Work Text:
Dark sighed, flicking off his dusty yellow lamp. I should probably get to bed.
He stood up from his cluttered desk and headed quietly upstairs. As Dark opened the bedroom door with a creak, he was greeted with the sight of Chosen, their inky form peacefully nestled in pure white blankets, vermilion eyes closed in tranquil bliss.
So vulnerable. It would be so easy… A voice rang inside Dark’s head, and a sudden urge to kill pulsed through his veins. Just one fireball, and your mission would be complete.
Dark hissed, and clutched the table with his crimson hands. Red like blood, the voice said, its honey-sweet sound flowing through Dark’s mind and lodging itself in every nook and cranny.
Red like the blood of the Chosen One, splashing and ebbing like a scarlet river…
Dark shook his head vehemently in an attempt to clear it. I will not kill Chosen. My mission does not define me. His body shook as the pulsing faded to its usual background noise. Yet, he knew it would happen again. Should I wake them up? I can’t kill them when they’re awake.
However, Chosen stirred on their own. They’d always been a light sleeper, never knowing when they would be needed by the Animator, never knowing when they would be used by him.
He’s the one who deserves to burn, Dark thought to himself. Maybe someday.
As Chosen sat up, rubbing their bleary eyes, Dark breathed out a sigh of relief. They’re safe.
The black stick blinked in surprise. “Still awake? Again?”
Dark looked away. “... I couldn’t sleep.” Dark could plainly see Chosen’s face shift from sleepy irritation to genuine worry as they noticed the lack of the usual snark in Dark’s reply.
Worriers are less reactive. Easier to kill.
“Shut up,” Dark muttered to himself, hostility in his voice. Chosen’s ever-keen hearing picked it up.
“... is it your mission statement?”
Dark nodded helplessly.
Weak. Look at you, depending on the stick you need to kill.
Chosen stood up and opened the bedroom door. “Come, It’s easier to breathe outside.”
The two hollowheads stepped quietly into the night, and the cool breeze caressed their faces and cleared their churning minds.
“It smells like freedom out here…”
Chosen sat down on the grassy ground, their legs dangling out over the sheer cliff face like bait in the water. They looked back at Dark, eyes shining in the starlight, and beckoned him to sit. He settled in beside them gratefully, the demons in his mind quieting down for once.
They perched silently there for a while, breathing in the pure air and admiring the vast expanse of starry sky tiles above them. Dark watched as his breath fluttered away in the night.
In the stillness, he could hear their stuttering heartbeats, imperfect yet beautiful, a crack in the twilight’s silent facade.
“You know, if I ever were to be killed by someone,” Chosen said, their voice soft in the quiet, "or tortured, or stabbed, or betrayed..."
“I would want it to be you.”