Work Text:
Dreaming -
If you were to ask any normal person the definition of ‘dreaming,’ they’d tell you something along the lines of “the stories your mind makes up while you’re asleep.” If you were to ask Michael, he’d say “a privilege granted only to those who don’t realize dreaming is a privilege.” He sees things at night, of course he does. It’s not as if he’s an inhuman entity whose mind goes blank once his eyes have shut. That would be too easy, and whether he acknowledges it or not, he’s still human too.
Dreaming is as natural to humans as breathing. It’s involuntary, seemingly pointless, and to most people, dreaming is a wonderful place where desires are fulfilled and things occasionally border on the edge of weird. Michael Kaiser’s case is different. His “dreams” are wretched and sour and wake him from his sleep panting in a cold sweat. It’s a consistent cycle, something he’s lived with like it’s no different from what everyone else sees. Nobody lives a life without nightmares, they’re just a factor of life. But night after night, to constantly be faced with horrific depictions of what he wishes to erase, is torture. On a football field, he can run full sprint away from the past, but that doesn’t change that his subscious dwells on it.
Not every night disturbs him with the same intent. Some nights, he’s 15, fighting the cops and screaming of his innocence to deaf ears. Some nights, he is 20, standing in the doorway of his childhood home, unable to move as he watches his father beat his eight year old self half unconscious. Some nights, he’s somewhere in the future, and Yoichi has just learned of his past, only to wear an expression of disgust and walk out the door faster than Michael can sprint after him. Some nights he has no idea how old he is. All that surrounds him is black, and he can’t tell if he’s an adult man or a frail child, but the fear that rips through his skin burns with the sorrow of a wilting rose. It sears into him until he’s stripped of his right mind, making him squeeze his eyes shut until morning graces him with freedom.
At some point, the darkness formed before him a scene. Tonight in his unconsciousness, he is eight years old. He cannot breathe and surrounding him is his childhood “home.” Everything is blurry except for the face of the man pinning him down. The knee digging into his chest combined with the hands around his neck serve to drain the air from his lungs. Tears are running from the corners of his eyes, and he can hear the drip of them making contact with the filthy wooden floor. The entire scene is dirty and grimy and suffocating. The walls are falling apart, the light barely works, empty and broken bottles of various spirits litter the floors and the ceiling is rotting. The cause of his strangulation is spitting profanities and insults at him in German, every word blended together courtesy of the alcohol. He wants to beg for his father to stop, but forming words takes oxygen, and he hardly has any left.
His head, still too small for his own eyes, would loll from side to side as he was shaken and pushed. What day or time it was was a detail long forgotten. He had a thousand different days in his mind that ended just like this. Memories like that have nowhere to go. They serve little good flickering like fireflies through his mind on the field, so this is where they go. They worm their way into the deeper cracks of his uneasy mind while he makes an attempt at rest. Sure, he slept, but he never truly rested. Maybe he was wicked in some way, and that’s why he was deemed unworthy of peace, but even if being haunted had become something he knew well, the knowledge of exactly what would happen never eased his dread. He thought that sharing a bed with Yoichi would help to calm his mind, and to an extent it did. But that also meant that bad nights had to be quiet, for fear of waking him and being seen so upset.
Even in stardom, he can’t seem to escape his memories. Memories are a funny thing. Some people's memories will slip right through their fingers, hardly showing themselves until it’s completely silent and dark on a weekday evening in which one recalls too much. But his memories? His memories will shake and rattle in his ribcage, snarling like a starved beast until all of his ribs are broken, and it’s free to paint every happy moment with a black hue. At times, all it takes is a glance into a dark room for his mind to be flooded with those images , because that’s how he remembers them. He remembers them through the terrible darkness, and he remembers them like every detail was permanently carved into his mind with beautifully destructive craftsmanship.
He knows what he’s seeing isn’t reality anymore, knows it’s all in his mind. His mind is awake and frantic, but his body won't comply. There’s nothing that can be done. His eyes won’t seem to open no matter how hard he tries. His arms and legs appear to be frozen in place, and all he feels is the crushing weight of a knee to his chest and the iron grip of hands on his throat. It lasts. They say sleep paralysis lasts between two and three minutes, but it feels like hours have passed. Michael’s entire body defies him, unwilling to move, unwilling to end his torment. It never ends until suddenly it does.
His eyes are open, but the room is so dark that he can’t make too much of anything out. Inside his chest, his heart is pounding, beating in a triplet rhythm that he feels down to the tips of his fingers. The digital clock reads 3:25, just four-ish hours off from when Yoichi would usually wake up. One of his hands comes up to try and wipe his flow of tears, but it’s unsteady and can barely seem to find its way to his eyes. He’s trembling, he realizes. Michael Kaiser doesn’t tremble and cry. At least, he shouldn’t. Having a normal nightmare doesn’t invoke this sort of meltdown reaction, but when it escalates into sleep paralysis, everything becomes all too real. It’s hard to tell whether the walls are expanding endlessly or closing in on him. The room is so silent but the fan is deafeningly loud. He attempts to take a deep breath, and a sob escapes him. He’s awake, but it still feels like he’s being suffocated. The room is just too dark, and whether his eyes are open or shut, the imagery won’t leave him alone.
Desperate to see something, anything , he rolls onto his side and his eyes land on Yoichi, who is still fast asleep. Yoichi, his Yoichi. His Yoichi, who has the privilege of dreaming. His darling Yoichi, who shuts his eyes at night to paint vivid pictures of green fields and cerulean skies that stretch across the Earth's surface. In Yoichi’s dreams, he can slow dance with Michael to a tune that doesn’t exist, count the infinite stars as if they are a metaphor of his love, and see so clearly the future he knows they have together. In Michael’s “dreams,” he calls out for Yoichi with what air he has left, begs him not to go, and falls to his knees as he’s once again left alone in the abyss of his mind. He wants to wake him up, plead for him to make it stop hurting so much, to tell him he can’t breathe. But the thought of interrupting a sweet dream to make him deal with the aftermath of his own weakness is something that Michael can’t bring himself to do. He can’t bring his hand to his lover's shoulder to shake him from a moment of rest. He can’t let himself be that selfish.
Another thing that he can’t do is calm himself down. In fact, with each passing moment his tears multiply and his breaths get shorter. Staying still proves just as difficult. Nothing feels comfortable. Curling into himself is what feels safest, but he can’t pick which side to lay on. He’s cold. And the movement paired with the muffled sound of sobs quickly alerts Yoichi, who sits up. Michael cranes his neck to see him, and the sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtain illuminates the concerned crease of his brow. Yoichi reaches out slowly towards him, gently wiping away the tears that are running down his cheek.
“Michael, what’s wrong? What happened?”
His tone came out so soft and with so much concern that it almost made him want to cry more. It took him a second to catch enough of his breath to form words, and they sounded so weak that Michael thought he wanted to throw up.
“Yoichi, I- I had a nightmare, and- and I couldn’t move, or breathe, and-”
His sentence was cut off with a sob, and he hated how much he sounded like a panicked little kid, rambling on and tripping over his own words. He hated that his own inability to deal with what goes on in his head is worrying Yoichi. Yoichi, who laid down beside him and gave his arm a soft tug, coaxing him into his arms while speaking quietly to him.
“Shh, come here. It’s fine to be scared, I’m right here. What was this nightmare about?”
Scared . Is that what he is? Scared of his own memories? Calling it a dream, or even a nightmare would be less accurate than calling it the repetition of a memory. Scared. The implications of that word angered him, but only because he knew it was accurate. To be scared of his own memories was something so utterly pathetic. And for Michael, admitting he was scared was scarier than the thing he was scared of.
“I.. I was a little kid again. Um- and my dad, he was on top of me, chok- choking and hitting me. And I couldn’t move, like- like, I was awake but not in control of my body.”
His words were hardly sensible through sharp sobs and heaves for breath. He was holding onto Yoichi so tight that it bordered on uncomfortable, as if he was horrified of letting go. They hadn’t been living together for long, so this was the first time Yoichi had witnessed anything like this from him. And even though he was thoroughly humiliated by it, letting go would be like pushing himself away from safety, and back into that beat up house in Germany.
“Michael, it’s okay , breathe with me.”
“I can’t , Yoichi!”
Yoichi’s heart broke for him. From how Michael made it sound in previous conversations, he could infer that his dreams were not always pleasant, but it had never been this bad before. He had never been woken up in the night to see Michael uncontrollably sobbing and unable to breathe. He was like a completely different person, but he was still Yoichi’s Michael, just one who needed help. He lowered his tone, leaning in close to whisper to him as he held him in his embrace.
“Shhh.. It’s okay Michael, I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’m right here. Focus on me.”
Every sound was simultaneously amplified and drowned out by Yoichi’s voice. The sheer intimacy of it all was sickening. He was scared that if he lifted his head from Yoichi’s hold, his fathers razor sharp gaze would be waiting for him across the room. I’m scared, is what echoed in his mind. Scared of what he saw, scared of his own reaction, and scared that Yoichi would let go of him.
But fear became temporary when he was being held as if he were a fragile thing that could break at any harsh touch. Yoichi had one hand on Michael’s back, rubbing warm circles into him as the other smoothed over his hair. Michael’s ear was flush with Yoichi’s chest, listening to the one-and rhythm of his heartbeat. A soft kiss was placed at Michael’s hairline as Yoichi tried with what he had to calm him.
“You poor thing.. Michael, you know you can wake me up, right? You don’t have to figure it out yourself. I’m right here.”
Yoichi had a terrible habit of being the most caring in every aspect. He had no issue letting Michael meet the turf face first if it meant he was the one to score, but would be the same one to caress where his knee was scraped and ask if he was okay once they were home. Yoichi is a person deserving of the privilege to dream.
The soothing tone of voice he took on washed over Michael, dismantling his distress one word and one caress at a time.
“I just.. I didn’t wanna bother you.”
“Michael, you could never bother me by needing help. I’d much rather we do this than you sit here crying alone.”
It was difficult to put into words what he felt as he was subjected to the sheer amount of care Yoichi held for him. It was so unlike anything he had experienced. When Yoichi’s hand moved from petting his hair to once again wiping his tears, he leaned into it, finding that dealing with his memories was so much easier with Yoichi. His heart had slowed to a relaxed pace, and what were sobs just a few minutes ago were now sniffles as he settled into the comfort that was Yoichi. His grip on Yoichi loosens with the slowing of his tears, and it’s acknowledged with Yoichi’s hushed voice in his ear muttering See? You’re okay now.
Neither of them speak for a measure, but Michael was the first to break the silence. He sniffled and tilted his head up, looking into what he could make out of Yoichi’s eyes from the moonlight.
“This is pathetic.. You shouldn’t have had to see it.”
Yoichi’s response is something akin to a chuckle as he leans down just slightly, kissing Michael’s lips. He brushes Michael’s bangs from his face, wishing the room was lit enough that he could see the redness and tear streaks that he just knows Michael looks so cute with.
“You’re not pathetic, Michael, you’re human. Whether you like it or not.”
If it were to come from any other person, being told he’s human would be revolting. But when it comes from Yoichi, who is holding him so close in the middle of the night because he was sobbing, he thinks for a moment that he can believe it. They once again fall into a warm silence, Michael’s head having gone back to its original position against Yoichi’s chest as Yoichi strokes his hair. Yoichi pulls the blankets back over the both of them, watching closely as Michael fights to keep his eyes open. It’s all too warm and too comfortable for him. A half-lidded glance at the clock reads 3:47, it’s only been 22 minutes. Just as Yoichi thought he might have fallen asleep, Michael spoke to him again. It comes out so weak, so vulnerable, and so tired that it qualifies as endearing.
“I wish.. That everything could’ve been a dream. I wish that I could wake up in the morning, and instead of feeling haunted, just be a little disturbed that I had such a strange dream.”
Michael doesn’t talk about his past. Of course Yoichi is curious, and of course he was able to figure out quickly that it wasn’t good. But to hear him actually describe how he felt about it, and give him some sliver of the truth, it felt sweet in the most terribly saddening way. It made him want to hold Michael in his arms and shield him from all of the harm and hardship in the world. He only wished he had the right words. Responding to the words of a situation so completely foreign to him proved difficult, and all he could mutter was a sympathetic yeah? But that was all it took to permit Michael to keep verbalizing his thoughts.
“If everything that happened back then was just some sort of night terror.. Maybe I could’ve turned out better.”
“Better? Michael, what do you mean by that?”
“What don’t I mean by that?” And the shake in his voice came back, acting as the ringing alarm alerting him of more tears.
“I’m selfish, I’m cruel, I spent so long using everyone around me, just to still end up as human garbage, I-”
“Hush, none of that. None of that is true, even if you don’t know it, I do.”
“What do you even see in me besides football?”
“Micheal, you could quit playing football tomorrow and it wouldn’t change a thing. You’re so shrouded in self loathing that you fail to see anything beyond your flaws. I’ll be the first to admit that you’re infuriating and you’re kind of a dick. But you’re also incredibly smart, you push everyone who surrounds you to do better, and I have never seen you encounter a challenge that you can’t meet head on.”
..
“You’re the most endearing annoyance in my life, and I wouldn’t change that for anything in the world, Michael.”
Michael had no response. In a state of deep emotional vulnerability, all he could do was cry. It was so strange, to cry so helplessly not just in front of someone, but to someone.. Yoichi had not once seen him cry, but now he had seen it twice in the span of less than an hour. His hold tightened around Michael. Whatever he was going through tonight was clearly intense, and all Yoichi felt he could do was provide comfort to him. To be so utterly loved and cherished was something he was not yet used to, and to become so defenseless around another person was even more strange. But it felt good. So much had piled and stacked upon itself, and the dam had been teetering on the edge of overflowing for what had to have been months now.
It took a few minutes of petting his hair and kissing his head, but eventually there were no more tears left for Michael to cry. Yoichi sat up, practically having to pry himself out of Michael’s grip. There was a large wet spot on the front of his shirt where Michael had been crying into him, and he figured he should change it before going back to sleep. Before he could even stand, both of Michael’s hands were around his wrist, pulling him back down.
“Yoichiiiiiiii, where are you going?”
“I’m changing my shirt, I’ll be back in two seconds.”
“Nooo, Yoichi, don’t go. Just take it off or something.”
Yoichi sighed, checking the clock and deciding not to fight with him, seeing it was now 4:05 in the morning. He shook his head in defeat before taking his shirt off and tossing it aside and laying back down.
“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
Ridiculous is an accurate assessment, seeing as Michael immediately resumed his clinging on to Yoichi the moment he was within hugging distance. His head was resting on Yoichi’s collarbone as Yoichi made sure to hold him as close as possible. It was still dark, it was still night, and he was falling asleep, but Michael found that his usual sense of dread had dissipated. He had practically put himself to sleep after crying more than he had in years in less than an hour, so sleep began to wash over him fast. Like a rising tide, it didn’t take long for it to swallow him whole, but it felt so different. He half expected to fall asleep and be met with where he left off in his terror, but the sorrow and the violence never came. Everything within his reach was warm and soft and wonderful.
Instead of the tendrils of his guilt pulling him into the Earth to suffocate him, it was more akin to the brush of soft wild grass against his ankles. There was no filth, there was no yelling, there were no tears, and that house was nowhere in sight. Clouds as huge as mountains painted the sky, passing periodically over the sun. There were roses, royal blue ones, and they were everywhere. Turning to his side was Yoichi, holding the rose deepest in its shade of royal blue out to him like something of an invitation, and he took it
“Michael it is 10:30, get your ass up!”
Yoichi was an early riser. Ever since his time in Blue Lock, he had developed an appreciation for the art of waking up before 8am. Opposites attract. Periodically, he had been coming into the room, whispering sweet words of come on Michael, time to wake up. But waking Michael Kaiser on a day off was a task more similar in nature to waking a bear in the dead of winter.
“Just five more minutes, Yoichi.. Okay? Be up soon..”
“That’s what you said the first four times!”
“I mean it this time..”
“No you don’t.”
“Mhm..”
And then Michael was drifting off again. If Yoichi wasn’t still utterly endeared and sympathetic towards the events of last night(or more so this morning), perhaps he’d have thrown water on him, or tried to convince him that there actually is practice today, and that they’re late, then watch as he scrambles to try and get ready. But Yoichi is nothing if not the most caring and empathetic boyfriend there is, so he opts for the more peaceful option; yanking the blanket off of him. Michael jolts up, seemingly now wide awake and glaring at Yoichi.
“What the fuck , Yoichi?”
“Don’t what the fuck me. This is your fault, I’ve been waiting for three hours to make breakfast because you’ve been saying five more minutes every time I tried to get you up.”
He appears slightly insulted by Yoichi’s terrible imitation of his accent, but Michael does get up. Of course, it wasn’t without a groan and possibly the slowest, most pathetic walk to the bathroom anyone has ever seen, with a hardly audible wow, Yoichi is so considerate as the cherry on top. It’s something he giggles at before triumphantly striding to the kitchen.
Approximately 10 minutes later, Michael comes out of the bedroom, slumping into his chair and laying his head on the table. His hair is still a train wreck and his eyes are fighting the light. At the very least, the smell of Yoichi cooking helps his scowl and glare to lessen.
“Well good morning, sleepy head.”
“Yoichi.. I want coffee.”
“Get it yourself.”
“No.. Yoichi.”
For about the first hour of living in the waking world each day, Michael is more like someone’s overgrown toddler. And despite his best efforts, Yoichi gives into his demands. Every single time. Not without the roll of his eyes, but he does make Michael’s coffee, setting it on the table right in front of his face and smiling at Michael’s soft thanks, Yoichi. An overgrown toddler with at least some sense of manners. He returns just a moment later, bringing a plate of food for himself and Michael with him.
“How did you sleep last night?”
Michael’s quiet for a moment. He seems to really ponder the question. He recalls the dream he had, where everything was warm and nothing was scary. An unfamiliar feeling blossoms within his ribcage, silencing the monster that had been clawing its way back out. Despite being woken up at a time against his will, he actually felt somewhat well rested, though the redness in the corner of his eyes still serves as proof that last night happened.
“Well.. I mean, after the whole.. Y’know, thing, I slept well.”
“I’m glad to hear that. You really had me worried, I had never seen you so worked up.”
He recalls his dream again. Wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s found the formula to a good dream, something that is worth considering a dream and not a haunting. Something shifts in his mind, a realization. His father is, nowadays, someone who only exists in his mind. He hadn’t seen the man(if it was even worth calling him one) in years, and he had absolutely zero intention of changing that for as long as he lives. His father was in his mind, and Yoichi was in his life. Yoichi, who always, no matter the situation, was determined to care. And to care so much that Michael has no choice but to accept it, and to bask in it, and it felt good. It was liberating, so liberating, to acknowledge his past as what it is; his past, something that did happen, but won’t ever again. Something that he alone had been shackling himself to. But with Yoichi sitting across from him in their shared apartment, he could turn his head to face the future, and it was there, and it was bright.
Third degree burns don’t heal overnight, but they heal over time, and with the proper care. Time. For the first time in his life, Michael felt as if it would never run out. Of course he’d have another nightmare, there’d be many more. But Yoichi’s willingness to be there for him felt like damage control. Through Yoichi’s hold, he was granted a sweet dream, and that thought invoked something warm within him. Something wonderful, something that he wanted to keep forever.
“Yoichi?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think.. We could sleep like that again tonight.”
Yoichi smiled, and it was just as sweet as the dream he had.
“Of course.”
Maybe the night doesn’t have to be so bad.