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The forest was far too quiet.
Spectre noticed it immediately.
Usually, the night was alive with rustling leaves, distant crows, and the occasional flutter of bats overhead. Tonight, there was only silence—a silence that settled heavily in his chest.
Something was wrong.
He drifted through the trees, calling softly.
"Nosferatu?"
No answer.
Again.
"Nos?"
Still nothing.
An uneasy feeling crept through him as he searched deeper into the woods. Branches scraped against abandoned ruins, and pale moonlight filtered through the canopy.
Then he saw it.
A dark figure slumped against the trunk of an ancient tree.
"...Nosferatu!"
In an instant, Spectre was at his side.
Nosferatu's breathing was shallow, one arm wrapped tightly around his side. Dark stains soaked through his coat, and fresh scratches covered his arms and face.
He looked exhausted.
"You idiot..." Spectre whispered, kneeling beside him. "What happened?"
Nosferatu gave a weak, tired smile.
"You always... find me."
"Don't change the subject."
"It wasn't anything."
Spectre raised an eyebrow.
"You are bleeding."
"...Minor inconvenience."
"You can barely stay awake."
"...Slight inconvenience."
Spectre sighed.
"You are impossible."
"I've heard that before."
Even now, Nosferatu tried to joke.
His voice was noticeably weaker than usual.
Spectre carefully slid an arm around him.
"Can you stand?"
"I can—"
Nosferatu tried.
His legs immediately gave out.
Spectre caught him before he hit the ground.
"...No," Spectre muttered. "You're done pretending."
Nosferatu let out a quiet groan but didn't argue.
That alone worried Spectre more than the injuries.
—
Getting Nosferatu back to the old manor wasn't easy.
He insisted several times that he could walk.
Each attempt lasted only a few steps before Spectre had to steady him again.
Finally, Nosferatu gave in with a tired sigh.
"I dislike being carried."
"I know."
"It's embarrassing."
"I know."
"...You're enjoying this."
"A little."
Nosferatu huffed quietly.
"I'll remember this."
"You'll have to recover first."
"...Fair point."
—
Inside the manor, Spectre guided him onto an old couch near the fireplace.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of candles.
"Stay."
"I wasn't planning on running anywhere."
"I mean it."
Nosferatu rolled his eyes.
"I know."
Spectre disappeared briefly, returning with clean cloth, water, and bandages he'd hidden away long ago.
He knelt in front of Nosferatu.
"This might sting."
"I'm fine."
"You haven't even seen what I'm doing."
"I've decided I'm fine anyway."
Spectre couldn't help smiling.
"You complain less than I expected."
"I'm conserving my energy."
"For complaining later?"
"...Exactly."
As Spectre gently cleaned the cuts across his face, Nosferatu winced.
"There it is," Spectre murmured.
"What?"
"Proof that it hurts."
"I deny everything."
"You literally flinched."
"That was... dramatic emphasis."
Spectre laughed softly.
"You are unbelievably stubborn."
"So you keep telling me."
The laughter faded as Spectre uncovered the deeper wound at Nosferatu's side.
His smile disappeared.
"This is bad."
"I've had worse."
"I don't care if you've had worse."
Nosferatu looked away.
"I didn't want you worrying."
Spectre paused.
"...Do you really think so little of yourself?"
Silence.
"I just..." Nosferatu began quietly.
"I've spent a very long time handling things alone."
"I know."
"I didn't want to become your burden."
The words barely left his lips before Spectre reached out and gently took one of his hands.
"You could never be a burden to me."
Nosferatu stared at their joined hands.
"You say that now."
"I'll say it tomorrow."
Spectre squeezed his hand.
"And the day after that."
His voice softened.
"And every day after, if I have to."
Nosferatu blinked rapidly.
"...You're unfair."
"How?"
"You always know exactly what to say."
"I don't."
"You do."
"...I just say what I feel."
Nosferatu laughed weakly.
"I think that's even more dangerous."
—
Hours passed.
The rain outside tapped softly against the windows.
Most of Nosferatu's wounds had been cleaned and wrapped.
Spectre finally sat beside him.
"You should sleep."
"I'm not tired."
The sentence was immediately followed by a yawn.
Spectre smiled.
"Liar."
"...Maybe a little."
His eyelids grew heavier despite himself.
Spectre adjusted the blanket over his shoulders.
"There."
Nosferatu looked at him.
"You've stayed this whole time."
"Of course."
"You haven't rested."
"I wasn't going to."
"...Why?"
Spectre looked genuinely confused.
"Because you needed someone."
Nosferatu felt his chest tighten.
No one had ever stayed before.
Not through the long nights.
Not through the pain.
People usually left.
Or feared him.
Or both.
But Spectre remained.
Without hesitation.
Without complaint.
Carefully, Nosferatu reached over and intertwined their fingers.
"...Thank you."
Spectre smiled warmly.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do."
"For seeing me."
Spectre leaned over and rested his forehead gently against Nosferatu's.
"I'll always see you."
Nosferatu closed his eyes.
For the first time in a long while, the pain in his side wasn't the strongest thing he felt.
It was the quiet certainty that he wasn't alone anymore.
And as sleep finally claimed him, Spectre stayed exactly where he was, keeping watch until morning, his hand never once leaving Nosferatu's.