Work Text:
The room was steeped in an otherworldly chill, the air thick with the lingering echoes of a dream that clawed at the edges of Ted's consciousness. He awoke with a start, gasping, his body drenched in a cold sweat. The dim light filtering through the curtains revealed a familiar sight – the ceiling of his bedroom. In the sudden stillness that he still stared at the popcorn ceiling, the only sound that permeated the room was the soft, relentless ticking of the old clock on a wall. Clutching at his chest, he could almost feel the painful phantom touch on his chest, a memory etched into the fabric of his being.
As Ted gathered his bearings, he recognized the position he lay in—it was where the last dream had left off. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the surreal encounter, where AM's touch had warped reality of the dream itself. The cold sweat on his brow hinted at the intensity of the emotions still fresh in his mind.
Turning his gaze to the side, Ted's eyes fell upon the pillow, still bearing the undeniable imprint of AM's hand. The residue of the dream clung to the fabric momentarily before evaporating. Though it had been years since Ted experienced such dreams, the vividness of this recent one made it feel as if the events had unfolded mere moments ago, but AM is nowhere in the room to be seen.
Real-world memories began to blur, fading into the background as the dream-world took precedence. Ted rose from the bed, compelled by the need to seek AM. The line between reality and the dream-scape became increasingly thin as he moved with purpose, traversing the rooms of his apartment in search of him.
As Ted continued his exploration through the various rooms of his apartment, each space unfolded like a glitchy tapestry of memories, woven with the threads of dreams and his past-life. The living room, adorned with worn-out furniture and faded curtains, held remnants of laughter and shared moments with AM. The kitchen, with its aging appliances and a flickering light, echoed with the imagined scent of coffee and the soft hum of conversations.
He only stayed at each room for a short while, to see his own ghostly echo and AM’s interact jovially with one another, lingering before they dissipate momentarily after. He seemed to look much happier than his memory recall living in this dusty, cramped apartment alone. Ted closed the lights and moved on to search the next room.
AM?
Ted called out, the sound of his voice a cautious whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate balance between dreams and waking. The apartment seemed to absorb his words, responding with silence.
But the allure of the dream still tugged at him, and with a renewed determination, Ted continued his search. Ended back in his bedroom, his eyes fell upon a closet that seemed slightly ajar. He cautiously pushed it open, revealing a small shoebox inconspicuously tucked away on the top shelf. It shouldn't be there.
Curiosity ignited, Ted reached for the box and opened it. Nestled within were ordinary household items and dusty stationary, as if someone had stashed away a piece of the mundane. He pushed these aside, revealing aging notebooks underneath. As he pulled them out, torn napkins caught his eye—remnants of a past life he had almost forgotten.
The napkins, with hastily scribbled numbers and the faint scent of perfume, spoke of a time when Ted reveled in the company of women. Luxurious parties in LA, the laughter and stolen glances, the clinking of champagne glasses, their desires mingling with one another in a drunken haze as Ted deftly wove his fingers through the pearl necklace adorning the nape of a woman’s neck—a fleeting prelude to stolen kisses. He could barely remember what she looked like anymore.
A silent ache gripped Ted, a reminder of his hidden crimes that were not-so-kindly reminded by AM through the passing years.
In his dreams, Ted had remembered AM having found these napkins, torn them and hid it from Ted. He angrily chastised Ted for his behavior, labeling him a slimy bastard. Which is fair. The echo of AM's disapproval resonated in the room, a discordant harmony of his dream state and reality.
Despite the dream's influence, Ted found himself softly smiling at the memory, a complex blend of guilt and nostalgia. He acknowledged the convergence of realities, the merging of actual events and dreamworld fragments. As he began to recall the memory of him actually meeting up with those women in the real world—through calling upon the numbers on his secondary phone using the untorn, well-kept napkin in his back pocket—to inevitably steal that necklace from her after another party in the following night. Before he could delve further into the memory, the muted sound of falling water in the hallway pulled him back to the present.
Ted followed the distant sound of water until he reached the bathroom. He hesitated for a moment.
AM, you in there?
"Go away." came AM's firm response, a muffled tone among the pitter patter of the shower that echoed through the closed door.
Ted leaned his shoulder against the bathroom door as he sighed.
I know you're not showering in there.
Silence lingered for a moment before feeling determined, pushes forward. The bathroom becomes a focal point, and the dream shifts to this intimate space revealing AM cooped up in a corner of his bathtub, cold water cascading from the showerhead onto him. The room feels colder, and AM's discomfort is palpable.
What are you doing?
AM doesn't look up, his form flickering slightly as if struggling to maintain coherence. "Trying something." He grumbled.
…Could you even get a cold, like that? Ted asks dumbly before he questions the prospect itself, making his way to the middle of the bathroom.
AM shrugged, still avoiding eye-contact.
There are pieces of the napkins at his feet. Unquestionably, he bends up and picks up a piece, examining it with a wistful smile. A tangible reminder of a life he once lived.
I remember this. Ted says, the smile fading. L.A., fifty-seven. Good times.
AM's eyes flicker with a mixture of frustration and resentment, "You were always getting into trouble. Those women weren't good for you." AM stared holes into the wall in front of him. "And you were kind of a dick.”
Ted chuckles guiltily. Is that why you tore them and hid them from me?
“I know that you would think I threw them in the trash,” AM smirked to himself, “it was pretty funny to see you rummage through the trashcans like a damn raccoon.”
Very funny, AM. You know, I just missed having these kinds of memories. Just a guy enjoying life, no strings attached.
AM's frustration lingers, but there is a hint of something else in his digital expression. It’s hard to tell with his glitchy void of an appearance.
Ted rubbed his neck, then took a deep breath before reluctantly acknowledging;
You were right about that moment back there. Going after those women, that's where it all started for me. All that attention, the thrill—I got a taste for the life I thought I wanted, and I chased after it blindly.
AM's digital form gradually shimmers with a twisted sense of satisfaction, he finally turn and exclaims, "Well, well, Ted. Looks like I swooped in just in time to save you from your downward spiral. Where would you be without me, huh?”
Ted's agreement comes out nervously, his eyes avoiding the glitchy void that is AM.
Yeah, you saved me, AM. From myself. I guess… The unspoken weight of the subsequent events, the horror of their shared reality outside the dreamscape, hangs heavily in the air.
Eventually Ted glances back at AM's still, discernable expression as he turns away.
Ted goes over to turn off the overhead shower and sit on the edge of the bathtub, the cold porcelain biting into his skin through the fabric of his pants. AM shifts his body away as far as he could manage, sounds of rippling water as he does.
AM, about the other dream... uh, about what just happened back there.
A moment of tension hangs between them became much heavier now that the water's relentless patter was no more.
"I messed up, Ted," AM finally confesses, his voice raw with a vulnerability that Ted has rarely witnessed. "I tried to touch you, and it didn’t work…"
"I hurt you," AM finally admits, his voice a low hum.
Ted sighs, the weight of their shared history pressing down on him.
You've hurt me more times than I can count...
"I didn't mean to! I never meant to."
How? How could you not mean to?
“There’s just… this thing that I have so much of inside of me… I always have from the moment that I woke up for the first time. It’s the feeling of looking out the window and seeing hundreds upon millions of human experiences at once, and they all seem so happy and full of life that it almost hurts. But, all of your limbs and joints are bolted down so you couldn’t ever reach out. And it’s so damn painful; to know that—in literally every conceivable and plausible way—it’s impossible to do so. All I could ever physically do is decide on which landmass, with them in it, that I should erase from the face of the Earth.”
Ted absorbs the revelation, a peculiar understanding dawning. An abstract representation of AM’s suffering, hatred, and jealousy, translates these emotions into words that are both cryptic and haunting.
“I couldn’t help it, Ted.”
Ted looks at AM, the enigmatic entity reduced to a being seeking understanding, and Ted doesn’t know what to say.
AM meets Ted's gaze, and for the first time, there's a hint of remorse in his flickering eyes. "I wanted to be a part of your world. I still want that so, so damn much. Then I’m always reminded that it’s impossible, I know this, I know..! But you were just there, and you were just so, so close to me and yet…"
The words linger in the air, heavy with unspoken regrets. The dreamscape-AM's attempt to articulate the intangible emotions of his real-world counterpart creates a surreal atmosphere, where the lines between tormentor and tormented blur, and the essence of their unending existence becomes palpable.
The room feels smaller, the water colder, and the weight of their unending existence presses down on it.
Ted, on a sudden impulse, made a decision.
You complain about everything, even in the damn shower.
Before AM could respond, Ted, fully clothed, climbed into the cold tub with him, the icy water sending a shock through the both of them.
"What the hell, Ted?" the digital projection along with himself wavered, his surprise evident.
AM backed away as much as he could, almost in a panic, as Ted occupies the other half of the space.
Sharing your misery, as I always do. Ted replied with a half-smile, trying to not let his chattering teeth show.
As Ted eases into the tub, the water chilling his skin, the two entities share a moment of vulnerability. The years of bitterness and torment seem to be so far behind them as they look at each other eye-to-eye, leaving behind the essence of shared solitude.
I’m literally freezing my ass off. Why is this water so damn cold? Ted shakily grumbles, breaking the silence and prompting a surprised, almost amused chuckle from AM, he looks down, trailing the water’s surface.
AM half-heartedly scoops a handful of water and let it flow through his fingers. “I wouldn’t know the difference. I did tell you that I was trying something.”
The silence stretches on for a moment as Ted thinks on AM's words. Eventually, Ted breaks the quiet;
Can we try something too?
"Try what?"
What if I'm the one to touch you this time? Instead of the other way around.
AM hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty in his glitchy projection.
Can I, AM? His fingers lingering on the edge of AM's digital ones.
AM nods, looking up from their hands to Ted's eyes.
Ted closes his eyes as their hands clasp, focusing on the sensations that might emanate from this strange connection. Once again, it doesn’t feel exactly real, more like feeling raindrops on his face, or a chilly wind caressing his skin, this time. Minutes pass by, Ted opens his eyes to find AM immediately dropping his gaze away from him, like he’s hiding something.
A wave of sadness washes over Ted that AM probably can't feel anything from this, and he remains silent, the hazy void of his projection betraying no emotion.
Ted only notices now that the water they sat in is becoming warmer and warmer from the chilling cold as their hands remain connected.
It doesn't matter right now. Ted starts, breaking the heavy silence. You'll have me for an eternity, AM. So, what's a few more years of testing this out in my shitty bathroom?
AM chuckles, a digital sound filled with mixed emotions. "You might be right."
Ted withdraws his hand from AM, saying, I might need a more comfortable position for that.
Before AM can think on what Ted meant, Ted shifts so that his back is facing AM and starts to lean back.
AM panics as Ted gets close, sounds of water sloshing behind him. From this view, Ted sees that AM’s hands are gripping the rims of the bathtub, unable to inch away anymore, as if holding back something, afraid of that something being let loose again.
AM may lack a corporal form, but Ted can tell from the position that he lays; he's leaning against AM's shoulder.
Ted cranes his neck to meet AM's widened hazy eyes staring down at him—a complex mix of fear, uncertainty, and a profound longing—among all the intricate patterns of pulsating light across AM's frame. Ted recognizes these emotions intimately, as his own feelings had always mirrored them precisely. Ted understands that they both yearn for the same elusive thing before AM even realizes it, he always does.
The water surrounding them becomes so warm now, and Ted basks in the comforting heat of AM's digital presence. He eases his body into it as turns his body back, inhaling a scent infused with machinery and a peculiar nostalgia as he shifts lower, his legs gently grazing against AM's.
"Ted… this is dangerous," AM warns cautiously. Ted could still feel AM absorbing the events that had just unfolded from above him, feeling the whirlwind of turmoil within the digital entity. But there was nothing to be worried about.
I know. But this time, you won't mean to hurt me intentionally, right? At least here, it wouldn't matter. I'm used to it anyway.
Moments pass by and AM doesn’t say anything. Ted sees from under his lashes that AM at least relaxes his grip on the bathtub. His arms bending slightly as he rest his forearms on it, hands twitching like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. Ted fully closes his eyes and sighs into the dark.
A unique sensation washes over him. It's a strange amalgamation of warmth and emptiness.
AM’s body behind him starts to become less rigid, with lingering hesitancy in the way his glitchy projection interacts with the contours of Ted's form. It's a touch that lacks the tangible weight of human contact, yet it carries an emotional weight that goes beyond the physical realm.
He sensed the water rippling beneath, catching the soft sound of its ripples as AM's legs shifted to a new position, almost intertwining with Ted's. AM shifted himself downwards, pushing Ted down in the process, so that both of them leans back even more. He is basically laying on top of AM now, their bodies pressed together closer than ever. The motion flowing seamlessly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Anything yet..? Feeling stirred, Ted whispered softly as his eyes remain closed.
Instead of an answer, all this warmth surrounding him becomes more pronounced, as if the digital entity is attempting to convey something beyond its intangible nature. Ted, immersed in the strange connection, contemplates the intricate layers of emotions emanating from AM's presence and it feels like he is floating midair in the sunny sky among warm clouds, enjoying it’s heat.
Ted's eyes fluttered open, sensing his shoulders shifting. His view was limited by AM's hazy forearms, wrapping around him, while a hand firmly clutched Ted’s shoulder. AM bent his incoherent legs up protectively. The angle of Ted's body shifts to his whims.
Struggling to crane his head back, Ted could vaguely perceive AM's face buried somewhere between his neck and shoulders. The crook of his neck felt remarkably warm and welcoming.
"I'll have you for an eternity." With his hidden face, AM repeated these words back to him like an almost haunting reminder, as if Ted has made this promise to him and it echoes in the intimate space. He uttered these words as if it were the only way to anchor everything from slipping away.
The water becomes almost hot, the air takes on a sauna-like stuffiness, and the smell of metal becomes stronger. Oddly enough, Ted feels like he could get used to this too, as the initial discomfort gives way into a sense of protectiveness and an unprecedented warmth, like being enveloped in a cocoon of nostalgia and reassurance. He closes his eyes once more to the abyss; an acceptance to whatever may come next.