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Before his second chance at life, a dream was never something he paid attention to.
Let alone dreaming, the act of sleeping was a luxury he didn't quite get to experience. Chased by life that never once considers giving him a little breather. Mocking, in its pace to celebrate his chipping sanity and fraying humanity, just like the triumphs of the people who later celebrated the last of his exhausted breath.
In the current life, after regressing with his soul and memories still chipped and battered, Yuder is used to having a dream.
Not the random, nonsensical kind of dreams many would usually have, but a dream nonetheless.
In some way, it might be a blessing, those dreams.
How the universe gave him a chance to reform his tattered soul by letting him walk through every forgotten piece, recollect every overlooked detail, and learn every denied truth on top of giving him a new chance in life. Even though each dream would always leave him with clutched fists, trembling eyes, and his heart reeling in pain not unlike peeling off a scabbed scar that never had the chance to properly heal, he could not resent it. He learned not to resent it.
Maybe those dreams were his punishment.
For all the unspeakable deeds he had done in a life that's been overwritten. And the more he thinks about it—the more he learned to be thankful about every revelation—he could not find it in himself to be upset about the pain. Because he knows, in a way, he deserves it. The life he led before was anything but noble, after all.
Therefore, he is not quite surprised to find himself sitting in a setting that is so jarringly different from the bed he fell asleep on. Surrounded by too bright lights the moment he opened his eyes, his eyebrows reflexively furrowed at the onslaught. Although not exactly blinding, the light is still bright enough to falter his confused brain.
The 'surprise' comes later after he adjusts his sights.
It takes no longer than a couple of seconds for him to recognize where he is currently sitting. The quiet atmosphere, the forlorn setting, every spectrum of emotions hidden behind luxurious fans and downturned heads. One sweeping gaze, and he knows what kind of situation he is currently involved in.
Why he suddenly attending this kind of occasion though is the 'surprise' he doesn't quite understand.
Because it is different, he is sure that he has no memory of where he had to attend a funeral in this kind of setting.
It is far from the interior of the Charloin church where the late Second Prince of Herne was being sent off; the atmosphere was wrong, and the people filling the long seats were completely different as well.
And loathed he was to recall anything about the other option; he is sure that this dream is not about that particular memory.
How could it be?
If this dream is a recollection of that memory, how could the man in his memory currently sit quietly beside him? Complete and perfect, with his broad back straight and a small smile lingering over his beautiful face.
The man has his eyes trained to the coffin, undeterred even when Yuder drilled his gaze at the side of his sculpted profile. And even though the lack of reaction certainly could be listed as an oddity on any other day, Yuder let those bits of detail away. Too preoccupied on staring at the man just a little bit more. At his silky blond hair, the pair of his strong eyebrows, his striking yet ever so kind carnelian eyes, down to his defined cheek bones, all the way into the pair of his lush lips.
He relished it all. Just to settle the hint of anxiety brewing in his mind. Trying to calm the inexplicable churning that appears from the depths of his gut.
Eventually he brings his gaze away from the man. Bringing it to cast a glance at the coffin presented at the front. From his angle it seems like the coffin is bathed in a gentle ray of sunlight as if the heaven itself opened a path to lead the resting soul into its embrace. Such a moving picture, the sight is, if only Yuder is not too preoccupied on internally trying to decipher where exactly he is currently in.
Feeling strangely guilty for not having the appropriate mental space, he brings his gaze downward. Focusing instead on the seemingly simple and modest shape of the coffin, even though he knows modest would be the furthest word to describe such a piece. It is obvious in every inscription crafted around it. As if it was more of a piece of art than the last bed of a body whose soul had been gone.
Feeling strangely even more guilty, he trailed his gaze away, bringing it all the way down to his own hands.
A sliver of relief bloomed at the sight of his gloved hands. Gratitude flowed quietly at another confirmation that this is not a recollection of a memory he'd rather not relive.
A dream can be vicious after all. His dreams, especially. False in its exaggeration, humbling in its intention. And just like every trial Yuder has to tackle in his wake, the same remedy would follow even to his sleep. And Yuder had learned to expect certain situations to greet him right after he succumbed to the lull of sleep.
However, even with the confirmation that this dream is not any reconstruction of any forgotten past, the foreboding feeling is still churning deep inside his conscience, and the telltale of anxiety is still actively being pushed back into the edge.
He lifts his head up, wanting to see the man beside him, wanting to settle himself once more by the man's calming presence, but the moment he has his gaze up, Yuder is no longer sitting.
He is standing—walking, to be precise. His feet moving steadily, one sure step right after another, in the direction of a glorified bed of one eternal slumber.
In one of his gloved hands, a single lone stalk of white Chrysanthemum appeared and is loosely held.
True to the tradition of imperial aristocracy's funeral, the lid of the coffin is opened to allow the family and selected attendees to bid their final farewells to the deceased and place each of their offered flowers.
However, despite part of his mind suddenly having registered the information of this being a funeral of an imperial aristocrat on its own—just like how his limbs are moving entirely on their own—another part of him, the part that stays true to him, is reeling.
His heart thundering with every single slow step, his eyes frantic in his search of a man he held dear above any other else.
The closer he gets to the casket, the more frantic the beats of his heart are.
The closer he gets to the opened coffin, the more his conscience refuses to let his eyes flicker to the deceased.
But just as in any other dream, Yuder is rendered powerless of his own will.
And the moment his feet stop its movement right in front of the casket and his eyes treacherously flit into the one resting inside it, so do the beats of the heart resting inside his own chest.
This is a dream.
Resting inside a coffin too beautiful to be buried under is the man he was—just a few seconds ago—looking for.
This is a dream.
Laid perfectly in replication of an unassuming sleep. Looking disturbingly still, peaceful in a way a living will never ever be.
This must be a dream.
That is all he could mumble, repeated over and over, not unlike the desperate plea of a devotee who prayed to an unresponding god.
He tries to leave; honest to everything that is holy, he tries to leave.
But just as in any of his vicious, vicious dreams, Yuder is nothing but a puppet of a makeshift reality.
He watches as his hand raised to place the white Chrysanthemum over the heart of the deceased, fingers trembling in his internal fight—torn between wanting to snatch them away then run, or wanting to touch the pale skin of the man resembling his beloved, seeking the familiar warmth he knows would no longer be found even with the gentlest, most desperate caress.
He watches as red suddenly appeared among the white. The unblemished petal of his flower stained until the last of its white disappeared, not stopping until the red dripped down and stained the pristine clothes of his love—
No.
He is not him.
This man is not him.
This is not real.
『But what if it is?』
A drop of cold sweat fell at the question. The heart he previously thought was stopped is now beating frantically until it hurts. His eyes strained and trembled, trying their best to stray away from the figure resting in eternal slumber.
『What if it is real?』
It is not.
He is safe.
He is alive.
『But he will not always be so, wouldn't he?』
His eyes opened wide at that. Gone the struggle he puts up to at least close his own eyes. Forced to witness a scenario he desperately tried to forget and a picture he refused to ever imagine.
『Look again.』
He watches as the pool of red magically shrinks in, trailing back like a little whirlpool into where a heart would reside, leaving not a single speck of its trace, rebranding its previous color as if saved.
But the sight does not reassure him in the slightest.
It was a reminder, he knows.
Of a heart he once stabbed to death. Of a life his own hands had to take.
Sure, none of it happened in the current plane of existence; he fought tooth and nail to ensure the safety of the once condemned man. Sacrificing himself and staining himself red, all to make sure that the man would always be white, clean, and safe. Rewriting any possible dangers, enduring every upcoming pain, all to make sure that a fate lingered over his beloved halo is erased and cleansed, prolonging his life.
Then why should the very scenario he refused its existence of have to be played by his own subconsciousness?
Why?
『Because it is possible.』
His breath hitched.
He hates how powerless he is to the voice of the demon of his own making.
『Look again.』
His eyes are forced to move their gazes away from the now–red Chrysanthemum resting over a pristine white clothes, up to where he knows a familiar face would be.
He tries to resist, defiant still in his struggle to fight the inevitable, trying to save at least the fragile string of his healed sanity.
But tries all he might, he failed still.
His gaze still trailed up further, again, and again, until a span of familiar pale skin was finally visible.
It is painful how he cannot find it in himself to delude the sight before him; not even able to tell himself lies that this unmoving figure is nothing like the man he cherished most.
How could he?
When he knows by heart every subtle line of veins resided under the paleness of his skin, traced and memorized in every embrace they shared with the tips of his own rough fingers.
When he knows intimately every slope and edge, any hints of imperfections that only make the man even more perfect, making him even more lovelier—more human—than the blinding angelic masks he often adorned.
When Yuder knows just how exactly Kishiar would look, when his smile is frozen, his time is stolen, and his breath is no longer.
『Look again.』
If Yuder has any say in the flow of the situation, he would already bleed. From his fists—clenched too tight, his nails would definitely break the toughened skin. From his lips—biten too hard to force himself to wake, to defy the absolute with the sheer power of his deviance, if nothing else. From his eyes, because he would rather blinded himself raw than having to witness another version of Kishiar being anything other than alive.
But alas, he was—is powerless.
Rather than reeling back to avoid the last piece of a picture he vehemently tried to deny, he stood still. His back straight with his head bowed ever so slightly. Appearing not unlike how any casual attendee would pray the last of their heartfelt farewell.
But Yuder is not a casual attendee. If this dream has just a little bit of kindness offered to him, Yuder will never act like any casual attendees.
Once upon a time, he might have acted like one. In a past shrouded in tight-lipped mystery where every truth was left untold, Yuder was merely one of the bitter attendees.
But not now.
If this dream allows him to act like how he actually wanted to, he would kneel. He would fall. He would throw away any kind of proprietary and wail until his heart absolutely and utterly crumbled.
But he doesn't, he can't, and thus he knows that this is only a dream. A cruel dream. One that trapped him in its vicious grips until every single cells in his trembling body weeps.
『Look again.』
And look, he does.
He looks at how Kishiar is laid carefully. Appearing not unlike how he usually sleeps, beautiful still without even a single strand of his silky golden hair askew.
But it looks wrong. So, so wrong.
『Look again.』
He looks at how warmth is depicted from the paleness of Kishiar's skin.
How the smoothness of his cheeks sunk because of the lack of his beautiful grin.
He looks at how chapped his lips are.
He looks at how blue his complexion is.
He looks at how his sharp yet gentle eyes never once fluttered themselves open. Denying him the grace of the magnificent red held inside his eyes.
He looks.
He looks.
He looks.
He looks until the blood that should have flowed from the crevice of his own body starts to appear from the side of Kishiar's forehead instead. Another stream flows from his nose; another slipped from the tiny gaps of his mouth. Flowing steadily until half of his face was covered in nothing but blood, and not stopping still.
He looks.
But by god, Yuder no longer has the capability to actually see.
『The unfortunate past might already be fixed, but it's no guarantee of a fixed future.』
Please..
『Remember how he throws his battered body just to bear the burden of your fall.』
No, please..
『Remember the wounds he had to suffer. The eye he injured. The fragile vessel he continuously endangered.』
It won't happen again..
『He would do it again. We know he will do it again.』
So please..
『As long as he puts us above himself, any kind of fatal possibility is ultimately endl—
STOP!
A horrifying voice reverberated inside his head, sending a freezing chill into his tattered mind, failing—in his distress—to notice that the sound came from his own throat. A sizeable lump formed next, an acidic bile followed, and the next thing he knows, he doubled over, coughing over and over until spit flowed from the corner of his gasping mouth.
With the rapid itch of paranoia that had poisoned his thoughts, he is late to notice that there's another voice trying to reach him.
It is calm, the voice. It is deep, it is steady; it is everything his staggered self currently is not.
It is also loud, but only in its volume and far from sounding harsh. It is firm but also soothing and calm. It resonates through the rapid heartbeats deafening his ears. It grabbed his wrist amidst his cloudy, acidic reverie.
Belatedly, he realized the grip he felt steadying his mind was not only metaphorical.
It is also physical.
He recoiled at first. Nerves pulled too tight in the midst of high anxiety, the contact feels too hot and too cold at the same time. Reflexes nearly uncontrolled if not for the small piece of his conscience that's been screaming—berating him that that touch was safe. Reminding him that this touch is safe.
That dot of realization makes him lift his head.
Is it too late?
Is his reaction made the one who gave him that touch averse to try again?
Blinking hard to clear his blurry sight, he contemplates reaching out his hand. But it doesn't feel right.
His hands are sweaty, clammy, cold, and unsteady. They don't feel deserving to touch each other.
But he wants to touch him. He wants to confirm that this is no longer a dream. He wants to make sure that there's a pulse beating under the skin and warmth permeating over the touch.
He wants.
He wants.
He wants—
"..der."
Huh?
".. Yuder."
A large shadow cast upon him when he was finally able to focus his sight. In any other situation, if he is in this exact condition, he would certainly attack the one who dares to loom over him. But right now, he is just relieved. Because the shadow is not just anyone else. It is him.
It is him.
"There you are.."
Kishiar has his brows furrowed, but there's also a small, reassuring smile pulled tenderly on his face. If Yuder looks down, he will see that Kishiar has his hands raised mid-air, hanging between a small distance purposely created to give him some space.
"Can you hear me?"
There's still a distinct ringing blaring in his ears, but he can hear Kishiar's voice pretty clearly.
He nods his head tentatively.
Kishiar is silent after that, or probably he was humming, and Yuder is the one who failed to catch the soft sound.
The ringing persists after all, and it is annoying. He feels himself tilting his head down in an attempt to shake off the sound. However, as he did so, an open palm appeared on his line of sight.
Instinctively, he follows the line of the offered hand and finds the same tender, reassuring smile still directed at him.
"May I touch you?"
Ah.
That is what he wanted, right?
That is the voice he wanted to hear, right?
That is the hand he wanted to hold, right?
It was probably because of the way Kishiar asked for permission so gently. Or it was entirely because it is Kishiar. Kishiar, who sat right in front of him, offering his hand with a sweet smile, his own questions and emotions carefully tucked behind a neutral gaze, and a patience as endless as the ocean itself. Yuder felt like he is going to cry.
Although, belatedly, he realized, he has been crying for a while.
Not quite able to look at the palpable concern slipping out of those magnificent eyes, Yuder kept his head down. But he lifts his hand, slowly yet surely, until it lands on top of the bigger palm of the other man.
Kishiar immediately closes his hand, clasping Yuder's lightly at first—as if letting him know that if Yuder wants to let go, he can and is allowed to.
Certainly, Yuder wants none of that. Stubbornly, he clasps the hand being held gently harder, holding Kishiar's tighter. Because if there's one thing Yuder would never do in this second chance of life, it's that he will never ever let go of Kishiar.
Even when his fingers are nothing but jittering mess and his palm is disgusting and clammy. Even if it will cost him everything, Yuder will never let go.
A short puff of laughter slipped from Kishiar's lips. A sliver of surprise, amusement, admiration, and something closer to resignation flashed in between the brightness of his eyes. Although Yuder has no idea—nor he has the capability to properly think—on why those odd combinations of emotions are currently there.
Only after understanding the indirect permission, Kishiar then tightened his own grip. His larger hand easily engulfed Yuder's own; and his grip now feels firm, secure, and most importantly, warm.
The warmth seeped through the touch is real.
The warmth pulsating from the hold is real.
Trying to internalize the confirmation of his internal observation, Yuder let out a shaky breath.
Kishiar lifts his other hand, bringing it closer to Yuder's face, yet stopping right before it could touch his cheek. He then tries to catch Yuder's eyes, not to force him to look, no. Kishiar merely wants to ask, with his kind, kind eyes, whether another touch is welcomed or not.
In any other situation, Yuder would've smiled. A little curl of the corner of his lips. In any other situation, that little act is enough to make a much more beautiful smile bloom on Kishiar's face.
Regrettably, with his current condition, all he could manage is a soft sigh. Wordlessly he closes his eyes; then he leans his head into the palm of Kishiar's waiting hand, closing the distance and answering the unspoken question all at the same time.
When Kishiar brushes his thumb gently over the tender skin under Yuder's tired eye, certainly trying to wipe away the streak of tears that's almost dried, he let out another sigh. He shifted his head until he could nuzzle his face into Kishiar's palm, greedy still in his desperation of wanting to feel Kishiar's warmth. Not so discreetly, he takes a deep breath, inhaling the subtle scent of sweat before then Kishiar's unique scent begins to nudge and caress him as well.
Yuder feels that it is still hard to smile, but he can feel a fraction of his muscles begin to loosen.
How he hopes he could just drown in the absolute security of Kishiar's warmth.
"Are you cold?"
He opens his eyes at the question.
Sometimes, Yuder genuinely wonders whether there is a possibility for Kishiar to be able to read his mind.
A little bit amused by the nonsense sprouted by his own jumbled mind, he almost shakes his head as a response. Far too used to bear his own burden and not wanting to bother others. Prideful still, despite already wrecked. But looking at Kishiar's earnest gaze—still glazed with concern and worry carefully hidden behind—Yuder stopped himself.
If there's one person who Yuder promised himself to never be lied to, it is Kishiar.
If there's one person to whom Yuder has been promised that he will always be safe, even in his most bare and vulnerable state, it is Kishiar.
Yuder stilled himself then. Pushing through all the still frantic heartbeats and jittering nerves.
"C-co.." Yuder frowned. Not liking how hoarse and unstable his voice sounded like. He forced another deep breath into his lungs; before then, he tries again, ".. Commander."
Kishiar's gaze softened, his smile is encouraging, "Yes?"
".. May I have a hug?"
Without saying another word, Kishiar leans forward and wraps his arms around Yuder tightly. One arm wounded itself around Yuder's waist, the other clasped over the back of his head.
Yuder let himself fall and be engulfed. He relished over the fact how perfect it feels to be held so snugly against Kishiar's sturdy frames.
With all the distance between them closed, Kishiar is probably able to feel the pounding in Yuder's chest and the still irregular breath against his shoulder. However, Yuder cannot find it in himself to care. Not anymore.
He turned his head instead and buried his face into the crook of Kishiar's neck, fulfilling his wish and drowning his senses with the other even more.
It takes awhile for the ringing plaguing his ears to come to a stop, for his breath to flutter more regularly, and for the pounding of his heart to beat a little more normally. It takes awhile, with Kishiar constantly taking and exhaling deep breaths—hoping for Yuder to eventually match those slow and steady breaths, with Kishiar carefully combed his long fingers through Yuder's hair—caressing him slowly, always steadily, coaxing his buzzing mind into a still, until all Yuder can feel is him.
Gradually, as he feels himself getting more and more relaxed, he feels like he starts to get a firmer hold of his usual self.
"Is it better now?"
He nods.
"Are you better now?"
He nods again. He raised his hands to wrap them around Kishiar's larger frame, then tightened his hold as much as he could as an emphasis.
A soft chuckle could be heard in return. The slight rumble it caused feels inexplicably nice to Yuder's senses.
"I'm glad then."
After that, only a comfortable silence followed. Filled only with the sound of their breaths and the subtle sound of two hearts beating nearly harmoniously.
"Thank you, Commander."
As if mirroring the act Yuder previously did, Kishiar answered only by tightening his hold a little. Added with a soft press of lips upon the side of his temple.
I hope he is smiling, Yuder randomly thought.
"Are you not going to ask?"
Yuder knows Kishiar must have a lot of questions to ask. And even though deep down Yuder would rather not talk about what he'd seen in his dream, Kishiar deserves to at least be liberated of his worry.
Kishiar hummed, "It is not like I don't have any questions to be asked. It is just, I think, it was pretty obvious for what could be the cause for your strong reaction earlier. Although I certainly cannot know what exactly the specific cause is. However, there's one thing that needs to be made clear first before we talk about this."
"What is it?"
He felt Kishiar lean back a little, just enough so he could catch Yuder's eyes and see him properly.
"Is it really something that can be talked about right away? Or is it something you need to process first? I hope you remember that as much as I appreciate you for trying, I also do not mind waiting."
Kishiar released his hand from Yuder's hair, moving it forward until he could cup his cheek.
"I'm here, Yuder. I will always be near. I'm not going anywhere. And we have a lot of time."
Yuder fluttered his eyes shut at the words.
How ironic it is that those words are exactly what he needs to hear to ward off the cursed scenario his inner demon tried to trap him in.
How wonderfully ironic.
He feels Kishiar moves his thumb to brush over the skin of his cheek, always carefully, always gently, and it makes an overwhelming warmth bloom at the depth of his heart.
He fluttered open his eyes again, and the same beautiful smile greeted him once again (always).
"It was... a dream."
"Was it about the first game?"
Yuder has to pause at that; before then he sighed and shakes his head slightly.
"Not.. quite. It was something that had happened in the first game, but the surrounding factors were not the same."
"I see. As odd as this will sounds, it seems like you were having an ordinary nightmare this time."
The way Kishiar said it so lightly but not flippantly tickled a twitch to appear on the corner of his lips. Then as if in sync, a more beautiful form of a smile bloomed on Kishiar's face at the reaction.
"Was it scary?"
Yuder looks at the man before him carefully. He tries to retrace every single line of his, rewriting the image the nightmare tried to force on him with the real thing.
Unbeknownst to him, the corners of his lips are pulled until it paints such a rare smile on his face. But unfortunately, the tears that were thought to be dried and ceased start to brim along with the pull of the lips, until some of those tears fall—trickling slowly, pitifully—together with the completion of the smile.
And the sight, as beautiful as it looks, stole Kishiar's breath and breaks his heart at the same time. The pain feels like it is been stomped to pieces mercilessly.
"It was terrifying. I wish.. I will never have to see such a scene.. ever again."
Kishiar pulls him in deeper into his embrace then, putting his larger hand back over the back of his head, pushing him in as if wanting to hide him.
Yuder doesn't know what exactly transpired through his face earlier, he doesn't know what Kishiar saw for him to have this reaction, but the way Kishiar's heart beating a little irregularly doesn't feel right, so he tries to lift his head to address the change.
However, Kishiar has a firm hold over his body, and he tightens his hold the moment Yuder tries to shift.
He surrenders then, moving his hand over Kishiar's back, caressing and patting him gently.
"I apologize, Commander."
Kishiar shushes him, but not unkindly, never unkindly.
"There's nothing you have ever done that requires you to say an apology, Yuder."
He tightens his hold again, squeezing Yuder completely until it nearly knocks out all the wind in his lungs. But Yuder doesn't say anything about it. If Kishiar intends to smother him thoroughly, then Yuder will stay still and gladly let him to do so.
He continues on moving his hands instead, one going up to Kishiar's nape and giving it a slight massage, while the other steadily going over the motion of up and down all over his broad back continuously.
After some times, when he felt like there's almost no air left inside his lungs and found that it is getting very hard to inhale without wheezing, he tries to break the silence.
"Commander."
"Hm?"
"May I make a request?"
At last, it makes Kishiar finally loosen his hold. Yuder doesn't move, though. As he much prefers to be able to listen to the gentle thuds of his beloved heartbeat.
"Of course. What would that be?"
"It might sound extremely childish."
Kishiar chuckled, "I highly doubt that, but let's hear about it first before we judge it, shall we?"
He nods.
He relished in the sound of Kishiar's heartbeat some more before he finally leans his head away. For some inexplicable reasons, he wants to ask his question while looking at Kishiar directly.
"Can you not die... before me?"
Kishiar stilled.
And Yuder looks. He looks at the way Kishiar's eyes widen a fraction, the way his eyebrows are raised, and the way his lips are slightly parted.
He looks.
He looks at how Kishiar looks at him with pure astonishment.
But it doesn't last long. A couple blinks later, and all means of incredulity are erased from his gaze, replaced with his usual neutral one, added with a tenderness reserved only for Yuder.
Then suddenly, he smiles, and its brightness feels a little misplaced even though it looks absolutely stunning.
"How curious. I happen to have the same kind of wish as well. For having the exact same wishes.. we are truly a match made in heaven!" He said, complete with a grin on his face.
Yuder feels... lost.
Not in a bad way, no. But he also can't figure out how to explain it better either. He just... lost. Or maybe he has been completely blinded by Kishiar's sudden cheerfulness, and it halts the works of his brain.
What kind of reaction should he give in return?
Fortunately, he doesn't need to think about it too much. Because apparently, Kishiar is not finished yet.
"Therefore, I have a suggestion."
Yuder blinked, "A suggestion?"
"Yes. The middle way so we both can still have the same wish without it having to be contradictory."
Yuder blinked again. It's clear that he failed to follow where Kishiar is going with this conversation, but at least he probably doesn't look bad while doing so because Kishiar is laughing.
Kishiar then placed both of his hands over the sides of Yuder's head, cupping his cheeks entirely.
"Would you want to hear what my suggestion is?" He said, still with a grin brightening his gaze.
Yuder nods.
Probably tickled by the sight of Yuder's squeezed cheeks going slightly up and down, Kishiar chuckled. Then he lean forward until their foreheads gently bumped, closing his eyes before then he carefully whispers, "My suggestion is, rather than focusing on the possibility of death.. how about we promise to do our best so we can live for each other?"
Yuder widened his eyes, "Live.. for each other?"
Kishiar nods, "Yes. Live for each other."
His eyes trembled. No one, before Kishiar, ever asked him to live for them.
In his previous lifetime, those who were weaker than him wanted him to protect them, those who he acknowledged as strong only ever wanted him to fight either with or against them, and those who held the reign of authority wanted him to lay every single drop of his life until none could be used and drained any longer.
All of his life, the value of Yuder Aile's life depends on his ability to win all of his battles. Whether he was alive or died while doing so, it never mattered. Since he still ended up losing his life under the blade of guillotine, condemned by the same people who hailed him as their hero.
"But—"
His breath hitched when Kishiar suddenly opened his eyes—caught between the intensity of those striking eyes, Yuder instinctively closed his mouth.
"Life is full of dangers, I know. And it is the responsibility of the strong to protect those who's weaker, or to protect those they want to protect. I'm sure between the two of us, you would know those best. But even so, it doesn't make one life matter more than the other."
Sensing the subtle change in Yuder's demeanor, Kishiar began to brush his thumbs over Yuder's cheeks, trying—even if only just for a little—to calm his building nerves.
"Yuder, you are the kindest person I ever met. In two rounds of your life, you always put the benefit of the majority as your priority. You put yourself both at the frontline and the back just so you can provide all kinds of support to your comrades. If you could, you'll choose to be everywhere. Then on top of that, you give all of yourself to make sure I will always be safe. Your first instinct is always to save, but unfortunately that instinct only applied to others and rarely ever for yourself."
He then closes his eyes again and begins to whisper again.
"And that is where I would have to step in. Because for me, Yuder, your life, your safety, and your happiness are treasures I am willing to trade the whole world for. If you're unable to put yourself first, then I will gladly do that for you, over and over, until you realize just how precious you actually are."
Yuder fluttered his eyes close.
The things Kishiar has done for him. The things Kishiar would do for him. Yuder knows.
As much as he is willing to lay his life whole for Kishiar, he knows—Kishiar would certainly do the same for him.
Probably, it was the reason why he was afraid in the first place. Maybe that's why the demon residing in his mind picked up that anxiety and adapted it into a chilling nightmare.
He sighs.
How troublesome. Getting worked up over these fear and anxiety. It's so troublesome.
He refrained from saying anything, choosing to lean into Kishiar's space a little further instead, until the tips of their noses touched and nuzzled it lightly.
He is rewarded with a soft puff of a chuckle for his actions.
"Therefore, if that is the case—since we both have the same strong and valid reasons—rather than we try to see which one of us is more stubborn, I think pulling a middle ground is the best decision for us."
Yuder hummed. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to see a pair of bright carnelian eyes already staring at him tenderly.
"Live for each other, huh.."
Kishiar smiles, "Yes. I think we both do need that kind of reminder, just so we can do things a little less recklessly, if nothing else."
For the first time since he was roughly woken up by his nightmare, Yuder laughed. Nothing too much; it might be more qualified to be counted as a chuckle than a laugh, but it sounded bright as much as it feels pleasantly light.
"It would be hard," he added.
Fighting with putting everything on the line is one thing; fighting with putting everything on the line while also putting your own absolute survival as a priority is another.
It will not only be a matter of bravery, stubbornness, or courage. For someone to continuously want to fight, protect, and survive all at the same time, it takes all of the requirements above and commitment as well.
Life is a never-ending journey after all.
A slightly different kind of smile bloomed on Kishiar's face, complemented with lights glittering brightly in that pair of enchanting red.
"Yes, it is. But it will be worth it," Kishiar lean back a little, only to press his lips on Yuder's forehead softly. Before then, he wrapped his arms around Yuder again, bringing him into the comfort of his warmth, again, and pressing another soft kiss on the top of Yuder's head.
"—because that way, when we do our best to keep each other safe, we will be reminded that we are also looking forward to having a future where we will be together for a long time. And doesn't that sound wonderful?"
Yuder winded up his arms around Kishiar as well, diving immediately to bury his face in the crook of Kishiar's neck.
"Yes. Yes, it does."
Kishiar chuckled, "Then, shall we try?"
Realistically, there's no definite solution that can be reached to placate an anxiety. After all, worry is a matter of mind, and death is a consequence of life. And nothing could truly control the matter of death, as much as nothing could ever completely solve the mystery of life.
What they can do to settle each other's hearts—and prove how wrong each of their worries are—is by... living. Throughly. Wholeheartedly.
Yuder smiles, and he knows Kishiar can feel the shape of his smile both from the skin on his neck and the scent he purposely let out. Kishiar tightens his hold then, before letting his own scent to answer Yuder's.
"Yes. Let's try it together, Commander."
As long as it is for Kishiar, Yuder will try to tackle every obstacle life tries to give him—be it his own demons or even if he has to defy death again, as long as Kishiar is with him, it is more than enough.