s just a little magic. I’m sure you’ve seen all of this many times, whenever you ride on your broom.”
“I have, but I like it even more because you made it!”
“...Is that so?” He finds himself at a loss for words.
Thankfully, Murr decides to have some mercy on his poor, fragile heart, once he yawns heavily. He stretches his arms and legs out like a cat before scooting towards Shylock, putting his face in his neck.
”Sleepy?” Shylock says, just slightly above the level of a whisper.
”Yeah... somethin’ like that...” Murr begins to trail off. Perhaps now he’ll be able to sleep without interruption.
Shylock’s bare arms wrap around Murr hesitantly.
“...Do I make you feel better, Murr?” Shylock asks quietly as possible.
“Weird question... but yeah, you do.”
”You know I could never hurt you, right?”
“Not even a little?” Murr jokes.
”Not on purpose.”
”But that means you still could?”
”But I won’t.”
”Okay then.”
The air and their conversation falls short and silent. It’s not long until the only noise that can be heard is the sound of Murr’s light snores.
It takes Shylock just a bit longer to fall asleep. He chooses to take an extra moment, in hopes that he’ll be able to sit in this spot for eternity, threading his fingers through Murr’s hair.