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In all 3 years of his existence, Sigma had only one dream. It was almost complete emptiness at first, except a golden halo of light amidst the darkness of sleep. He couldn’t move, and for a moment, the question of if he was dead crossed the back of his mind. It lingered still when colors came into view. Those colors transformed into shapes, and, suddenly, he stood alone in the elevator at Mersault, although there were no signs of water pooling around his feet or the man he was trapped in there with. Even the heavy and malicious aura of Fyodor was absent. It was just light and air, a gentle haze.
He woke with a gentle flutter of his lashes, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. A large king size bed with black satin sheets—along with two sets of limbs, long and limber and bare—entrapped him in a coziness that was almost foreign to him. Two separate breathing patterns alternated from the bodies that flanked him, both men still in their slumber.
Sigma had to take a moment to collect his thoughts, to have his sleepy mind run for a while to catch up with his body. The vision had taken him back, uneventful but alien, and, to ground himself fully, he had to look around the room, shrouded in darkness, bar the slight, silvery light of the moon that gently floated through the window. It illuminated the gentle slope of Dazai’s shoulders and the sharp edges of Chuuya’s cheekbones, a captivating sight that almost waxed poetic.
He was safe. He was free. He was home.
His cheeks split with a smile as he turned his head over, back and forth between the two, his hair caught between Dazai’s fingers and underneath Chuuya’s slumbering frame. It was all he could do to not cry out with joy and throw his arms around the both of them, the ones who made his happiness possible.
But he didn’t want to wake them. Not when they probably were whisked away in dreams of their own. (Did either of them dream? That was a question for when they woke up.)
Still, he remained with his eyes to the ceiling, restless in the darkness, wanting to fall back into peaceful slumber. He wanted to welcome his dreams back behind his eyelids, for both of the men sleeping beside him to greet him, to love him so completely that he felt he would combust. But there was no need, for he was already in the midst of their love. He could feel it in their breaths, almost a secret message declaring their love for only him to hear, and perhaps for the other to decode in their own dreams.
He basked in the warmth of their limbs, entwined in his own, and, with a tender smile, closed his eyes. Even as his consciousness drifted away, he could have sworn he felt both of their grips tighten on him, a silent promise to never let him go.