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Today's night falling over the blue kingdom seemed quieter than usual. Most of his subjects already went to rest in their houses. Only light left was the lanterns perched on the castle towers and the paper ones floating gently with magic. Truly a sight to behold, this version of the blue kingdom is probably his favourite.
All the buildings bring a certain charm it didn't have before, the few months of peace did this place some good. He sure would miss it when it's eventually in ruins again. So many blurry memories of the kingdom past he has already forgotten about, yet he wants to remember this version as long as he can. Mae truly did a wonderful job being the architect this time, he glad they met. Second name pops into his head. It's not important now.
He makes a point to not look at the moon when he gazed up. It's stupid to avoid the brightest thing in the darkness above, yet he still tries. It's hard to not think back of someone he wants to forget when he does. Everything is fine, he shouldn't be this upset over this, really it's already been some time. The dragon moved on from deaths faster, even those he was responsible for too, this one shouldn't be so special.
Nom never thought he was a sentimental person before meeting a certain.. non human. A knight of his statue bathed in constant bloodshed and grief mustn't get too attached if he doesn't want it to tear his heart apart. The dragonborn is too far from being that perfect knight, just another thing to the pile he supposes, what's one more failure after all. Another burden to bear, a self inflicted wound that can't stop bleeding.
It's cruel to equate him to just a wound or a bloodstain left on his mace, but it's the best Nom got. There's not much left of him, anything soft and caring weathered a while ago or was crushed in one day. Only thing that is unchanging is all the anger and cruelty the dragon has left. He doesn't deserve it anymore, not after everything he did.
The blue king's unmoving figure stood overlooking his kingdom from castle gardens. It felt strange to think of others as his subjects. He isn't a king, at least he wouldn't say he is. The crown is just a piece of metal stuck on his head for the two weeks, nothing more, nothing less. A useful one, yes, but it isn't truly his. It wasn't made for someone like him. At the end of the day he is nothing more than a knight, a weapon to be used, a wall to protect.
It will never be his. Filled with magic of rulers past, adjusted to fit his horns, changing so swiftly from white gold Scott had to the darker yellow it is now. Nom knows real metal, painstakingly fixing gold trims of his armor after the earlier battles made him more used to it. Tedious work of fixing small decorations was far more interesting than being a king if he was truthful.
The thing on his head isn't true gold. Magic taking shape of what he could want, what fits his head perfectly without any imperfections or damage, jewels with perfectly cut edges. It has no effort put into it, no time spent adjusting to find the perfect type of gold, no sketching the prototypes before making the molds, nothing. He's sure the mages were in awe at the powers it holds, but it's not something he ever could comprehend.
He toyed with the idea of making his own crown if he decided to be monarch, at least so the thing isn't stuck to his head. Of making something truly his, a boon to keep with him after his reign ends as a good memory. Something to add to the hoard, his pride and joy as someone would say.
He isn't best with carving something that isn't a blade or an armor piece, but a challenge is a nice change of pace. He always wanted to be better at cutting precious stones, of making something pretty for his friends and sister. She barely has anything in her hoard of wealth, as a good brother he needed to fix that one day. His hands are far too sharp for something so delicate, it always left a cut on the delicate gemstones, but one person used to help- hm. Well.
After everything this dream is long gone, when this magic artifact leaves his head there wouldn't need to be a memory. It won't be remembered with fondness that's for sure at least. He wasn't made to handle delicate metalwork and making something that doesn't hurt. His talons are forever destined to be covered in blood and bash and slice and claw away at anyone who dares to get too close.
He pales in comparison to other rulers, all the peace and compromise got washed away the day he sat on the throne covering it with dark blue blood still dripping from his mace. It's still there if he looks too hard. His eyes always dart to that spot to check if it's gone every time. Every time it isn't. Forever there to remind him of how much of a monster he is and forever will be-
The knight takes a sharp breath and tries to clear his head, this trip to the castle was meant to help him rest, so by gods it will. His stubbornness can't be defeated by some guilty conscience he hasn't managed to kill yet.
There's an itching feeling clawing at the back of his throat he tries to ignore. Nom already knew his health hasn't been the best recently, but the taste of tar coating his tongue is by far one of the most annoying consequences of his actions. Just another one, just a bit more hurt he has to endure, it's what he does, isn't it?
-"It's for the good and protection of everyone"
he stubbornly thinks and tries to ignore the bitterness he feels with every breath. He really isn't sure if it's blood or ichor he tastes now, both became the same a while ago.
"It's fine if I am the only one to go"
he continues, coughing from the wretched thing that nested itself somewhere deep withing him and just waits to claw out. He knows it will tear him apart soon, but the dragon doesn't care. In a few minutes the pain manages to dull down to a numb ache he can ignore.
After finally opening his eyes again Nom isn't so sure about this being the worst consequence of his actions.
Perched on the balcony next to him is someone who looks just like 4c. It isn't an exact copy, no, this one looks a lot paler and see-through than the original. They are facing away from him, mimicking how the slime would usually sit, legs dangling from the edge and playfully swinging side to side, face looking up at the moon above. The only thing it got fully wrong is the cape - it looks fully black, all the intricate patterns gone.
The knight grips his sword, but doesn't move yet. This can't be the actual 4c, he is sure of that. He isn't even dead so why would something looking like his ghost show up next to him? It has to be some mage pulling an unusually cruel joke or the recent sleepless nights catching up to him, surely. The thoughts swirling in his head suggest something else, yet he refuses to listen to them.
Finally Nom decides to approach him.
"What are you, why are you here?"
-his voice comes out harsh and still a bit rough from the coughing fit. His eyes are fixated on the person in front of him trying to notice anything that could give an answer. It looks wrong at most, an empty reflection, but nothing the dragon can latch onto. He's too out of it to try harder.
The figure doesn't seem to give him attention and continues with the stargazing. Almost mocking him for even trying to speak. Nom makes his way closer and tries to grab the copy by the shoulder. Then immediately after stumbles trying to catch himself after his hand passes through and hits the wall of the tower next to them.
Well now the dragonborn is sure that this is a ghost. Letting out an annoyed growl as he uses his tail to get some balance back. This finally gets the thing's attention. He turns his head to look Nom dead in the eyes.
Being so close he now can see the main difference between the ghost and his exiled past friend. He is missing an eye one the side of his head where Nom landed the mace hit. The wound looks like he remembers it on that day, still fresh and bleeding.
He recoils at the sight and quickly backs off.
"You- you should have already healed that!-" he sputters out, stepping away even further.
"This isn't real, this-" his voice gets a bit rougher around the edges as his fear seeps into it.
Ghost 4c didn't do much as he spiraled, the figure watched him with lazy amusement.
Or something like it, it was hard to tell by looking. His remaining eye looked empty and his face seemed far too stiff to belong to a living person, fixed in a slight bored expression. The blood looked like the most vivid colour on him, rich navy blue contrasting harshly against grayish skin. The copy didn't seem too bothered by the dark liquid dripping from his chin, it doesn't even blink, just stares. Following every slight movement the knight makes.
Maybe it's with hatred, the real 4c would despise him at this moment, Nominal isn't so sure of it, but it never hurts to hope. Maybe sorrow, knowing him the slime would twist any hatred into something far less cruel, he can't help but be his right hand in any situation. Even this one. Sometimes he wished his ..past best friend wasn't so stupidly loyal. The dragon could only hope to never spot him here again.
The stranger still stared at him, like they are able to understand his shifting expression, slowly cocking their head to the side as real 4c did when he was curious of something. This version isn't so nice as to talk and explain themselves, it continues to watch a little bit more as the knight manages to feel the searing anger fill his mind more than the sadness. Who dares copy him and show up here, for what? To remind him of the blood on his hands? Nom can do it again, this time with no hesitation.
Then, as Nom hastily grabs his sword and points it in the direction of the ghost he grins. A mischievous smile that looked a bit like a scowl. 4c used to have it when he pulled off some new stupid stunt of his and came running back to show Nom. He felt disgust and anger looking at it. How dare this stupid thing mock him. He went in for a swing of the sword, his tail angrily clicking against the ground as a warning.
Before he could reach him the ghost disappeared. Standing here with a sword drawn against the cold air of the night completely alone Nom thought of how utterly absurd it was. Something not even real managed to rile him up, of course it would. It seems any version of that traitor could still make him upset, he had a talent for it after all.
He huffs, letting the remaining anger fizzle out. For good measure the dragon swings against the space where the ghost was. Just for his own peace of mind. Metal clashes with brick and makes a sound too loud for his ears. Nom breathes in and out, a second to forget and move on, another to go back into being a stable and harsh king, not some idiot who got scared of a ghost of ..him. Gods above is he tired.
The dragon rubbed his eyes and put the sword back into its hilt. His mind decided to show how badly he missed his best friend, huh? It's a bit pathetic to regret a decision he made so badly he starts seeing ghosts of people still alive, isn't it. He couldn't be dead. Nom wouldn't even entertain the idea. Maybe he will be lucky enough to see nothing in his dreams, but both he and the gods knew this mercy isn't something for people like him.
It's been barely a week since he last saw the slime in person, yet his nightmares make sure he never forgets his face. Or blood for that matter, mostly his blood. The dark blue on the floor of the throne room, deep navy under his talons that can't be washed out no matter how hard he tries, the sky blue of chunks of his slime stuck in the mace that won't fall out.
It's like a stab wound that festers when you try to forget about it, wherever he looks there is something there to make it hurt more.
The deep blue blood of the ghost dripping down from his face. Rich ultramarine of the injury that can't leave his head. Glass-like aquamarine of his eyes staring at him with true fear for the first time. Nom thinks he hates the colour blue. It makes him sick.
With his luck he will see the 4c's blood covering his hands and his face finally getting the same horrified expression he saw on the day they met over and over until he manages to wake up. Or something worse, the dragonborn isn't sure what could be worse than that, but the world always surprises him with it's endless cruelty. He deserves this after all, there's only one person to blame. Gods he is so unbearably tired of it all.
As he calms enough from the adrenaline spike he just had Nom decides to look up at the sky again. Huh, it's a waning crescent moon tonight... He remembers 4c once telling him he was born under this one. The rogue was kinda embarrassed to share it, saying in his culture it usually means bad luck or being destined to be alone.
Nom offhandedly mentioned it being not true anymore, since they will always have each other. Guess he broke that promise too, something they have in common now. Nom wishes he didn't break it, wishes to still have him here, to play stupid farkle games and be best friends until both kingdoms burn to ash and bury them both beneath it. But he will never say it until the day he dies.
He huffs a bitter laugh, what else does he need to share with this slime, first his oath, then his gold, his house and now his cowardice. A greedy thing he was, truly. They share that one too. He can admit being selfish and full of greed - it's in his blood after all. Just a part of being a dragon.
And something- someone, managed to slip out of his hold, no longer a part of his hoard, the instincts somewhere deep in his head want that back. It's his own rashness that led him to be gone, he wants him gone even, but the stupid animalistic half of him isn't as inclined to believe that lie.
Nom's heart twists with guilt and sadness at the thought of never seeing him again. And yet he is pretty sure 4c will never forgive him and he would rather never see him again than to see his face filled with hatred at what he has become. His emotions are still a mess of contradictions even after some time passed, a mix of anger, sorrow and stupid fondness that can't go away mixing into one terrible concoction he can't discern even if he tried.
He sighs deeply and decides to leave the castle. This is enough reminiscing for one day, he needs to get back to being mad at him and the whole world around him or all this would be for nothing. The only thing he got left that he doesn't want to fail is winning this stupid war, whatever it takes.
Making his way to the bed he makes sure to leave the door open so 4c doesn't check the blacksmith and leaves some space on the bed for the slime. He usually came by much later than Nom went to bed, so it became an unspoken tradition in a way, besides that guy like curling up as close to him as possible. The dragon's mind is too tired to realise his mistake. He falls asleep to dream a restless nightmare yet again.
- - - - - - -
On this fine night 4c was finishing some furniture in his home. He could be sleeping, could be doing many other useful things too, like bandaging the wound on his head that opened again. Yet he is here, finishing sewing the covers of a blanket for his new bed. The slime isn't really focused on the task, it's more of a distraction from seeing another nightmare. He yawns, but continues with the stitching.
It's a bit unusual for his body to adjust back to being more active so far into the night, everyone in the kingdoms is asleep by now. This feels nostalgic in some strange way, the swamps were never this quiet, but the feeling of being so utterly alone is familiar. Just practicing his skills deep into the night, until it's time to sneak back and curl up on the floor of his home. A routine he doesn't miss.
Being a nocturnal species, it's only fair he slips back into old habits. Usually slimes in his home would be most active at night and at day it returns to silence with only a few creatures on the streets. Those who are awake are usually traders, both human and slime.
"It would be a shame to lose sales if you can't keep up with the daylight!". Or something of this caliber?
His older sister used to say it a lot. 4c never cared to listen longer so he doesn't really know how the rest goes. She never cared to speak to him longer than needed too, he was far too useless of a thief to bring to the markets.
When he was younger he used to hate the sun. If nothing else it hurts his eyes, light sensitivity and heat is his only true weaknesses, it made sense to stray further. The market wasn't something he liked either, far too noisy and full of schemes. He felt like a stranger among all the other slimes here most of all.
He got over it after a few years, but being under the moonlight was still the time he felt most comfortable. Nothing to scheme, only his dagger and himself, over and over until he could be useful. Until he could fit in.
Then one day his world shattered and he had to travel by daylight with a knight who chose to save his life out of nothing but.. something? 4c asked once, but it was a "right thing to do in the moment" as Nom put it. He didn't ask again, but 4c was pretty sure he figured out the real reason long ago. The slime didn't want to upset his friend, but his life isn't worth that much bloodshed, there had to be something else.
He misses when he didn't have to chase the sun like some shrewd merchant. In some way he became what his sister was - lying and stealing, betraying those closest to you for something stupid that gets you nothing. 4c didn't get to the part where he leaves everything behind and hides from people who hate his guts until the day he dies like she did, but whatever he has now is close enough.
Moon above he is the same as his family now, isn't he.
The thought makes his brain completely blank for a few short moments. 4c feels all too familiar dread. After all this, of trying to be better, of being something else-...
He takes a long breath and slowly unclenched his fists from the fabric, it would be a shame to tear it.
Maybe it's for the better. He tried and failed at being something blue kingdom ...and Nom. Can be proud of, someone who stands with them and acts like them and acts the part of a human being like they all are. This all is now in the past, he has to move on from this and accept what he truly is.
Besides. There isn't anyone worth altering himself to be more human for, is there. 4c is completely alone.
There's something wet dripping onto his gloves. Rhythmical taps that soaked the fabric of the glove enough he can feel it on his hands. Maybe tears, 4c wouldn't be surprised, he really did get worse at this whole concealing his emotions thing. Really going back to his old self huh, after all this progress he is just a slime after all. There is a bitter taste in his mouth.
These covers should really be finished and then he can go to sleep. The slime sticks the needle with thread into the magenta dyed cloth. Then wipes his face trying to stop the tears and dripping slime from his unstable form to ruin the fabric. It's surprisingly dry? Huh. He finally focuses his vision enough to notice what the liquid is.
Oh frick. It was blood. Oh no. He wants to laugh. Of course it would be, why wouldn't he be bleeding out right now! By moon above, what else can he ruin! He spent a good few hours on this thing and now it's stained in blue, great.
The slime feels only slightly confused on how he didn't notice it sooner. The pain throbbing in his now blind eye or the headache it brought come to his attention only in this moment. His pain tolerance was fine before, but being stabbed, maced, shot and tortured in hell would sure make any new pain less noticeable that's for sure. He can't tell them apart most days.
4c gets up from the bed and makes his way outside only bashing his head into the door once this time. It's still hard to get used to his vision not being as accurate, just something he has to live with now. It's strange how this injury didn't heal yet, but that's fineeee. 4c grits his teeth from the pain.
It's great and he totally isn't upset over being stripped of his vision along with everything else he lost, absolutely not. He turns around, kicks the door frame with his boot as hard as he can and only then walks out.
Sometimes 4c wonders if dying in the swamp was the end he was truly destined for. And The Rogue God decided to see what else can go wrong and changed his end just for their own amusement. He hopes they are bored out of their mind, personally.
The lakeside sure looks nice at night, moon rippling on the surface of the water brings him something that could be a feeling of safety. It's not really, something will go wrong, but he is in so much pain it dulls most of his rational thinking. Fear and anxiety over being found replaced with wanting to, for once, be safe.
..Oh, It's his moon today! A waning crescent, as unlucky and fleeting as he is. It brings a smile to the rogue's face even if his mind still is filled with murky waters. It hurts to move any muscle on his face, even as little as that. He feels dizzy, it's hard to keep his eye focused. Breath in and out, just keep going.
The slime makes his way down to the water without face-planting into the ground, getting close enough to sit down next to it. 4c takes off his gloves and cups some water in his hands. He slowly cleans off his face of blood and hisses in pain when fresh blood begins to drip from the irritation to the wound.
After some failed attempts to carefully wash away the blood fail and bring more pain the rogue gets annoyed enough to just dunk his whole head in the lake. This seems to help. Pain subsiding slowly after absorbing the water. Outer shell mending the broken pieces back into something that looks like him again.
4c eats some carrots so his inner membrane can slowly repair too. His healing got much slower after having his head split open, it's concerning how weak he has become, relying less on his natural healing and more on food regeneration.
It would be great to have a golden apple or a healing potion to quickly get rid of this new problem, but he isn't so lucky to be a mage or too broke to afford using gold. Oh well, just his rotten luck. If he was smarter or better as a person this wouldn't happen. 4c blinks hard with his remaining eye and shakes his head. It's no use feeling miserable when he's still injured.
Thankfully there is bandages he managed to grab from his old house, after washing them the rogue ties the cloth over the left side of his head. The pain slowly dulled back to a bearable buzzing somewhere deep within his skull, nothing he can't handle. 4c sighs in relief and looks over at the lake after finally being done with his shoddy attempt at medical care.
Something seems off.
His ears twitched as something made an odd sound. 4c knows footsteps and can pinpoint who or what it is in record time, he learned how a pulled crossbow or axe mid swing sounds, being a rogue meant listening above all else if he wanted to live another day. Even his worse condition haven't messed up his senses.
This was unfamiliar. Maybe a footsteps of a slime if he had to guess, but it's still so wrong. Lighter and with a soft chime of bells? Just barely noticeable, he heard it before, where has he-.. It's getting closer.
4c readies his trusty poison tipped karambit and sits up straighter to jump up for a quick swing and dash while they are distracted. They come to a stop just out of range to be hit with his weapon.
He whirls around and springs into a jump, closing the distance to not give the other person time to react. Then points his blade to their throat, 4c decided to see who or what it is and then act accordingly, stabbing a stranger in the woods seemed like a bad idea. When looking up to see the other person the slime is completely shocked.
Like looking in a broken mirror - the person in front of him is... himself? The rogue noticed with slight unease that they don't reflect in the steel of his dagger, their figure being gray and slightly transparent gives him an idea too. Their eye has the same injury he fixed a few minutes ago.
4c doesn't lower his weapon, but steps back to look at the other him better and maybe give him a chance to speak. He also takes a long breath to-
Scream "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT???!!!" on top of his lungs.
"WHAT ARE YOU. WHAAATTTT??" he continues, his mind completely scrambled in panic.
Frick frick frick, what is he going to do, what is he even supposed to do in this situation! HUH???? HOW???
It gets nothing in response. After taking a few moments to collect himself 4c says -
"Um, h-hello?...".
Nothing again, seems like talking isn't the strategy here. He takes a second to observe his opponent then.
First thing that catches his eye is that the other ..slime? ghost-slime? Is still wearing a cloak. Not his cloak of the depths, no. It now lies discarded on the floor of the tavern. It would have been obvious of someone copying him to have an idea of it at least or just take the original at worst. if they know him well enough to copy the injury with weird precision it seems unusual the cloak is so wrong.
It has nothing on it, a blank slate everyone gets before going to their trial of the depths. Only those who fail and die in the darkness get to rest covered in black cloth. So why does this thing with his face have it? The stranger doesn't respond or so much as move. Fully content with a weapon pointing at his neck the ghost looks annoyed at best.
The ghost-slime's damaged eye looks wrong too, too fresh to be the exact copy of what he has, not even what it looked like when he had the first chance to see his face in the water's reflection after he ran far enough from blue kingdom. It looked like what Nom would have seen after hitting him. Before regeneration magic could take hold and rewind his death to make 4c wake up in his bed. This is.. hm.
Like a mismatched assortment of objects trying to make a coherent image, but failing at the smallest details. Fear slowly melts into something akin to curiosity, the slime wants to figure out what these inconsistencies could mean, why would someone know him so well yet deliberately fail?
4c decides to ask again, less scared this time - "What are you, actually? This copy of me is barely coherent, do better."
The person with his face finally changes their bored expression to something else. A reflection of his own again, curiosity flashes in the dead gray eye of the fake ghost, then they smile. An incomplete attempt again, this is his scowl-like face, yet something is missing.
4c deliberately tries to not show his fangs because it confuses humans, but the copy has a much more animalistic expression, something he would have only in the swamps. They fail again despite knowing far more than people here would. This seems like a deliberate game. Like they expect him to play along. Even if he's a rat inching ever closer to the mousetrap he will follow along.
This reminds him of just two things. His old acquaintance in the swamps, a purple slime who used to swindle rookie traders and lost his cloak before 4c even knew him. He used to pull similar pranks, copying the rogue's voice and making his life worse just for his own amusement, playing it off as rogue training. And the second one was The Rogue God.
On one side he wanted to believe the purple slime would not stoop so low as to torment him at his lowest, he barely even knew shape-shifting magic except for voice imitation, he wouldn't be able to do it so well. Besides they haven't spoken in years at this point and he is most likely long dead.
But The Rogue God? They left him alone long ago, why would they return now? They got what they wanted, they were right in the end? Yet they are known for chaos, it isn't out of their nature to do something like this.
The slime decided to take a stab in the dark - "The Rogue God?".
Then the fake slime opened their mouth and laughed in a manic assortment of giggles growing louder and louder, warping from 4c's own voice to something like Nom's to his old probably dead acquaintance to - THEIR voice.
Deadpan, grating and unsettling, sound of bell chimes returning in full force, this time fully on display. Yes, it could be no one else. Dread fills him even before they speak.
"Good show, good show. You got it, slime. Seen through my tricks, what would you do now?"
- they return to the threatening monotone 4c is used to. Surprisingly they stay here in the form of this fake ghost version of him. But now they stand slightly taller, more imposing.
At some point the slime notices himself disarmed with the blade being now under the boot of the fake, frick he was getting too into solving the mystery and lost his attention, they have a clear advantage now.
4c's uncertainty and fear must have shown in his face because the next time he looked up The Rogue God now spotted a mocking grin, eyes still filled with annoyance, but there is some amusement in their expression now too.
They are certainty finding this fun. This is even less reassuring than their usual hatred, moon above what did he do to deserve it this time even? They got their show already, what use is he to them now? 4c, instead of voicing it spoke.
-"Return to what I was doing before, you seem to be done tormenting me?.."
Some hesitance lingered on his voice no matter how hard he tried to seem calm.
They could torture him again if he said something wrong, this time no one would even care if he was gone. Despite it being something he deserved some part of him wanted to continue going, to see if there is a good end for him in sight, despite everything. The rogue knows he is a selfish coward who should not be alive by any means, but he wants a bit more, a few more moons at least.
They tilted their head and seemed to ponder it for a second, his karambit now somehow in their hands this time as they throw it in the air and catch it a few times. The blade glistening in the moonlight, most coated poison already gone or dripping off as it's tossed up. Humming a short tune 4c seems to slightly recognize before responding back.
-"I wished to see with my own eyes how someone like you would be punished for being such a disgrace without wasting my time, I am plenty satisfied now."
Their voice is full of vitriol and barely masked distaste, 4c isn't surprised, that was pretty standard as far as the god who hates him goes, playing a little game that makes him feel strangely hollow is par for the course at this point. Strange, sure, but the slime holds his words this time, he is far too tired for this.
-"My offer still stands, I will see you again, slime." - With this they disappear with a puff of smoke.
The only tangible thing being his dagger - falls to the ground, almost hitting his leg. 4c makes a scared noise and jumps back, avoiding being hit by a fraction of a second. He takes a deep breath in and slowly breathes out. This night sure is going great.
It's far too late for thinking about this further, as adrenaline fades he feels utterly weak and tired, his hands shaking and mind still hazy with leftover terror. Maybe it's time to go to sleep, yeah this seems nice. 4c picks up the karambit and puts it back into it's sheaths. Stretching and making his way back to his little cherry cabin.
The slime holds the door frame with his hand to carefully navigate inside trying to avoid another injury. Blanket covers still in a messy heap on the bed. 4c makes sure to remove the needle from the fabric, take off his shoes and then drops his body onto the bed. Curling into himself to absorb more heat he tries to fall asleep.
It isn't as warm as he is used to, so it's harder to do, he is turning and twisting to find someone who should be next to him, too tired to remember why he can't. In the morning the slime will figure out what happened today, but for now he falls into a peaceful dream, free of nightmares and pain.