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It was a chilly night on the bus, its engine a soothing whir that serves as background noise. You have awoken from your fitful slumber, sleep never gracing your mind as flashes of your past haunt both your waking and sleeping hours. Sighing, you make your way to your respectful seat in the cabin, slumping into the leather, almost in hopes that the cushions will swallow you whole. Your slouched figure didn’t go unseen as a looming shadow towers over you, blocking the light of the moon from your eyes. You crack open an eye, only to be met face to face with none other than Meursault, who looks at you with what seems to be worry in his sage green eyes. (Though you think that it was just your own delirium that cause you to think so, as Meursault to most people is incapable of making any sort of emotion)
Silently, he plops himself onto the seat beside you without saying a word, but in your sleep-deprived state, you find his silence comforting.
After a while, you start to feel your muscles cramp up from your slouched position and the toil you went through in the day time. You grit your teeth in pain, as you heave your heavy body up with much effort, only to slouch back into your original position, your arms giving up.
“Need help?”
You turn your head to look at Meursault in shock, blinking rapidly. You couldn’t believe that a man with so much stoicism could even force out words of help to a colleague. But you were too tired to protest, so you nod, allowing him to slip strong hands on your slender waist before heaving you up with ease. You mumble a thanks but the Frenchman just shakes his head, dismissing your fumbling words.
You both fall into the same silence as before, Meursault pulling out a book to read in the moonlight as you caught yourself staring.
Meursault looked almost nothing like how he was in the day. Here, his hair was ungelled, the black locks free from its slimy prison as it fell to his forehead. You think that his hair might be soft, but made no move to touch it. The Frenchman’s eyes were softer, less narrowed and you thought that you could see swirling greens in his gaze. His posture is relaxed and you can’t help but stare at his massive chest. Unfortunately, his night shirt did little to conceal his massive form and you find yourself unable to divert your gaze. A polite cough snaps you out of your drooling as your gazes meet and you can feel your ears burning up as you hide your face into the sleeve of your sweater, hearing a soft chuckle from the man beside you. You hiss in embarrassment and smack his arm playfully and he rolls his eyes before continuing on with his book.
In an attempt to make conversation with the Frenchman, you ask him why he is up so late, but his answers are short and it irritates you slightly. Your anger is immediately replaced with shock as he almost shyly asks if you would like to join him in bed.
“The cushions here aren’t good for our backs.” Meursault reasons and you almost decline the offer. But against all reason, you accept, and let him lead you to his room.
Meursault’s room is…ordinary. A bed lies in the center of the large space and all of his personal belongings are neatly stacked on a shelf. A nightlight glows dimly on a bedside cabinet and you can’t help but admire the subtle charm in the orderliness of his living quarters. The Frenchman guides you to lay beside him as he shuts the light off, the darkness makes you tremble a bit. You were never comfortable with complete darkness as it makes you feel vulnerable, alone, fearful of what's to com-
The dip in the bed snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts as Meursault lays next to you, not saying a word. You turn to face him in the darkness as your breaths grow heavy.
“Can I hug you? I’m afraid of the dark..” you confess softly and you can feel Meursault stiffen beside you. But he still reaches for your hips, pulling you to his surprisingly soft chest as your cheek squishes on it. You sigh quietly as you feel an unfamiliar tiredness wash over you with surprising speed. The warmth of Meursault’s body against yours was comforting and his arms wrapped protectively around you made you fall into a sense of security as you fell into a peaceful slumber.
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You woke up to the sound of loud chatter ringing outside the door as you blearily open your eyes. A soft groan sounds behind you as you feel arms pull you back to a sturdy chest. You sigh softly as you turn your head to meet with a sleepy and disheveled Meursault. His hair is ruffled and sticking up in various places, his eyes are glazed with sleep but he still nuzzles into the crook of your neck, almost affectionately.
“Meur, it’s morning, Dante is calling.” You murmur softly, carding your fingers into his black locks as he grumbles before reluctantly detaching himself from you and you feel a pang of sadness at the loss of warmth.
“You should go get ready. But if you find yourself unable to rest at night, come and knock on my door.” Meursault says as you make a move to leave the comfort of his room. You turn around to nod at him before leaving to prepare for the long day ahead.
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Unfortunately for you and the other sinners on the bus, it was just another day of mirror dungeon. You can hear Rodya groan next to you. You yourself cannot suppress a sigh that escapes your lips. You just hope that the dungeon that your dear clock manager chooses for the sinners was a smooth one.
It wasn’t.
Every sinner stumbles out of the entrance of the dungeon, ragged and tired. Heathcliff drops to his knees in his Rabbit identity, the suit torn up in multiple places as blood trickles down untreated wounds. Don Quixote follows suit, flopping on the nearest bench and passing out from exhaustion. The sinners were quickly ushered to the makeshift infirmary, where Charon was waiting to patch us up. You shoot Dante a look of tired sympathy as they apologise profusely. You know they are trying their best, but you do hope sometimes they will think before they act.
Later in the night, you find yourself unable to sleep once more, the fan idly spinning on your ceiling becoming your only friend during the night. You muse over Meursault’s offer in the morning and decide to take it tonight because you were weary and exhausted.
You silently creep over to Meursault’s door, knocking on it three times before it opens, revealing an even more exhausted Meursault, who quietly lets you in. You flop onto the soft bed with a groan as Meursault sinks beside you. You both fall into a comfortable rhythm, Meursault buries his face into your chest, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as you plant your chin on the crown of his head, closing your eyes. You both look like a couple, but you both aren’t.
“I love you.” Meursault mumbles into your chest as you freeze at the unexpected confession. Meursault looks up at you and tilts his head to the right, looking like a confused puppy. You stammer and your hands fly up to cover your burning face. Meursault laughs at your ridiculousness and pries your hands away with ease, forcing you to stare into his sage green eyes.
“Is it wrong for me to say such a thing mon amour?” Meursault asks and you shake your head in a trance. You didn’t expect such an outright confession of his love to you in such a manner but you guess that that’s just how Meursault is. You snap out of your panicked trance to cup his face in your shaking hands as you press a soft kiss to the edge of his lips hesitantly. The Frenchman frowns at the action and sits up on the bed, before pulling you into his lap. Meursault leans forward, gently brushing your lips with his. You grow impatient and slam your lips into his, shutting your eyes in embarrassment. Meursault’s hands instinctively rest at your hips as you sling your arms around his neck, the Frenchman deepening the passionate kiss.
Pulling back for air, both of your breathy pants fill the space as you stare into his eyes, which were filled with quiet adoration and unmasked affection for you. You lean into his embrace as he lays back down. You shut your eyes tiredly, happiness bubbling in your chest as you now snuggle up with your now new partner.