Work Text:
Despite all your best efforts, the dawn had forgotten your name. Your sleep began early in the morning, before sunrise, and slept a scant 4 hours. Fortunately, being in an online server with people around the world, there was always someone to keep you company. Unfortunately that server happened to be filled with murderers; for better or worse, they were more welcoming than anyone else you knew, and you were assured that turning to them would bring nothing but comfort.
Tonight, however, no one was online. You scrolled up and down the different chats mindlessly, your head leaning heavily into your palm. You could write, but opening the blank page was more of a taunt than a call to productivity. Nothing was on your mind. You needed more inspiration from your latest muse before continuing with your next part of the story. To your disappointment, V was not online.
With a sigh, you left your computer on your desk, and left downstairs to fetch something to eat. You returned to your room quickly with an old bowl of pasta in hand, crawling back into your chair.
You squinted at the bright screen, scrolling through the server channels and members one last time before vowing to work on your book. Upon seeing a notification, however, your vow was promptly tossed out the window, and you clicked into your chat with K9.
<K9> [23:00]
Good evening. I know it is late, however I was hoping you could spare some time to answer a few of my questions.
You blinked several times, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you typed in your response.
<scaredevil> [23:12]
yeah, i'm not doing anything. whats up? you want to call?<K9> [23:12]
That would be preferrable.
Thank you for indulging me.
Not a second later and he was calling you. You quickly brushed your hair with your fingers and accepted, sitting up a little straighter in your chair.
"Midnight calls, hm?" You said before he could speak. "Some of the other server members might think we're up to something."
"None of the other server members are able to see our private calls," he said flatly.
"Goreboy is," you said.
He grunted––obviously dissatisfied with that truth.
"You raise a good point. Perhaps I shall set up our own private server––remove goreboy from the equation altogether," he said, knitting his fingers together beneath his chin.
"A server just for us? Sounds intimate," you said, grinning as you leaned in.
A soft, dark blush crept onto his face.
"Nonsense. It's simply a matter of privacy. Do you not resent the idea of being monitored, as I do?"
"I do... but not really enough to do anything about it. I don't know much about coding, anyway," you said, leaning on your palm. "Besides, we live in a surveillance state."
"All the more reason to protect yourself," he said, his eyes narrowing. "You must be skilled at disposing of bodies to be so careless in hiding your identity."
You shrugged. You had tried many times to tell him, both in humorous and serious tones, that you were not a serial killer. He never listened, insistent that his gut instinct was never wrong. Some part of you found it amusing, but at least his vehement search for you allowed you to spend some time with him, even if it was filled with both vague and direct threats on your life.
"Before we start with questions... how are you feeling tonight?" He asked.
"Tired," you said, tapping your fingers against your cheek.
"Have you not been sleeping well?"
"Not really."
He nodded softly.
"I understand. I, too, have many a night where sleep evades my grasp. Can you do anything about it? Do you have medicines?" He asked in a softer tone, leaning in.
"Yeah, but they don't tend to work." You glanced up at him. "Why do you care?"
He stuttered for a moment, hands falling out of sight of the camera.
"It is... important to lead a balanced life. That way I will be the one to take you down––not some useless meandering cop or your own poorly-managed lifestyle," he said.
"Sounds... intimate," you said with a lazy smile.
He hesitated, lips parted and eyes darting to the side and back to you as he contemplated your words and his own response.
"I... hesitate to admit this, but my vendetta is... personal, when it comes to you. I cannot figure you out. I suppose nothing is more alluring than a mystery," he said, once more folding his fingers together beneath his chin and leaning in.
"I've told you before," you chuckled, "I'm no mystery. I'm a writer."
"Yes, so you've said, and with all due respect, I do not believe it. Now if you don't mind, I would like you to answer my questions," he said.
"Of course. What's on your mind?"
"My first question. What is your favourite time of day?"
A grip creeped across your lips, devolving into giggles.
"Your questions have such a sweet facade," you said, shaking your head. "How is knowing my favourite time of day going to help you catch me?"
"Answer the question, please," he said, sighing roughly.
"Fine." You paused, biting back your smile. "I love the dawn."
"The dawn?" He repeated, eyes widening. "Interesting. You are not often online during those hours."
"I'm usually asleep then."
"Then... how is it your favourite time of day?"
"Oh, you know," you said, grunting as you stretched back in your chair, "it's a beautiful time. Renewal, quiet, and peace. My body just... doesn't... well, to be honest, I usually end up falling asleep just before dawn. Dawn hath abandoned me, and visits me no longer."
"I see."
You weren't sure if he believed you or not. You supposed it didn't matter. Before he could ask his next question, you spoke first.
"What's your favourite time of day?" You asked.
Again his eyes widened imperceptibly, taken aback by the reciprocation.
"I do not see how that is important," he said.
"You know my favourite, why can't I know yours? I already told you I'm no good at hacking, or finding people. I'm just curious," you said, shrugging.
"For all I know, that could have been a lie. But... I suppose it is only fair. I prefer the night. The vermin come out of the filth and reveal their nature, and I await them in the dark," he said, his eyes narrowing.
He glanced up from the intensity of his thoughts and found you beaming across the screen. He raised a single brow.
"What are you smiling about?" He asked roughly.
"Nothing, I just..."
What were you smiling about? You thought for a moment. It could be any number of things, really––his voice, his manner of speaking, the intensity of his conviction. Each of these things melted you a little bit, and the fluffy covers of your bed suddenly didn't seem so unfriendly.
"... I like the way you talk. Your words. Your voice. It's very... pretty," you murmured.
He froze, his face quickly turning a deep shade of red.
"Y -" he choked on his own breath. "R... really?"
"Yeah," you sighed. "It's a shame you use it to threaten me."
He blinked several times, glancing to the side.
"W - well... I suppose... I could hold off on my search, for tonight," he said, his eyes returning to you. "If that would please you."
You smiled. The juxtaposition of him attempting to please you and promising to kill you at the same time––it tingled inside you. A wonderfully chaotic rush.
"I don't think you'd lose much by taking a break for now," you chuckled softly.
He wouldn't lose anything because he had nothing to gain. You hid nothing. Except your name, of course.
"Then... what would you like to talk about?" He asked hesitantly.
"Mmm... I don't know," you hummed, staring in a somewhat dreamy trance at your screen. "I just like spending time with you."
You weren't sure how much more of this V could take. You could practically feel the heat of his blush through the computer, and you drank in each micro-expression––the widening eyes, twitching lips, fidgeting fingers––with absurd delight.
"You... are incredibly odd," he finally stuttered out, unable to meet your eye, even through the camera.
"Is it odd to find you endearing and beautiful?"
Now you had gone too far. He hadn't even replied and you were melting with embarrassment just watching him react to your words, as though it flowed off him in such excess that it somehow reached you.
"I - it is, um, quite odd," he eventually said, staring at his keyboard.
Despite going too far, you couldn't help yourself, and dug your trench even deeper.
"Sorry," you said. "I can't help it. Even if you are planning to kill me, I can't deny... nor should I, really, that you're very handsome. And I enjoy your company. I might even tell you my address so you can be the last thing I see before I die."
He slammed his fingers against the keyboard, and with a panicked expression, hung up.
You stared at your chat for a whole minute, eyes wide from his sudden reaction. Slowly you leaned forward and began to type.
<scaredevil> [23:21]
did i do something wrong?
It took him several more minutes to reply, and he took a long while to type out his message.
<K9> [23:27]
No.
I apologize for ending our call so abruptly. I was... suddenly busy.<scaredevil> [23:27]
you're not a very good liar, you know<K9> [23:27]
...
I suppose there's no avoiding it then.
As much as I am disinclined to admit it, I was very flattered by your comments.
A little too flattered.
You stared at the screen. What did he mean?
<scaredevil> [23:28]
were you like..... taking a cold shower....?<K9> [23:29]
I was not. I spent my time away tending to one of my rabbits. As a bonus, the activity aided in calming me. I have no affinity for cold showers anyway.
You debated your next message for a moment, heart racing as you sent it.
<scaredevil> [23:29]
can we call again?<K9> [23:29]
I do not believe that is a good idea.
Your heart deflated in your chest.
<scaredevil> [23:30]
why not? :(<K9> [23:30]
I am worried you will return to your previous barrage of compliments.
...
It is not a good idea.<scaredevil> [23:30]
please v?
i love hearing your voice
Nothing. The marker to show his typing didn't even appear.
<scaredevil> [23:31]
im sorry for pushing you
i really am
i didn't mean to offend you
i just wanted to express a little how i felt
fuck
i'll stop
You curled up in your desk chair, legs to your chest, and hid your face in your knees. How embarrassing. A deep, cold, and breaking sensation crackled through your ribs.
The computer dinged, and your head shot up.
<K9> [23:38]
You did not offend me.
I am simply... unaccustomed to people thinking of me in such a way. It has not ever occurred before.
You quickly began to type a response.
<scaredevil> [23:38]
never? thats hard to believe<K9> [23:38]
Is it? I am not the most sociable of creatures. Nor am I approachable. Most would consider me imposing, or even menacing. I am not sure I have ever been called handsome, much less... beautiful.<scaredevil> [23:38]
is it weird that i feel kinda accomplished to be your first?
i have a little award no one else will ever have<K9> [23:38]
Not the most fantastic of accomplishments, but I will not deny you your feelings on the matter.<scaredevil> [23:38]
thanks :)
not to freak you out again but
you're sweet<K9> [23:39]
Another compliment.
...
Thank you.
You drummed the edge of your keyboard with your fingertips, biting at your lip. Exhaustion freely visited you but rarely came with the comfort of sleep; V's voice, the deep, dulcet tones, was a ready substitute. When he kept his words soft and yielding, you could even hear sleep knocking at your distant door. It was a lot to ask, especially after freaking him out so much, but the desperation within you was clawing. Regret would make you bleed if you didn't at least ask.
<scaredevil> [23:41]
i know this is a little odd
you don't have to say yes, but
well to be honest, your voice has a calming effect on me. i was hoping maybe you could help me fall asleep... please.<K9> [23:42]
...
Your request is strange, but... acceptable. I will aid you.<scaredevil> [23:42]
that's very kind of you<K9> [23:42]
Kindness is a trait I strive to exemplify in my life. But thank you. You are the first person in the server to take note of it.
A moment later and he was requesting to call you. You hurried over to bed, carrying your laptop over, and jumped beneath the covers before answering. There was barely enough time to settle your head into your pillow before the call loaded.
He let out some quiet grunting noise upon seeing you, raising his brow.
"You are... already in bed," he said slowly.
Oh, that deep, amber voice, you thought to yourself dreamily. You decided not to inform him of your delight in hearing him.
"Of course I am," you said, hiding half your face behind your blankets. "I'm not going to sleep at my desk.
"I would think not. I was... just not expecting you to already be... in bed."
You giggled, shying further into your covers.
"Are you comfortable?" He asked softly.
You nodded.
"Good," he said in a somewhat stiff tone, giving a curt nod. "If it's... not too much to ask, I would like to see your face. Consider it a favour in return for helping you to fall asleep."
It was a fair request, though you felt some embarrassment at the idea of him being able to fully see you as you drifted off to sleep. Still, with a creeping blush you lowered your blanket, revealing your face squished into your pillow. A subtle but surely there smile warmed V's expression.
"Ah, there you are," he said, leaning in, his hands lax beneath his chin. "If we are being honest tonight, I will admit you are quite beautiful, as well. A light in the dim wake of reality."
You chuckled, attempting poorly to hide your blushing face in your pillow. But your eyes remained on your screen, entranced with him.
"Charming words," you said.
"And yet speaking nothing but the truth. Now please, tell me––how can I be of service to you?"
It was your turn now to flush, to be filled with a warmth that urged you to run far away just to compose yourself. A hundred different things whirled through your head; would he really do anything for you if you simply asked with a sweet 'please' at the end? Surely not. Logically there was some limit. But your imagination knew no such word.
"You can talk about anything," you said, wishing you could hide your face again. "You can even read me a story if you fancy it."
"Anything?" He asked, raising his brow. "Are you sure?"
"Of course."
He thought for a moment, then suddenly stood, disappearing out of the camera's sight for a couple minutes. You thought to call out but decided against it, and patiently waited for him to return.
He reappeared with a book in hand, opening it on the desk in front of him. It was a small book––barely the size of his hand––and coloured in pale earthy tones, though the title remained obscured from your vision.
"This is a collection of Persian poetry," he said, smoothing out the pages. "I... sometimes read it when I am in need of relaxation. Though at times the prose can be... quite stimulating to the intellect. I hope that, as I do, you will find it calming."
Poetry at midnight. Poetry with V, at midnight, in your bed, as he would slowly watch you sleep.
There were worse ways to die.
With your heart pounding as intensely as it was, sleep was the furthest thing from your mind and desires––but you had asked for his help, and he had so kindly acquiesced, so you did your best to settle into the covers and slow your racing heart.
He turned a few pages, and you watched with fluttering eyes.
"Ah. Here is a poet I much admire. A mystic Sufi from the 8th century... a woman. Rabia al Basri. Let us begin."
He spoke slowly, with emphasis, with quiet adoration for the artwork of words––the intertwining taste of writer and experience, combined into a painting of poetry.
I have loved Thee with two loves -
a selfish love and a love that is worthy of Thee.
As for the love which is selfish,
Therein I occupy myself with Thee,
to the exclusion of all others.
But in the love which is worthy of Thee,
Thou dost raise the veil that I may see Thee.
Yet is the praise not mine in this or that,
But the praise is to Thee in both that and this.
"Here is another one, by Rumi. Another mystic from the 13th century," he said.
The Friend comes into my body
looking for the center, unable
to find it, draws a blade,
strikes anywhere.
There is a light seed grain inside.
You fill it with yourself, or it dies.
I am caught in this curling energy, your hair!
Whoever is calm and sensible is insane.
Do you think I know what I am doing?
That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?
As much as a pen knows what it is writing,
or the ball can guess where it is going next.
We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups.
That is fine with us. Every morning,
we glow and in the evening we glow again.
They say there is no future for us. They are right.
Which is fine with us.
Slowly you drifted away, eyes drifting shut, mind drifting off, as sleep melted into your skin like a warm rose oil. The depth of his voice, the luxuriant taste, imbued itself into your dreams. He spoke only a few more poems before you were gone, your eyes firmly closed and lips softly parted.
He closed the book quietly and set it aside. For a few minutes unbeknownst to your consciousness he watched you, eyes darting across your features as sparks of his own wandering mind came about. He wondered, though he didn't mean to, what your skin would feel like beneath his fingers. How warm your body would be beneath a shared blanket. The thought was inappropriate, and he quickly dismissed it.
He did, however, allow himself one last indulgence.
You were not his love. You had done nothing of the sort to indicate comfort in being referred to as such. But given your kindness––your gentle amiability––he was assured you were much beloved of someone.
"Good night, beloved," he murmured, lingering for a moment more, before ending the call.
Your computer quietly turned itself off.