Work Text:
The crimson moon shone upon the roofs of Iron Cross Street, bathing everything in its red glow. A carriage stopped at the intersection, two figures emerging. Leisurely strolling down the street, excited whispers echoed in the silence. Coming to a halt in front of a door, the elder gentleman raised his right hand, as though to knock.
He closed his gray eyes and fell asleep.
-
Feeling his spirituality being pulled, Klein opened his eyes. The scene before him rapidly changed, his dream dissolving and made anew. He was in his living room at 2 Daffodil Street, lazily reading the latest newspaper -Tingen Daily Tribune-, mug in hand. Glancing down, he read the headline.
‘Wanted criminal found dead!! Ince Zangwill suicide?!
A knock sounded at the door. Before he could stand up, however, it opened, revealing the tall figure of a man. His long trench coat swaying behind him, the nightmare tipped his hat, closing the door with his foot.
Making sure to blink drowsily, Klein watched as his Captain invited himself in and made himself comfortable on the armrest beside him, an identical cup to his appearing in his hand.
He took a sip, closing his gray eyes as though appreciating the taste.
“Too sweet”
Klein blinked.
‘Captain, when was the last time you drank something that wasn’t coffee?’
Slowly taking a sip as well, the taste of cicle poppy burst in his mouth, filling him with a strange calm. This was Melissa’s preferred tea; one commonly found in households of the Lady’s believers. It was said to smell like the slumber flower, Lady’s favorite, but affordable for the common populace.
And the tea was sweet. An almost forgotten kind, bringing to mind rambunctious mornings and grabby little fingers and family.
‘Back then, Benson used to put in extra honey when Mom wasn’t looking. He said I would grow wrinkles from grimacing too much otherwise.’
Klein smiled at the thought.
But was he Klein?
Dunn watched as his expression turned bitter. Realizing his mistake, Klein grimaced, acting as though the tea was the most bitter thing in the world. In dreams such behavior could be excused, desires and fears surfacing, societal niceties forgotten.
Suddenly the cup was in front of him once more, filled to the brim with tea. Recognizing the use of the nightmare’s powers, Klein tentatively took another sip. The sweetness exploded in his mouth, overtaking all his other senses.
‘Captain?!’
‘Did you just drop in a bucket of imaginary sugar? Even my modern tongue can barely handle this.’
Sighing internally, Klein downed his mug and smiled happily – dumbly - at his Captain. Teapot now in hand, he poured Klein another cup. He seemed pleased, eyes twinkling as he nursed his own drink.
Again, Klein’s mug was filled, and again Klein gulped the cloying tea it down. Figuring he played along long enough, Klein looked directly at his Captain for the first time, feigning surprise.
“I didn’t know you actually drank tea, Captain”
Smiling sheepishly yet saying nothing, the nightmare poured him another cup.
Again, Klein gulped it down.
The nightmare poured him another cup, as though indulging Klein.
“Is drowning me in saccharine your new trick to digestion? Stop making a fool of me!’
Peering down, he studied his reflection. Klein Moretti scrutinized him back.
‘Well, I suppose I am a fool.’
-
Dunn watched his Nighthawk giddily downing cup after cup. When Klein stilled, his already unfocused eyes becoming blurrier, he knew time was up. Having your dreams invaded was tiring, even for the dreamer. Happy with himself, he closed his eyes and expanded his spirituality, finding the small but bright light next to him, and reached out.
He embraced the light.
…
Klein, suddenly aware, was blinking at him owlishly.
“Captain...”
An almost mischievous smile dancing on his lips, the nightmare stood up from the armrest. The floor creaking under him, he opened the door.
Glancing back, the beautiful crimson moonlight bathed the young man in an almost ethereal glow. He hoped that, if nothing else , he would remember Klein’s dumfounded expression.
“Happy Birthday, Klein” whispered Dunn.
Closing the door, he left the dream.
-
Dunn Smith opened his eyes, finding himself in front of 2 Daffodil Street, facing a closed door. Lowering his hand, he turned to the young man next to him. Said young man was holding an excessively large box, a mad grin adorning his beautiful face.
This was Leonard’s idea, after all.
Upon confirming his Captain’s awareness, Leonard carefully placed the box on the floor, making sure nobody would trip on it and gesturing him to go back.
…
Inside the carriage, the nighthawks watched as the house disappeared behind the corner. The moonlight shown down upon the street, the crimson spilling in through the glass windows. Opposite him, Leonard closed his green eyes and assumed a praying position, muttering under his breath. Dunn too clasped his hands, but his eyes stayed locked on the beautiful crimson moon, enthralled.
‘Oh Lady, may Kleins dreams forever be sweet’
The nightmare prayed.
-
Klein watched as the Nighthawks drove off into the night.
He stood there long after the carriage disappeared, gazing out into the empty streets. A bell tower chimed once in the distance - a dull sound, but enough to snap him out of his reverie. Sighing he closed the curtains behind him, blocking off the blood red light.
-
They were sitting atop a skyscraper, feet dangling freely off the edge.
The city lights twinkled like stars, each one proof of life, as far as the eye could reach. Honking and sirens could be heard, unable to be drowned out even at this altitude. A gale was blowing from the west, promising a storm to come.
A song was playing from the phone between them, a familiar melody yet he was unable to pinpoint it.
She was wearing a hoodie, depicting the flag of her hometown, the fabric almost swallowing her whole. Her beautiful hair cascaded down her back, black, long, almost stretching into infinity. He was dressed in classical robes, reminiscent of the one he wore last new year’s. That was the last time he saw his whole family, his mind supplied from somewhere. Their shoes were in a heap behind them, their feet barefoot.
She reached behind her, grabbing whatever was closest to her. They were surrounded by trash, he dully noted, empty chip bags and plastic bottles and takeaway boxes and whatever else they could spontaneously get their hands on.
The sound of ripping plastic filled the air, and a cookie was offered. It tasted like cheap oil and was hard to bite but the overly rich chocolate flavor made up for it.
“So, why did you invite me here?” he finally asked.
Her eyes twinkled.
Kicking her feet, she reached out, pointing to the sky.
“Look.”
Above, the full moon hung proudly, reigning over the night sky. The stars could barely be seen, the city lights washing them out, yet they were always there, shining in equal splendor, unimaginably distant.
The silver moonlight illuminated her smile.
“Happy birthday, Zhou Mingrui.”