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There’s always darkness before wake. A period when the person having a nightmare does not realize that they are out of the dream. They may feel disconnected or as if the nightmare is continuing.
For Gekko, he is paralyzed.
But not in the literal sense that he cannot physically move no matter how hard he tries. He could move if he wanted to, but he chose not to.
Sometimes there is a literal sense where Gekko tries to get up, and it feels as if there’s a weight on his side. As if someone is sitting on him or holding him down.
He blinks, his heart racing faster than he is breathing. More quickly than he is able to process the world around him.
It is so dark that his eyes begin to play with him as if searching into the void for something, for the fear of being alone is crippling.
And when Gekko can finally force himself to sit up, he rubs his arms to test if he is awake. He’s not too sure if he’s still in the nightmare or if he’s finally woken up.
He doesn’t realize yet that remembering he was in a dream was the thing that snapped him out of it.
Then there are the tears when the fear of still being in the nightmare sets in. He shakes, beginning to sweat.
The fingernails clawing at the sides of his arms aren’t doing justice to convincing himself, and his hands fail to break him out of it.
Normally, it’d work. Gekko would splash water on his face, bite his tongue, pinch his skin, or rub his arms and legs; it was all in an effort to wake himself.
Or he’d have to roam around, touch the ground, and whatever he could find around him.
But hearing those sweet words is like magic to his ears.
“Mateo…?”
Gekko’s breath hitches, closing his eyes as he stops moving.
“Why are you up?”
He tries to stop himself from crying, but he stifles and sputters, and it’s only a few more seconds before there’s another shift in the bed.
The lamp on the nightstand flickers, illuminating the two of them in a soft glow. He can finally look around the room, and it’s as if all of his worries have disappeared. He lets out a deep sigh that’s interrupted by sniffles.
Gekko can see Phoenix just out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t dare look at him.
“Look at me, Mateo.”
Ay, mierda [Oh, shit].
His fingers crawled under his sleeves, red marks lining his arms.
“What’s wrong, baby?” And just from Phoenix’s words alone, he can feel himself on the edge of sobbing out.
Phoenix reaches a hand around Gekko’s waist; his touch is warm, like the burning sun or the feeling you get when being warmed up by the heat of a fireplace.
The light of a candle when the power is out and the smell when it is finally blown out. The feeling of drinking hot chocolate on a Christmas day.
And Gekko cannot compare to that. His touch is clingy, like tape or plastic that you have to rub against a hard surface to get off. The grease that no matter how many times you wash your hands, it’s still there.
He is gross, like the overwhelming stench of peanut butter. The acidic flavor of pineapple or the buzzing sounds of bumblebees.
Like slime stuck in your hair, or when your hands are coated in the juices of oranges and the smell that follows after.
The stickiness from sap and the annoying clench in your teeth when you eat something chewy.
A mistake that ruins the whole painting, a DVD that no matter how many times you rub across your shirt or put in both ways, does not work.
The feeling on your tongue when you eat too many sour cream and onion chips (he knows that from experience).
He is the feeling you get when you lose your childhood stuffed animal or when you burn yourself on a hot pan.
And Phoenix is his sun. To burn away all the things that make him appear that way.
Gekko knows it’s not permanent, and maybe it will fade away as time passes. But for now, it is better to appear acceptable rather than annoying.
Phoenix’s body scoots closer, his strong arms wrapping around Gekko’s waist, and his eyes automatically close. He can feel the difference in his body, which is nothing like his own.
Like a pillow instead of a soft mattress.
He lets out a low sigh, which is louder than his sobbing, and he feels his body jerk as Phoenix hugs him tightly.
And all the hot air settles, freeing him from his numb state.
But it’s not long before he’s feeling the warm sweat start to form on his body as his heart races and his body shakes.
The cold air pushes against his chest, and he has to close his eyes. He can feel Phoenix’s steady breathing against his back.
It calms him down a little, which only makes him open his eyes again. The tiniest smile grows on his face, like the pudgy red tongue of a cute puppy. He slowly turns his head to look at Phoenix, who is wiping his tears away.
The red color starts to fade from his cheeks, and he can feel Phoenix kiss the tip of his nose.
“Baby…” he says, and his eyes are shining. “What’s wrong?” he says, like the sun shining in the dark storm clouds.
Gekko is on fire just from those few words. The feeling is all over his body; through his fingers and toes, he can feel it all.
The heat that rushes up to his head is so powerful that he has to close his eyes. The tingling sensation slowly dissipates, but his body is still racked with nervousness.
And his first thought is always the same: how will he ever make it up to Phoenix?
“You okay?” He asks again.
Gekko finds it hard to catch his breath. There’s a feeling in his stomach that’s like a rush of ice in his veins.
But when he goes to speak, Phoenix is quicker.
"Was it another nightmare?" He says, his voice tender and loving like the sound of a spring breeze.
"Yeah," Gekko whispers.
Phoenix reaches out and takes his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, giving Gekko the hope of something more to say.
But he just shakes his head, feeling his arms tremble. His body turns rigid and stiff, and he starts to shiver.
He wants to pull away, but it’s too late. Phoenix already had his arms wrapped around him, and Gekko felt his warm breath against his neck.
Gekko clings to Phoenix like a moth drawn to a flame.
“It’s okay,” Phoenix says, rubbing Gekko’s back with the palms of his hands. “It was a bad dream. You’re safe. ”
Gekko lets out a slow breath. He knows Phoenix is right.
He can’t explain the details of what was in his dream, even if he wanted to. But he knows that Phoenix’s arms are the only thing that keeps him from plummeting back into darkness.
Phoenix kisses Gekko's forehead. “You can go back to sleep if you want,” he says.
But he doesn’t want to sleep.
Gekko knows that nightmares are like demons in the night. They consume him until there’s nothing left.
After what feels like an eternity, Phoenix turns off the lights and puts a gentle hand against his back. “It’s okay,” he whispers. "I'll be right here."
Even in the dark, Gekko can see his smile.
And it's not long before they're both strung up together, Gekko in his arms, and Phoenix doing anything he can to keep him from falling back into the abyss.