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When she wakes, it isn’t from a nightmare.
It’s unusual, that kind of occurrence. The bad dreams have faded over time, and Hazel wouldn’t exactly call them common either, but it’s two in the morning and she wouldn’t be up at this time for any other reason.
Except for tonight.
Frank is still asleep, a large mass of German Shepherd snoozing away peacefully with his tail flicking ever so often. Hazel kicks off the comforter, careful not to disturb him. The tiles are cold under her bare feet.
She pads over to the window. Their abandoned mugs of tea have gone a bit cold, but there’s still some left. It’s easy to tell which one is hers because Frank always takes his with loads of sugar.
But she likes the bitterness.
The taste flows over her tongue as she drinks, making her throat feel much less scratchy. It’s a nice night. Clear. Light from the full moon beams into their room past the blinds, casting spots of white onto their floor. And everything is still. Maybe she’d even dare say that it’s peaceful.
With everything quiet like this, things seem more like a dream than reality. Mostly because she never thought she’d see the day where she could do this—wake up with no worries, no looming threat or monster or impending destruction of the world to deal with. Her worst problem is tomorrow’s paperwork and lukewarm tea.
It’s nice. It almost makes her feel anxious, but it doesn’t quite reach her. Looking at the night outside, she can only feel calm.
Behind her, the sheets rustle. She thinks it’s just Frank moving around in her sleep until she hears the sound of a dog yowling sadly, and the rustling evolves into frantic scratching at the bed.
She’s there in only a moment. Frank twitches in his sleep, eyes still closed, panicked yips slipping from his maw. Hazel doesn’t think she’s ever seen a dog so scared.
It pains her. Her hand goes to pet at Frank’s scruff, hoping it’ll settle him, but his eyes blink open instead.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
In the German Shepherd’s place, Frank appears, his familiar body with his broad shoulders and his legs too long to fit in the bed. His eyes still look afraid.
“Nightmares?” She takes a guess, and Frank nods. Hazel climbs back into the bed and lays her head on his shoulder.
“You woke up,” he says softly, “I was… you weren’t there, so I…”
“Oh, I’m sorry—”
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.” He smiles wanly. It’s times like this where every part of his face looks tired, bogged down and invisibly scarred by exhaustion. As much as she hates it, it used to be a lot worse. “I’m just too clingy, heh.”
He already knows how she feels about him saying stuff like that. Hazel punches him in the shoulder, a little harder than she intended, and he breathes out a laugh.
“I know, I know. Sorry.” Frank moves to put his arm around her shoulder, rubbing soothingly as if she’s the one that needs to be comforted. If it makes him feel better, she won’t complain.
“What was it about this time?” She asks.
Silence falls over them, but she’s not going to push it. Hazel knows exactly how it feels to search and search inside of yourself only to come up empty, like there’s nothing she could say to convey how she feels.
Finally, after a while, he speaks. “You.”
Hazel’s breath stutters in her throat.
“In the dream, everything was normal. Well, as normal as dreams can be.” He cracks a lopsided smile, the one that makes Hazel want to kiss him. She does, pressing her lips to the corner of his. “Except you weren’t there.”
Now she feels even worse for leaving him alone in the bed. “Oh.”
“And I looked everywhere for you.” His voice gets rough, thick with emotion like it does when he’s trying to suppress his own feelings. It works with everyone else, but when they’re alone, he’s not good at it; it leaks out like an overflow of water in a dam. She’s glad for that. “Everywhere. But the more I searched, the more you weren’t… anywhere.”
All she can do is nod. A part of her hates the pain in his eyes, but another small, selfish part is a little pleased. That she matters this much to him. That he wants her to stay.
After all this time, she should believe it. Sometimes it’s still hard.
Frank bows his head, hair falling into his eyes. It’s getting long, noticeable especially right now when it’s not slicked back. Hazel brushes it away from his face, fingers trailing against his cheek.
“Sometimes I,” he starts, before shaking his head. Shaking her hand away. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“Tell me,” she says.
He relents. “Sometimes I still get scared,” he admits, voice low like he’s afraid that someone else except the two of them will hear. “That one day I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. Not just gone, but that you were… never here. Because…”
Though he doesn’t finish the sentence, Hazel knows what he means. Her existence right now is a defective one.
But if there ever comes a day where Thanatos comes back to bring her back to the grave, she’s past worrying about it.
“Well, I’m here now,” she says. “And I’m not leaving any time soon. I promise.”
She believes that. When she reaches for Frank, her hands feel like her own.
His fingers settle beneath her jawline, the crook below her chin where her pulse thumps at a steady pace. On some bad days it’s the only thing that reassures her, the drumline beneath her skin. She wants it to reassure him too.
“I’m here,” she repeats.
He keeps his hand there as they shift, going back to lying down on the bed. The clock on the wall says it’s nearing three, and in just a few hours they’ll have to wake back up again for morning muster, but it’s okay. For now they can enjoy the silence and the warmth between them and the peace Hazel never thought she’d get to have.
If she’s being honest with herself it still feels a little wrong. To have so much and to be so happy. It doesn’t feel fair.
But it’s not about deserving, she reminds herself. It’s just about what she has.
And what she has is a second chance. One that she’s going to enjoy.
After a second, she feels something furry against her chest. She thinks he’s back to being a dog, but when she checks, Frank’s human body is still lying there. But he’s shapeshifted himself large fluffy ears that she resists the urge to scratch affectionately.
When he notices her amused stare, he laughs. The ear twitches against the left side of her chest—right over her heart. “I like hearing it,” is all he says. After all this time, they both understand it already.
“Okay,” she says in return, “but try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s… another day.”
Tomorrow’s another day, and that’s all there is to it.
“Yeah. And thanks,” he adds, murmuring into her pyjamas, looking adorably bashful like he’s ever done her any wrong. “For, y’know. Being there for me.”
You love me more than anyone else has ever loved me, she thinks. Even when I had nothing, I had you.
“Of course,” she says instead, and she hopes he knows what it means.