Work Text:
Solomon’s breath was frantic, his eyes wide, his heart racing in his chest as he shot up in bed. His forehead was uncomfortably damp with sweat, cooling rapidly as it became exposed to the frigid night air. He swept a trembling hand through his hair, digging his fingers into his scalp for a moment in a misguided attempt to calm himself down. Taking a look around the room, he briefly wondered where he was. His surroundings were unfamiliar, even in the way they smelled, until he caught a glimpse of the pile of clothes folded neatly on his desk in the corner. The realisation flooded in as his memory righted itself. He was in the past, in Cocytus Hall. He came back to help you.
Soft moonlight shone through the uncovered window as he gradually relaxed, leaning back onto his pillows, and illuminated the eerily dark crevices of the sparsely decorated room. His hand ran down his face, collecting the perspiration, and he inspected the residue, chuckling derisively at his body’s innate response to distress.
‘Just a dream,’ he muttered into the room, flinching at the sound of his own voice penetrating the stillness.
‘Yeah…’ a voice beside him sighed.
It took a second for Solomon’s sleep-addled brain to catch up to his ears and the sound that had registered there. He blinked away the confusion and turned his head slowly to the side, relaxing immediately when he saw your peacefully slumbering face. Of course, he recollected, you’d spent the night. You were facing him, mouth hanging open slightly, soft hair cascading over your face and onto the pillow like a waterfall. Solomon’s heart panged at the sight of you, so comfortable and safe beside him. You were so bright, stronger than the light of the moon, the sun, and all the stars in the night sky. He felt like you’d taken his head in your gentle hands, holding him in your fingertips, and blown the cobwebs away like he were a dandelion clock.
He reached out to touch you, craving the warmth and softness of your skin. His fingers brushed the sporadic strands away from your face, tucking them behind your ear as you sighed again; a breathy, distant noise from someone who was mostly unaware of their surroundings. You were so vulnerable, so sweet, and Solomon felt so treasured that you were willing to trust him with your unconscious self. His hand lingered on the top of your head, sliding through and stroking your silky hair, his heart rate increasing but for a different reason.
The minutes passed uneventfully like that, Solomon stroking your forehead and watching you as you slept, until the dark shadow he’d been trying to escape from had managed to catch up. He shuddered at the ghostly touch, the downy hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as he screwed his eyes shut tightly, a sharp breath assaulting his sinuses, his teeth clenching as he tried to ride it out. Your presence was certainly helpful, but it was not enough.
‘Forgive me for this,’ he mumbled in your ear as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly to his chest.
‘Solly…Mon,’ you slurred, undisturbed by the new proximity to his broad torso, the scent of him, the way he rested his cheek on the crown of your head, blinking back tormented tears as he desperately tried to ground himself.
Solomon’s breaths were ragged, his hands shaking. It was a rare occurrence for traumatic memories to resurface in the form of nightmares, and usually when they did, they were much more manageable. He hadn’t had such a horrible time in so long, he’d forgotten how he used to deal with it. All he could do was hold you to himself, bury his nose into your hair and pray that your clean, gentle scent was enough to scrub the awful thoughts from his brain.
‘We… We need…’ your voice interrupted his melancholia, clearly absent from the situation and just vocalising the dream you were having.
‘What do we need?’ Solomon withdrew slightly so he could study your face, desperate to continue the interaction as a distraction from his anguish.
‘We need…’ you repeated, ‘we need… a new… potato masher.’
‘A potato masher?’ He chuckled breathlessly, holding your limp body closer to him, tucking your head back into his neck.
‘Potato… masher…’
Solomon wasn’t sure what you were in that moment. Were you an angel, sent by Michael himself to keep him safe like he’d kept you safe? Were you even asleep? Had you heard him hyperventilating into your hair, felt his arms squeezing you, clinging to you like you were a life ring, like you were the only thing preventing him from being swept away with the current? The only thing he was sure of was, without even meaning to, you’d filled the room with a holy light. The entity that had been chasing him was gone, banished to parts unknown by your softly spoken nonsense, and he breathed a sigh of relief to be free from its grip once more.
He held you tightly for the rest of the night, and when you woke up and found yourself in his arms, you were ready to wake him and ask what he thought he was doing… until you saw the deep purple contusions under his eyes, the puffiness that could only form from a lack of sleep. You were unaware of what had caused his insomnia, but you weren’t going to be the reason for more of it. You decided to throw him a bone, and you kissed him on the cheek as you settled down further into his grasp, closing your eyes against the pale light of the morning moon. Comfortable, warm and safe in Solomon’s arms, you fell back into your resting state, never leaving his embrace until you both awoke, ready for the day.