Work Text:
Vil doesn't remember a lot during his overblot, his memories hazy and only bits and pieces would flash in his mind every time he closed his eyes but he supposes that he should be grateful, at the very least. Because it means that he doesn't have to remember what he had done and end up feeling worse about it. He doesn't want to remember, because there's a part of him that's scared at the thought of it.
But that doesn't mean that he doesn't worry about what exactly had happened, what events had transpired during the time when he was engulfed by everything that he had suppressed, the hate and rage directed not just to Neige but to himself as well. There are times where he'd wake up, gasping for breath with amethyst eyes blown wide, arms reached out for something, for someone with a name leaving his lips.
"Rook." He'd pant the name on several occasions when those nightmares would end, relief washing over him upon realizing that Rook was in his room, safe and sound and alive, that whatever his mind had conjured up was nothing but the culmination of his bottled up anxiety and fear. But remembering the nightmares (of whatever scenarios he had filled up from those flashes of what he remembers when he had overblotted) would always cause him great discomfort. He deserved it, does he not? He does, because he was careless and reckless.
Every time, when Vil closes his eyes while curling to himself, he'd see a poison haze, the cold bodies of his juniors (of his friends ) all lying on the floor. Every time, when Vil closes his eyes, he'd see Rook, his Rook, holding up a bottle of juice full of poison with a smile, blood leaving his lips as they bloomed in midair like red flowers as coughs violently wrecked Rook's body, a telltale of how strong Vil's creation was which Rook gladly drank to prove his devotion, to prove that he trusted Vil so much that he'd willingly throw away his life.
And Vil, in those nightmares, can only watch in horror, having killed his friends and his most favorite person with his own hands.
Remembering the nightmares that plagued him, Vil clenched his fist while biting his lips, holding back a whimper in the dead of the night as he sat on his bed, feeling so alone and terrible , mockingly smiling to himself at how pathetic he is.
"How ugly." He mutters to no one in particular, feeling his nails dig to the flesh of his palms and oh, how he wishes he'd draw blood but Vil has self-control. He'd rather not make a blemish on his own skin, for he knows that Rook would notice. He'd always notice everything about Vil, even the smallest changes and details. He doesn't want Rook to know just how weak Vil truly was. He had already seen him at his worst, he doesn't want to show him more.
"How ugly." He repeats to himself, unable to even cry for no tears would come out. He had been acting strong for so long that it isn't easy to let down his own walls even if all he wanted to do now was to cry his lungs out.
"How pathetic." He says, letting out a shaky breath as he closes his eyes, his body trembling because of everything that had begun to take its toll on him. "I'm... Really pathetic."
He smiles bitterly, burrowing his face on his arms and trying to steady his breathing. He should go back to sleep. Rook would take notice if Vil hadn't slept well after all.
But before he can even go back, he heard a soft knock against the door, tensing at the sudden sound and his words stuck on his throat when he realized that only Rook would dare to waltz in front of his room at this time.
He stayed quiet.
"Vil."
Vil had always kept Rook beside him, letting the hunter see every part of him, the ones that he at least knew would be accepted with open arms. However, even after they've laid everything bare in front of the other, Vil still couldn't quite find it in himself to let Rook open the final locked door and truly accept him because he's so ugly, ugly, ugly—
"Vil."
Once more, Rook's voice rang out from the other side of the door. All soft and quiet, just for the two of them to hear and Vil has half the mind to chastise the hunter about forgoing sleep just for him. But Vil is also forgoing sleep just because of his fear of seeing the same scenario play out again. Vil wanted to open the door, burrow his head on the crook of Rook's neck, hold him tightly and never let go but he knows that he's not strong enough to face him in this state quite yet.
Rook has a spare key to Vil's bedroom, something he gave for whenever he needed his hunter to fetch something inside his room when he was unable to. He has the ability to open the door any time he wants and is aware that Vil might threaten him but they'd all be just empty words because Vil is really too soft on him. But there was no sound of the door unlocking. No sound of the doorknob being turned. Just Vil's steady breathing (he doesn't know when he had exactly calmed down but that might be attributed to the fact that he knows Rook is just outside of his room, standing safe and sound and alive).
"Go to sleep, my beloved." He hears Rook hum, the sound of him leaning against the door well heard by Vil. He probably plans to stay in the hallways, and stand guard. "I'll be here so just call my name if you need something." If you need me.
Vil pursed his lips, "..."
He shouldn't allow Rook to do this kind of thing but perhaps, Vil would allow this just once. Allow Rook to linger just a little longer if only to calm his troubled self. Rook probably heard him whispering to himself earlier that's why he's here. After all, the hunter's ears were sharp (very much so) and they did have their rooms right next to each other. "Alright." He finally said, lowering his body down back to the bed and finally closing his eyes again.
The nightmares didn't come back after that.