Work Text:
Klein Moretti’s vision blurred before it was gradually overtaken by a faint crimson hue. The world came into focus piece by piece, settling on a study desk made of sturdy wood directly before him. At its center lay an opened notebook, its coarse, yellowed pages spread flat.
A title was written across it in striking, deep black lettering. To the left of the notebook sat a neat stack of books, around eight in total, their arrangement precise and orderly. Along the wall, grayish white pipes ran horizontally, with wall-mounted lamps fixed between them, casting a dim, steady light across the room.
Klein remained where he sat, his gaze lingering on the dim, familiar room in Mr. Franky’s apartment as he felt a familiar throbbing in the side of his head.
This was the day he woke up in this time period.
Everything was exactly as it had been.
The desk was cluttered with papers and books in careless disarray, with several volumes scattered across the floor nearby.
The throbbing pain did little to slow him. Klein pushed himself upright, one hand braced briefly against the desk for support. His gaze drifted instinctively toward the dressing mirror by the door.
The reflection that met him was unmistakable.
This was the version of himself who had not yet stepped into a world of danger and madness. There was no weight here, no unseen threats pressing in from beyond the edges of reality. It was safe in a way he had long since forgotten.
All he needed to do was nothing.
If he chose not to act, if he allowed the moment to pass as it once had, then everything that followed would simply… not happen. There would be no rituals, no descent into the unknown, no endless vigilance against forces that could not be reasoned with.
No madness. A quiet life, untouched by everything he had come to know. No responsibilities beyond the ordinary, no burden that stretched beyond what a single person should bear.
Klein’s fingers stilled slightly at his side.
It was a path that led only deeper into something vast and incomprehensible.
There was no safety there.
…But there were things that existed because of that path. People who would suffer if nothing was done. Lives that would never intersect with his own if he remained here.
Klein let out a slow breath.
The stillness of the room no longer felt like comfort, but something fragile, as though it would shatter the moment he truly acknowledged it.
This was a sanctuary.
And it was not his to keep.
Klein lifted his gaze once more, looking around the desk to find the revolver he shot himself in the head with and shoved it into his drawer.
He would gladly do it all over again.
“We are guardians, but also a bunch of miserable wretches that are constantly fighting against madness.”