Work Text:
“Burn in hell, you piece of shit!” A female voice says. Douma’s head is cradled in her hands, looking at the beautiful woman. Her hair fades to purple at the tips, a matching butterfly clip on the back of her hair. Purple is a royal color, the man thinks, so this girl must be royalty.
But her angry grin doesn’t tell him that. Instead, it tells her that she's downright pissed, an angry scowl on her face and her creepy, alien-like eyes boring holes into what remains of his skin. His head is cradled in her hands—not gently—but firmly, filled with an angry passion.
The girl throws his head down into the pits of hell, his body disintegrating behind him. Then, a terrible burning feeling runs through his veins. He shouldn’t be able to feel any pain since his body has been long gone, but his eyes fall out of his head in a gruesome manner and it feels like he’s on fire, the poison the woman circulated from her body now beginning to bloom fully.
He feels like shit, for lack of a better word. Everything hurts; his eyes, his face, his head. Then, he sees brief glimpses of Gyutaro and Ume—or was it Daki?—getting decapitated by a man who briefly resembles someone he knows. Then, he sees Kokushibo’s body disintegrating as tears fall from the man’s eyes and a red blade is stuck in his side.
He cries. He wants to at least, but he can’t. He’s lost all emotion after all. And right as he thinks Satan is going to claim him and drag him down further into the burning place, right where demons are sanctioned, he jolts awake.
He sits up in bed suddenly, so fast that he regrets it and nearly vomits on the floor. He’s panting heavily, resisting the urge to scream. He cradles his chest with his hands, throwing the tank top he’s wearing over his head as he sweats and his body heats up.
He wishes his hair wasn’t so long, because then he could feel the reassuring chill coming from his bedroom.
That’s right, he realizes. He’s in his bedroom, in a house and there’s someone next to him.
He blinks his eyes a couple times, looking at the man next to him. Long black hair somehow still tidy even while sleeping, his eyes closed and a peculiar birthmark running over his forehead and neck.
Douma turns his head back to the floor in front of him, hyperventilating. He shoves his head in his hands as the tears begin to spring from his semi-blue kaleidoscope eyes.
“Douma?” A deep voice says. Douma turns around and looks at the man—his husband—who is now awake and worried. He sits up next to his blond partner and looks at him curiously. “Are you alright?”
Douma gives no verbal response, his breathing still staggered and his hands are shaky. He shakes his head instead and clenches his fists as he tries to make out words.
“Breathe, Douma. Breathe.”
Douma does as he’s told, taking deep breaths and sitting up completely. He turns to face his husband, grabbing his hands and pulling them close.
“Michi?” Douma sobs his lover's name. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.” He says calmly. His eyes are dark, seemingly lacking any pupils and the moonlight that shines through the window is the only source of lighting Douma has to see his face. The latter brings a tentative hand up and strokes his cheek with his thumb. Michikatsu leans into the touch.
“I was so scared.” Douma says quietly, his voice breaking. Michikatsu thinks that he’s never seen his husband so terrified, his glossy blue eyes now shining from the tears falling down his cheeks. He sniffs, and collapses his head onto his shoulder.
Michikatsu rubs a hand over his lover's bare back in a soothing motion as he sniffs.
“Speak to me, love.” The dark-haired man says quietly.
Douma brings his head up, but doesn’t cease holding onto Michikatu’s bicep for support. His arms are strong and they hold him up; arms that had cradled him the first time he broke down; arms that supported him the first time they made love; arms that held him ever since he was a teenager.
Now, he was thirty-six and married with a stable job and family, but he had never expected for the Gods to punish him like this. What had he done in a past life to deserve this?
Quite a lot.
He nods his head, and speaks.
“I was a demon.” Douma begins quietly. “Rainbow eyes and bouncy blond hair. The initials for ‘Upper Two’ were etched into my irises..”
Interesting start, though it sounds vaguely familiar to Michikatsu.
“I ate people. I killed this one girl's older sister and she came back for revenge, pouring poison into my body and I fell apart minutes later.”
Douma shivers. “It hurt so bad, Michi. My body was falling apart a-and you weren’t there and—”
“Shhh,” Michikatsu tangles his fingers in his lover's blond hair, scratching his scalp like a dog that needs attention. “breathe.” He repeats another time, and Douma takes two deep breaths.
“I watched Gyutaro and Ume die,” He says with tears in his eyes, “their bodies were miles away from their heads—” he chokes out the last word, clearly on his last leg. Michikarsu continues petting his head as Douma sobs into his shoulder, soaking the white t-shirt he’s wearing. “Then you crumbled in front of me and I was being dragged down into hell.”
Douma finishes with a loud cry, Michikatsu whispering soothing words into the man’s ears. This clearly was the first time these kinds of nightmares had plagued him, seeing as his reaction was so intense, but the latter briefly wondered if Douma had been experiencing crazy lucid dreams or something from a past life where he was much less fortunate.
“I see.” Michikatsu says softly. His fingertips trace Douma’s spine, sending a shiver through the blond man’s toned body. The sheets on his side of the bed had been completely soaked with sweat, some of it glistening on his forehead hidden through his messy bangs. Michi found the sight quite endearing and he places a kiss on his husband's temple.
“The kids—” Douma says, frantically looking up and around the room. “Are they alright?”
“Yes,” his lover says. “They are quite alright. They’re asleep in their rooms. I checked on them before bed."
Douma breathes a sigh of relief and collapses onto his husband's chest. His breathing has slowed, Michi notes, but he’s still holding onto his arms for support.
“Can we go check on them again when the sun rises?” Douma asks, hesitantly. Almost as if Michikatsu is going to say no. But instead, he nods his head softly.
“Of course, darling. If it pleases you.” Michi places a kiss on the other temple this time. Douma wraps his arms around the taller man’s waist and sighs into the crook of his neck.
They sit together as the sun slowly rises. Time stands still, as if it’s just them. Douma sits parallel to the man in front of him, cross legged and shirtless, still hot from the fever he feels he may have contracted just by sweating. His arms are locked tightly around his husband’s waist, his face nuzzled into the crook of his neck breathing in his scent. In comparison, Michikatsu still has his legs under the covers, his torso exposed. The t-shirt he’s wearing has been soaked on one side from Douma’s tears, but he could care less. His hair is flowing down his back, messy and disheveled, in contrast to how Douma thought he looked earlier.
“What time is it?” Douma asks after a moment. Michi turns his head and peers over to the clock on their bedside table, the digital object reading 5:29 AM in bright red letters.
“Almost five-thirty.” He says. “The sun is rising. I have to leave for work soon.”
As if on cue, Michikatsu’s 5:30 alarm rings. He quickly breaks his hold on his lover and presses the button on the device to shut it off.
Douma peels himself away from the man in front of him, arms still wrapped around his waist. Michikatsu smiles, looking at the man in his grasp.
“Feeling a little better?” He tucks a piece of blond hair behind his ears. Those icy blue eyes look up at him, a toothy grin blooming on his face.
“Yes.” Douma chirps. “I’m always feeling better when I’m with you.”
Michikatsu smiles, “I’m glad. You make me happy too.” He places a soft kiss to the top of Douma’s head, the man in question humming a tune of pleasure.
“I have to get up. Do you want me to call in sick for you?”
Douma looks up questioningly. “Why would you do that?”
“I want you to take care of yourself today. Gyutaro and Ume have an activity after school. I can tell Ubuyashiki about your situation. I'll call in sick for you, unless you'd rather do it yourself."Michikatsu holds his husband endearingly, placing soft kisses onto the top of his head. “It’ll be just you and me for a few hours tonight. Do you want to go out somewhere?” He rocks them back and forth.
“Being with you is enough,” He mumbles into Michi’s shoulder. “we could take the kids out to dinner with us when they get home.”
Michikatsu smiles. “Of course, love.”
Douma unwraps his hands from his husbands waist and rubs his eyes. Michi switches on the lamp, a newfound light gleaming into the room that gives Douma a better view of his lover. He feels reassured that now he can see his surroundings, and the room is now being coated in a fuchsia hue as the sun slowly rises. Douma looks out the window and smiles, a reminder that he is home.
Michikatsu envelops his husband in a long, passionate kiss, their lips moving together perfectly in a select rhythm they’ve memorized all the beats to.
“I love you,” The black-haired man says, “so much.”
“I love you too, Michi.” Douma smiles.
Douma thinks that maybe, the nightmares aren't so bad if he's home with his husband, right where he belongs.