#this shit flashed me as i was dragged into deep slumber yesterday

[dancinghannigram]

they seem like great friends

[darawonplease]

✵ polaris. ch.2 - changes.

Necessary warning.

This fic Is loosely inspired by “So Beautiful” and “5STAR”.

I’m in no way trying to romanticize mental illness. DID is a serious matter and this is just the exploration of the concept treated in the m/v in a fictional way (like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) and in no way an accurate depiction of this disorder. If this makes you uncomfortable, please don’t go further.

a.n. I’ll use all different names for the characters (real name/English name/nickname/stage name), it might get confusing so-

For reference: Barom / Rom / Christian / Ian ✵ Chaerin / Chae / Rin / CL ✵ Dabin / Live ✵ Scott / Rem

✵ ch.2 – changes.

「 ☽ Ian's POV」

“Promise me you know how to ride this thing”.

Chae approached me with uncertain steps.

“Just trust me”. I threw her way the extra helmet I kept in the saddlebag.

She hopped onto my motorcycle and immediately wrapped her hands around me.

“Chaerin? Are you scared by any chance?

I chuckled at her. No matter how fierce her celebrity image was, deep down she was a soft, scaredy-cat.

“I-Ian! Don’t make fun of me, ok? It’s just that I have never done this before”.

“What? You’ve never ridden a motorcycle?”.

She slowly grasped my shirt.

“Never…”.

“There’s always a first time so brace yourself miss”.

I suddenly pushed my foot on the accelerator.

“IAN!”.

.

Seoul city opened before our eyes, the bright neon and LEDs becoming flashes of color in the distance.

A rush of adrenaline kicked in my bloodstreams; riding my much-loved motorcycle was a way to escape – although shortly – from all my troubles.

She rested her head on my back, gently.

“You alright?!”. I shouted in the shy hope she’d hear my voice in the roaring of the vehicle.

Chae remained silent, only holding me closer to her.

I didn’t hesitate a second and took the road that brought us back to DPR’s studio and parked the motorcycle under the building.

“Oi… I didn’t wanna force you to do this, I’m sorry”. I hopped off after her.

Chae removed the black helmet and shook her head, making the silky silver hair fall over her shoulders.

“That was rad, let’s do it again sometime”.

She flashed her best smile at me, leaving my poor self completely smitten by her excitement.

“Oh, you guys went for a ride?”.

I turned around; Dabin was leaning beside the entrance door with both hands in his black hoodie front pocket, the brooding aura he emanated was quite unlike him.

“Yeah…”. I scratched the back of my head; the hint of tension in the atmosphere stiffened me.

“Man, take me with you next time!”. He cackled – his eyes disappearing in two small half-moons as he patted my back repeatedly. Dabin’s sudden mood switch took me so aback that I froze in place with a confused smile on my lips.

“You two are such lovebirds”. Chae wrapped her hands around both of us, embracing all three in a warm group hug.

“Yeah, my Ian-nie Hyung, come kiss me”.

“Oh, come here Dabin-i”.

“Get a room”. Chae rolled her eyes jokingly.

.

✵

.

“Ian”. Scott called for my attention, waving the pen he furiously kept clicking during the call.

“Huh?”.

“You spazzed out”.

“I’m just tired. What’s up?”. I ran my hand through my hair to fix the long lock hanging in front of my eyes.

“Their producer just told me on the phone…”, he heaved a long sigh, “they decided to cancel the shooting”.

“This too?”.

“Apparently”. Scott drowned his face in his palm in resignation.

“How the fuck are we going to fund our projects if we keep going like this?”.

“Christian”, he moved closer to me with the swivel chair and rest his hand on my shoulder to, hopefully, reassure me. “I’ll find some other gig to keep us afloat”.

“This WAS the gig we needed to keep us afloat”. I stood up from my seat, abruptly pushing away his hand away from me.

Dabin barged into the recording room, “Did you guys hear the news? The producer just canceled the project”.

“We ALREADY fucking know, Dabin”. I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

“What’s with this attitude man?”.

Scott glared at him and shook his head, silently begging him to refrain from responding anymore.

I reached for the leather jacket still plopped onto the chair and headed towards the exit door.

Dabin narrowed his eyes, “Where are you going?”.

“Home”.

“What?”.

Scott grabbed Dabin by his shoulder to stop him from coming after me, but I had already slammed the door before I could see his reaction.

“What the hell is wrong with him?”.

“He’s been like that all day, just leave him be”.

Their voices followed me through the hallways as I made my way out of the building.

.

✵

.

I gripped the handlebar some more, fighting the increasing tingling spreading in my palms and that slowly rode up my arms. I gripped it strong enough to make the last turn before stopping the motorcycle on a moist green patch at the side of the road, leading to the province. I sat beside the vehicle; the stars were roof for my tired body. The chilly night stung my skin with frozen needles.

I reached for air with my trembling hands, trying to grasp something that wasn’t there.

where are you…?

why is everything I built going to shit?

The huge weight on my chest became heavier and heavier as if it wanted to drag my body underground and through hell. I knocked three times on my chest but the ache wouldn’t stop.

why am I so powerless?

Why do I feel like drifting away?

A faint buzzing sound filled my ears in an instant becoming an agonizing strident noise in seconds.

.

✵

.

tic

tic

tic

The constant dripping of freezing water droplets woke me up from what felt like an endless slumber. My body immediately started to tremble as a result of my clothes being drenched wet.

The light made my eyes retire in darkness, I slowly tried to open them again to get used to the faint white glow.

It took me a minute to realize I was sitting against the glass wall of the shower. The water kept falling on my shoulder, drop by drop, relentlessly. Just like every little piece of bad news, every insignificant obstacle, every bad feeling I bottled had just exploded, drowning me. Drop by drop.

I crawled out of the shower, begging my legs to sustain my bloody self. I pressed my hand against the glass wall for support as I tried to finally stand up when a glimpse of crimson red made me immediately turn my head: my knuckles were bruised and sore.

“Who are you? I can’t even recognize you anymore”.

A strained voice echoed in my head as fuzzy images flashed before my eyes, chaotic, unrelated, tangled. I squeezed my eyes, mentally rewinding the events of yesterday evening but finding nothing.

I shook my head and proceeded to crawl out of the bathroom, leaving a wet path behind me like a snail.

I turned towards the living room, a song I didn’t know was playing louder and louder as I stepped towards the couch, where my laptop was.

“What’s this?”. I looked at the file’s name.

.

「 imalwaysnear.m4a」

.

“What the hell?”. The sound of my voice suddenly appeared on the aggressive track, rough and strained. It sounded like me but it also felt like someone else’s.

“When did I record this?”. I mumbled, clicking on the file details to uncover the mystery.

“How come…”.

I squinted my eyes.

.

「 Created: Tuesday, October 27, 2020, 4:44AM 」

.

“It must’ve been…me? Yesterday night?”.

I quickly patted the coffee table to find my phone amidst all the mess, its brightness instantly blinding me.

It was already noon, I had received several audio messages from Scott; He was probably mad at me for disappearing so out of the blue the other day.

I gathered the courage to get scolded and played all of them as I made my way towards the bedroom. I placed the phone on the nightstand and listen half-heartedly to Scott’s voice while I searched for a fresh new outfit.

.

“Ian… I don’t know how to say this. I know it’s been a rough couple of months for us… for you. But what happened yesterday with Dabin was truly alarming. I never made you a violent person. You know I love you man…whatever happens. Just know we’re here for you if you need to talk it out. I hope you’ll apologize to him when you’ll feel ready. He’s okay by the way, just a couple of bruises. Just call me when you feel like it”.

.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and noticed a cut crossing through the bridge of my nose bridge and bruised cheek.

.

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[tomionekinkmeme]

Samhain 2k18 - In Dreams

A/N: Modern Muggle AU

Tick. Tock. Tick…. Tock….

The clock was mocking her, she was sure of it. Why call it the face of a clock afterall? If not to represent the laughing, taunting nature of father time.

Hermione Granger had been awake for 5 days straight, her body vibrating with energy in defense of mounting exhaustion. She did not suffer from insomnia or some other sleep disorder. Yet she haunted the house like a wraith, silently drifting from room to room, always moving. She was not cramming all day and night for exams or crying over a failed relationship. No, the reason why Hermione refused to close her eyes, to lie down in any position resembling horizontal, was that every night she went to bed, she died a horrific death.

Well, maybe not literally, but in dreams she witnessed the last hours of countless victims, a passenger seeing through their eyes as they met a grisly end. Every dream was so vivid, each victim and murder unique.

The nightmares began about a month ago or was that two?

The days now ran together in her dazed state, time a viscous liquid that she waded through so slowly, she often wondered if she was moving at all. She would fight the siren call of sleep for as long as she could, drinking coffee, energy drinks, exercising, but eventually she couldn’t help but to give in to it’s honeyed promises of peaceful slumber.

She could still remember the first dream like it was yesterday, it all started with a girl named Ginny.

Flashing white bulbs and neon colored signs competed for attention everywhere she looked. It was as if she were submerged under water, the lighting diffused with a soft glow. The evening held a dreamy quality to it, the wind whipping fiery red strands into her face that she pushed behind her ear. Sounds though sharp, were muffled and distorted, the noise putting her on edge. Various songs blared from worn out speakers as they passed, people all around were talking animatedly and laughing.

Her arm was entwined with a young man who had messy black hair. His green eyes crinkled when he smiled at her, the lights glittering off the round wire glasses that sat high on his nose. He was amused by something she’d said as he pulled her further into the crowd toward the ferris wheel. Oh no, she hated heights, Hermione wanted to yell at the mystery man, but she couldn’t speak. She could only watch in apprehension as her body walked up to the carney, handed tickets to the man and got into the rickety cab of death.

The ride wasn’t quite as terrifying as Hermione had anticipated, there was a sense of security she received from her companion, a warm feeling that flooded her gut. He had a muscled arm wrapped around her and she leaned into his warmth. The evening was a blur of faces, friends chatting, snacks eaten, rides enjoyed. She could lose herself in the nostalgia this outing at the carnival invoked, it felt more fun and carefree than she remembered experiencing in a long time. The girl’s boyfriend had stepped away to use the loo as she leaned against a nearby wall.

The restrooms were located quite far from the main carnival setup on the grounds. You had to practically walk back to the parking lot just to get there and it was poorly lit too. It looked like a scene right out of a horror movie, the young perky innocent girl, all alone in the dark, waiting for her murderer to come. She was looking down at her phone, the bright screen illuminating her face, when she heard a faint sound.

She moved toward it and Hermione felt her fight or flight instincts kick in. This woman didn’t seem to possess Hermione’s same sense of self preservation and walked around the dim corner to investigate. Suddenly strong hands gripped her from behind and pulled her into a tall firm body. Within seconds she felt the prick of a needle go into her neck. The girl struggled desperately to get free, but with each wild flail of the arms and kick of her legs, she could feel her body was shutting down. She cursed her bad luck as she slipped into unconsciousness.

She couldn’t see anything, a course strip of cloth biting into her face. She went to remove it, but couldn’t move her wrists, in fact, her whole body felt tied down to a hard cool surface. This can’t be good, Hermione chided, doesn’t this girl know you should never go alone to check out a strange noise? This setup so cliché, Hermione internally rolled her eyes, trying to remember her tv history and if that included too many episodes of cold case files or some halloween slasher marathon. She couldn’t recall, though at the moment, she had more pressing matters to be concerned over.

She knew how this would play out and would much rather wake up, before the final act was performed. Wake up, wake up, wake up, she chanted, as she heard the creak of a door. The girl was trying to spew obscenities, but her mouth was gagged, as a man chuckled and ran a hand through her hair, playing with a strand between his fingers.

“I’ve been patiently waiting for you, my little lamb. Tonight is a very important night.” he trailed off as he ran the same hand along her cheek and cupped her chin. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You should feel very special, I’ve chosen you as my first and one never forgets his first time, as the saying goes.”

Tears were trailing down her eyes and her breathing was becoming erratic.

“Oh, sweet Ginerva or is it Ginny? You do seem to prefer being called Ginny, don’t you? Well, don’t you worry, you have nothing to fear. You were destined for greatness. I will make you famous, immortal even. Long after you’ve left this mortal coil, you will forever live on in the tales of this night. This story, our story will be on the tip of every tongue, burned into the hearts of anyone who hears it. Or maybe, and this is just me being entirely selfish, maybe I don’t want to share what we have with the world. What do you think?” He paused, then walked around the table, leaning down to her ear on the opposite side.

“Would you like to know a secret, my pet?” Here, he finally removed the object that kept her from speaking.

“I don’t give a shit about what you’ve got to say, you sick fuck! Let me go this instant. Harry will be looking for me, you idiot. I’m sure someone must’ve seen you with me and I don’t know if you’re aware, but I come from a long line of cops and my family will not stop until they find me.”

“Oh, sweet Ginny. Of course, I expect your family to find you!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“First they’ll find your two hands, then they’ll find your torso, that pretty little head of yours, the lovely lower half, and lastly your two legs and feet. Seven pieces to make you whole once more.”

“Untie me this instant! Give me a fair fight, you fucking coward!” She screamed.

“Such a filthy mouth,” he sighed, shoving the gag back between her lips, “I was hoping for a civil conversation, but I see now, that won’t be possible. I was going to serenade you with all the reasons why I chose you Ginerva, seven letters first name and last, seventh child, I could go on and on about why seven is the most powerful number and how you perfectly embody the number in walking, talking, human form, but the moods been ruined, hasn’t it? I suppose it was too much to ask for you to be excited about this journey we’ll share together. I get it, maybe I’d be less thrilled if I were in your place, but Ginny, can’t you at least appreciate that, in a sense, you’ll be living on forever. Forever Ginny!”

This man is clearly insane, Hermione deduced. I mean, where is he going with this monologue? It sounds to me, even he’s lost the plot. The room went silent and she couldn’t feel his presence hovering over her anymore. She wondered if he quietly slinked away, or was he just standing there unmoving, staring like a predator in wait. Each second that passed, felt like an hour, several hours, when out of nowhere there was a prick against her stomach, that was pushing with more pressure, and Jesus Christ, is this what it felt like to be stabbed? Ginny was now letting out muffled screams and sobs, as Hermione witnessed this terrible act. The pain that Hermione felt was numbed, but she knew it must’ve been agonizing as Ginny thrashed and cried against the assault.

Beep…! Beep…! Beep! Hermione jolted upright in bed, blinking, eyes madly darting around the room. She sighed, it really was just a dream. I knew that, she reaffirmed, dragging a hand down the side of her face.

Increasingly disturbed come morning as she awoke from each new and gruesome death scene, Hermione was determined to overcome these strange recurring night terrors. She had started to keep a dream journal after maybe the third or fourth night, with detailed recounts of everything she could remember. It was therapeutic writing it out and she felt a bit lighter with each swipe of the pen.

There had been a pretty blonde with wavy hair that giggled too much, named Violet or was that Lavender? She was sure it was some purple flower name. He had grabbed her from a dark alley as she was reapplying her lipstick, eyes glued to her compact, already wasted and barely standing. A little prick to the neck and Hermione was greeted with darkness once more. He was not fond of Lilac, he flayed part of her arms and legs, his sick manic laugh ringing in her ears along with the poor girls wails. Iris periodically passed out from the pain only to be waterboarded awake.

Then there was another blonde with straight hair and more of a plain face that went by Hannah. Hannah Abba, she’d actually created a last name for once. Hannah was terrified and begged continually to be spared. He who had no name, snickered at her naivety.

“Do you imagine yourself in a situation that warrants you to just walk away if you ask nicely enough?” His smooth deep baritone caressed as he cruelly cut off her air supply by shoving a thick cloth into her mouth and pinched her nose. He sighed as her face turned varying shades of pink and red.

“I’m doing you a favor, you know? You’re the human equivalent of stale white bread. No one cares about you, no one would remember you if you got hit by a car tomorrow. Not your so called friends, or peers. Not even that beta male boyfriend Neville. Sure, they may think fondly of you for a week, but after that, your memory will be gone with the ether. That’s how little your very existence impacts the world around you.”

As her skin tinged purple then blue, he released his hold on her nose. He pulled the cloth from her mouth as she took deep gulping gasps. She flinched when she felt him near once more, his breath upon her face.

“So you see, I’m saving you from a fate worse than death. To be forgotten, to have never been. No, the world will remember you, sweet Hannah as a tragic character, sure. A cautionary tale, maybe. But they won’t forget, no, they’ll always recall this very night, the night which you became a legend.”

He switched it up with a male victim another evening. Colin was tall, skinny and homely looking. When he smiled, his teeth looked about 2 sizes too big for his mouth. Colin was strangled with a plastic bag over his head. He who had no name was choking poor Colin over and over until finally he took pity on the poor sod by mounting him, and snapping his neck with a hard twist of the chin.

Hermione felt crazy, how could she be normal and create these grotesque visions. No well adjusted person fantasized about murder to the degree that she lived it every night. She researched the meaning behind dreams and the symbolism of the unconscious mind. Was there some hidden underlying issue that needed to be addressed?

“Honey, you look like death. You really shouldn’t stay up so late at night.”

“Thanks mother, I’ll try that in the future.”

We have retired F.B.I. Profiler “Mad Eye” Moody on the show today, “Mr. Moody, what would you say drives a serial killer such as the self proclaimed “Death Eater” or “Voldemort” that has eluded police capture for the past 6 years.”

“He’s been at large for 6 years, but he’s been inactive for the past 4, only recently re-emerging in the past 3 months.” Moody gruffly spit out.

“Mom, why do you watch this garbage?”

“The news? Honey, current events are important, you could stand to be more informed, you should sit down and watch with me.”

“The news is nothing more than depression inducing and fear mongering. I’ll pass.”

No, Hermione had much more important matters to ponder than brainlessly learning about what common household items give you cancer or which celebrities were having a baby.

All of her most recent dreams were about blondes, did she have some deep seated hatred for fair haired individuals. She couldn’t remember any particular trauma from her past that would result in her wishing for the death of blondes. Then again, the first victim she saw had vibrant red hair.

She consulted several sleep therapists in person and online, only to be disappointed with them spouting off the same information she had dug up herself already. In desperation, she even tried taking sleeping pills in hopes of blacking out, but those too failed to safeguard her from the haunting images.

Nothing helped and nothing changed. So she settled into her current cycle of staying awake for as many days as humanly possible, mind of over matter and all that, followed by crashing for a day, day and a half, repeat. At least then she was only faced with the horrors of her mind once a week, rather than Every. Single. Night.

~O-O~

Tick. Tock. Tick…. Tock….

Is it just me or did the clock just wink at me? Hermione blinked her eyes, staring harder at the enemy. She didn’t want to know the time, to know that it was god awful early in the morning and she should really be asleep right now, rather than standing in line for coffee like these other early bird bastards.

Hermione was tired, dead tired. What was that line from Fight Club? “This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy.” That line epitomized her current state of being as she stumbled through her order, “No, it’s Hermione, H-e-r-m, ugh, just write G, it’s for Miss G. Thanks.” She muttered walking away to stand off to the side.

“I’ll have a coffee, black.”

Hermione whipped her head toward the sound, that voice. The pitch and tone of that man instantly gave her chills and her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. Luckily she was near a wall and was able to lean against it nonchalantly as her mind raced a million miles a minute. Could this be the man in her dreams, was that monster real? Was she even awake right now?

“Miss G, order up!”

Hermione took a deep breath and headed toward the counter. She raked her eyes over him, tall, dark, and handsome. His hair was artfully windswept, his gait confident, he smelled like money. Some understated cologne that lingered pleasantly in the air and made your eyes follow the source.

He held himself with an air of ease as if everything just came to him, yet the coldness he radiated made him seem unapproachable, untouchable even.

He noticed her instantly, leaning heavily against the wall as if she could melt into the shadows. Her eyes kept darting toward him, she was not as subtle as she imagined. It stirred the predator inside, she was so damn skittish, beyond normal attraction or nerves. She was dripping neurosis, with her twitching and constant subtle movements. Her hair was curly and wild, it seemed to reflect her agitation. She invoked the thrill of the hunt in him, which was odd to say the least. Intrigued he put on his friendly face.

She was staring off into the distance again, only realizing too late that her line of sight settled in his direction. He flashed her a grin with his dead eyes. She almost dropped her coffee.

“I’m so sorry!” She blurted out, blushing profusely. “You just look so familiar, I was trying to place you, but I can’t seem to figure out where I would’ve seen you before.” Or heard you, demon spawn.

“Tom, order up!”

He grabbed his coffee turning towards her, hand outstretched. “It’s ok, I get that more often than you’d think.” This time, the smile reached his eyes.

“I’m Tom.” He said tipping his coffee toward her in salute.

“I’m Hermione and really, I didn’t mean to stare. I don’t suppose you attend Hogwarts Uni and I’ve seen you around campus?” She blurted the first nonsense small talk she could think of.

“Oh no, dear!” He said with a hearty laugh. “I’ve been out of University for about 10 years now.” He invited her to join him.

“I shouldn’t, I couldn’t.” Hermione stammered, adjusting her messenger bag, wondering if he would chase her should she bolt for the door.

“Nonsense, come, sit”

“Um…ok.” She sat down gracelessly, bumping her bag into the table and knocking some of her books and papers from inside the bag onto the floor. Fuck, I’ll never get out of here now.

“I’m such a klutz lately, sorry. I feel like I can’t stop apologizing to you.” Please be annoyed and send me away.

“It’s fine, it’s early and you haven’t had any of your coffee yet. You have an excuse.” He offered charmingly. Tom bent down to help her gather her things. Hermione Granger displayed on one of her cover pages. “You mentioned you attend Hogwarts? And majoring in…” he looked down at the textbook Cognitive Psychology and Cognitive Neuroscience and a paperback Dreams and Nightmares: The Origin and Meaning of Dreams.

“I’m going to take a stab and say, psych major?”

Funny you should say “stab”, seems you have a propensity toward violence even in your everyday speech.

“It was a fair guess, but no. I’m a pre-med major, I have an academic interest in psychology, hence…”

She seemed friendly enough, but there was something in her eyes. He could see fear in them if he looked hard enough. She recognized him, which was absurd as he’d never seen this girl before. She held herself surprisingly steady, considering her instinct to flee, her body was facing the door and she held tension in her legs to jump up and run at a moment’s notice.

Fascinating. He wanted to splay his hand on her knee to hold her still, he wondered if she would faint if he touched her. Or would she fight him? Would he have to wrestle her to the ground and use his body weight to hold her down. He was getting excited just thinking about her underneath him.

“Is old Slughorn still teaching Chem?”

“So you did go to Hogwarts?” She countered, eyebrow raised. Liar, liar, pants on fire. What else are you lying about sweet prince?

“I did, but ages ago.”

They talked about some of his old professors that still taught, about some of her classes. The conversation flowed freely and Hermione found herself being lulled into a false sense of security the more she listened to his opinions and thoughts on current medical practices and some of the recent breakthroughs his research firm had made in cancer cell analysis.

Was she being paranoid in thinking this highly educated well to do man was a serial killer just because of the cadence of his voice. Of course she was being paranoid, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right about him.

“I should get going, classes and all that.” Hermione was never good at a natural exit strategy.

Tom smiled warmly. “I’d love to see you again, allow me to take you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow night?” She choked, catching herself from a look of horror and forcing a pleasant expression on her face. This is it, this is the moment that I’ll regret my life choices once I’m lying blindfolded and tied down on his table.

“I’d love to, but I’m just swamped with midterms coming up and I have this research paper due on Tuesday…”

“Give me your phone. We can exchange numbers and meet up the next time you have a few free hours. I’d love to pick your brain on stem cell theory, you’re more enthusiastic and knowledgeable than my current interns. It would be great having someone like you on board.”

Now this posed a unique opportunity. Getting close to him, she could find out if her suspicions were real or merely a fantastic coincidence. Surely if he was a murderer, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to piss where he eats, wait, what was that saying? Don’t take a piss in the yard? Don’t piss where you sleep?

“Hermione?”

“Hm…?” Shit, I didn’t hear what he was saying.

Tom’s hand was outstretched, her phone in his palm. He placed it in her own, playing with her fingers in a surprisingly intimate way. He stood and leaned toward her ear.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Hermione. I can’t wait to get to know you better.” he breathed, then swiftly walked away.

What the fuck was that?

~O-O~

Hermione slept like a baby. Sweet, sweet peaceful REM sleep, no night terrors, no lingering feelings of disgust and horror upon waking. I haven’t felt this good in what feels like forever, she mused.

A couple weeks passed and she fell back into routine easily, school, study, work, repeat. It seemed like the nightmares and sleep deprivation were a thing of the past. She didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she put the disturbing dreams behind her, locking them in a box within the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind.

“Hermione, can you pick up a prescription for your father tomorrow afternoon? I thought I’d be around, but Barbara filled the cancellation spot, so it looks like we’ll be in the office most of the day.”

“Of course mom, it’s no problem.”

Parts of Hannah Abbott were recently found buried in multiple shallow graves on the shore of the Thames by Reading. Seven graves, each containing a piece of her body. Police suspect this is another case of the self proclaimed “Death Eater” or “Voldemort” serial killer. He is known to stalk, torture, and kill his victims, disposing of their body, by cutting it up into 7 pieces.

Hermione stared at the tv, her eyes getting blurry and a high pitched ringing filling her head. Hannah Abbott, Hannah Abbo, Hannah Abba. Why did that name sound so familiar?

Ding.

Hermione looked down at her phone.

Hey, it’s Tom. We met at the coffee shop. How did midterms go? What are you doing this weekend? Want to have dinner?

Her stomach dropped.

Hermione ran to her bedroom grabbing her dream journal and flipping open her laptop.

“Honey are you okay?” Her mother called from the living room.

“I’m fine Mom, I just felt a headache coming on. I think I’m going to lay down.”

She furiously typed Hannah Abbott into google and opened the first article with a picture of a plain faced blonde smiling back at the camera. She typed in “Voldemort” seeing thousands of articles pop up in the search, scrolling down the screen names like “Ginny” “Lavender” and even “Colin” jumping out at her. This serial killer had been active on and off over the past 6 years, with his victim count suspected to reach as low as 23, as high as 48. The room started to spin and she was hyperventilating, this was real, all her dreams really happened.

She passed out.

~O-O~

Now that she thought about it, the dreams stopped around the time she met Tom. She felt like an idiot for not making the connection sooner! This had to mean something. She felt fear, yes, of course, but she also felt purpose and duty. Hermione was meant to prove his guilt and somehow stop his murderous killing spree, she just knew it.

Hello, Tom. It’s good to hear from you. This weekend sounds great! I’m available Saturday night, just let me know when and where. I look forward to seeing you soon. :)

[cuteeiji]

wither

summary: something feels off today, and not just because she’s the sickest that she’s ever been. he’s hiding something from her. an interlude to ostinato (takes place in the middle of part three) pairing: natan warnings: major character death word count: 2511

He’s been acting strange today.

Natalie folds her hands together, staring absently at the way her fingers intersect, curling in on each other. There’s a persistent ache in her chest, right underneath her sternum, like her bones have been sharpened underneath her skin and are threatening to pierce through her as she breathes. She doesn’t tell him that, but the way he looks at her makes her feel like she doesn’t need to.

She’s not stupid. She might be a little naive, a little too willing to trust, but even if if his horns weren’t radiating an aberrant violet she would know something’s wrong. She could never miss the way that he hesitates to meet her eyes, the way he lingers around her but remains strangely distant, lips pressed together in a close-mouthed grimace. She thought he would be able to trust her with his troubles, but he seems to be miles away from her bedroom now, on a far-off island of his own creation.

She swallows, her scratchy throat protesting at even the slightest movement. “So, are we still going to the coast?”

He seems to snap out of his reverie, glancing up at her with still-absent eyes. Sometimes she forgets just how old he is, but he seems to be weighed down by gravity in a way he wasn’t before today. She can see the years in the curve of his spine, the tiredness of his eyes.

It scares her.

“No,” he says dully. “Let’s just stay here and rest.”

They sit on her bed and watch old movies on her computer until the sun sinks beneath the horizon, the skyline’s hues flaring red and violet until it settles into a deep indigo. She can tell that her poor laptop is reaching the end of its days; the thing is making a strange whirring noise, the bottom of it overheating and burning her bare thighs. The sounds of Fantasia plays softly through her room, orchestral notes ringing in her head as cartoon figures run across the monitor.

Natalie sniffs, leaning her head on Lucifer’s shoulder. His skin is cool against hers; it feels nice. A little unfamiliar; he’s usually so warm. In the winter she would always press her cold hands on his neck and laugh as he jumped and swore at her.

Now it feels warm underneath her own skin, a angry thing that shudders ceaselessly against the suddenly freezing air. It’s like fire, it’s like the water underneath the bridge that seared her skin pink and raw, but this time it’s in her veins. She sucks in a breath, and the air trudges reluctantly into her heavy lungs.

“I might have a fever,” she announces to him, voice cracking.

He looks at her. “Girl, you’ve had a fever for the past week.”

She frowns. Even though her stomach had churned until she had heaved into the toilet and her entire body felt like it had been hit by a particularly large and angry truck, she never felt like she was burning up from the inside out until now.

“It got worse then,” she says, clearing her throat. She hits pause and shifts the laptop over to Lucifer. “I’m gonna go get an ibuprofen.”

She rolls out of her bed, stumbling slightly. She sees his arms shift, set to steady her, and she flashes him a grin, trying not to let a heaving cough break through her teeth. He meets her eyes, something aching inside his carefully put-together expression. There’s something that he’s not telling her. Natalie turns away from him.

She walks to her bathroom, an uncomfortable tingling forming in the base of her throat. The carpet beneath her bare feet scrapes against her skin like thistles, her sweatshirt and pajama shorts suddenly stifling. She closes the door behind her and rips them off, letting the freezing air cool her burning skin.

Natalie sighs, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. Her already pasty face has a sickly yellow tint to it, save for the feverish splotches of red adorning her cheeks. Her body feels like a furnace, her scorching blood locked inside a half-dead shell. She had never thought it would get this bad. Maybe she should get Lucifer to take her to a doctor.

She brings her hands up to stifle a sudden onslaught of coughing, doubling over as she shudders, the churning in her stomach and the relentless pressure in her head increasing. She drops to her knees, resting her arms on the toilet as she hacks up a vile mess of phlegm and a sickening amber fluid. She grimaces into the toilet, inhaling a rattling breath that can’t seem to completely find its way into her lungs.

“Ugh,” she says, leaning back on her heels. Her head pounds, as if the nausea and trouble breathing weren’t bad enough. She presses her palms into the ridge of her eyes, the pressure building inside of her skull. The heat is rising, too; she can feel it underneath her heavy eyes and searing against her cheeks.

She leans her forehead against the cool enamel, vision blurring. It’s strangely comfortable like this, her knees pressed against the floor, torso slumped and arms limp. She could even sleep here, if only for a moment. But not very long; Lucifer’s waiting in her room with her poor, dying laptop. Just for a minute or two… she’ll rest just for a little bit…

She lets her eyes close, giving into the exhaustion and fever burning through her body.

Something’s shaking her.

“—atalie? Natalie!”

She feels a little irritated at the intrusion. It felt so much better to be asleep…

“Natalie, wake up!”

Oh. She knows that voice.

She feels his hands clutch her bare shoulders and there’s a buzzing, heavy static in the spaces between them. Something warm and alive floats through her veins, smothering the inferno under her skin. Suddenly it’s easier to breathe, and she inhales deeply, rivulets of oxygen pouring into her lungs.

“You said my name,” she mumbles, opening her eyes. Lucifer’s face swims into view, eyes wider than she’s ever seen them.

“Jesus Christ, girl, you looked like a corpse,” he says shakily. His hands are still on her shoulders, anchoring her to the cool tiles on her bathroom floor. Clarity pools back into her mind like warm honey, along with the bone-deep ache that makes her want to curl up and retreat into the safety of slumber.

“I feel like a corpse,” she groans, shifting slightly. She sees his gaze drop to the strangely prominent curve of her ribs; her stomach has been mostly empty for the past two weeks. His expression hardens.

She places a hand on his and guides it off of her shoulder.

“I feel better now, though,” she says, sitting up. “What did you do?”

“I healed you,” he says, pulling back from her. “Temporarily, though; the sickness will come back.”

He hands her sweatshirt to her and she pulls it over her head. She catches a glimpse of his pained face as her head emerges from the fabric.

“What’s gotten into you today?” She asks, narrowing her eyes.

Lucifer recoils slightly, leaning away from her. “I don’t know what you mean, kid.”

“You’ve been acting weird all day. It’s freaking me out, dude,” she says, heaving herself up.

“You don’t get to talk about freaking people out when you just pulled that stunt,” he says, tone suddenly harsh.

“What stunt?” Natalie asks, mystified.

He gestures to the square of tiles where she had slumped over. “You might have thought to tell me you were feeling bad before you passed out over the toilet.” “I didn’t know that I was going to pass out!” Natalie says indignantly. “Honestly, Lucifer, what’s going on?”

“You’re sick.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“I wish you wouldn’t make it a habit of doing stupid things that almost get you killed,” he snaps.

“I wish you wouldn’t make it a habit of keeping secrets from me, but that doesn’t look like its gonna change anytime either,” she fires back.

“Natalie,” he says in a tone so foreign it shocks her out of her anger. “Natalie, please. I need you to trust me on this one, okay?”

“When have I not?” She asks. He stays quiet, and she takes a deep breath, steadying herself. A few moments pass.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “I was just…”

“Worried?” Natalie asks. He nods slowly.

She smiles. “You have a weird way of showing it.”

There’s a strange silence between them, and Natalie stews in it just long enough to collect the thoughts bouncing relentlessly around her head.

“Lucifer, you know I trust you,” She says, tapping her fingers together. She waits for a beat, dragging her eyes up to meet his. “I might not understand what you do and why you do it, but I trust you and I appreciate everything that you’ve done for me. And I always will, because…well, I love you.”

His reaction isn’t the one she expects. He freezes, processing her words, before his shoulders slump and he reaches out to cup her chin, tilting her head to meet her eyes. There’s something there, a strange dichotomy of desperation and passivity that wasn’t present yesterday, or the day before. He looks almost like Titus did when they had their final battle. A man with nothing and everything to lose.

“See?” He says, his voice inexplicably sad. Her breath catches in her throat. “That’s another stupid thing.”

He moves and she feels his lips brush against her mouth, almost chaste save for the way he lingers, like he’s mustering the softest kiss he can manage when all he wants to do is drown in this moment that time can’t seem to touch. She’s stunned, the seconds stretching on before she registers that holy shit he’s kissing her. She shifts her head and presses closer to him, squeezing her eyes shut.

She’s just about to reach for him to drag him nearer when he pulls away, eyes unreadable.

She stands there for a moment, dumbfounded, staring at him with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth. They stare at each other, the foot of space between them an immense gap, mountainous in comparison to the way they were just connected. She lets her fingers touch the place where his lips once were.

She breaks the silence first.

“You kissed me,” she says slowly, a grin threatening to curl out of the corners of her mouth. Maybe it’s the fever, but the room feels a little hazy around the edges.

“Stop,” Lucifer says, and to her delight she sees that he’s flushing.

“You kissed meeeeeeeeee….” she sing-songs, dodging the pillow he throws at her. “You loooooooove meeeeeeeeeee…”

“Girl, I will kill you myself if you don’t stop that.”

“I know you don’t mean that, loverboy,” she says, giggling. She feels giddy, ecstatic, even, her chest swelling in a way that doesn’t make her gasp in pain for once. She glances up at him, his mouth quirked up into the smallest of smiles.

But even that seems hesitant, somehow.

Natalie deflates a little bit. “Seriously,” she says, reaching out to grab his hand, her fingers entangling with his. “I hope you know you can trust me too. You don’t need to do this alone.”

Lucifer sighs. “I know. I’m just…figuring some stuff out, okay?”

She chuckles. “Sounds like one of those cheesy excuses you hear on TV dramas.”

She squeezes his hand before letting hers drop. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

He nods shortly, his eyes dragging on the ground.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” She asks softly.

He looks up to her. “Whatever you want, kid.”

She smiles, retaking his hand and leading him out of the bathroom. The bed creaks as they lay on it, Natalie shifting aside to make room for him. Her laptop whirs pathetically as she picks it up and sets it on her lap. She presses play, and the sound of cartoons fill the room once more.

She leans back and lays her head on his chest, her eyes already drooping. The aftereffects of Lucifer healing her are already fading, she can tell, and the stifled feeling when she breathes is starting to claw at her lungs.

She feels his hand curl through her hair, his chest rising and falling steadily, and she sighs.

Sick or not, it would be nice, she decides, to stay this way forever.

She wakes up to the earth turning in on itself, its molten core burning as it crawls over her skin.

The world seems to swirl a little; she can feel the fever pulsing through her veins like a wardrum, beating in her ears until it presses against her skull. The lights are starting to pulse too, black dots swimming on the edge of her vision. She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her head further back into her pillow.

She realizes that there’s a space in the bed where he once laid, and she’s suddenly filled with an immeasurable panic. She reaches out blindly to grab his hand, and to her relief he’s there to catch it, intertwining his fingers with hers.

“Go back to sleep, kid,” he says softly, and she almost doesn’t catch the slight hitch in his breath. She opens her eyes and everything comes into focus, including his face. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him cry before, but there are tears forming at the corners of his eyes, defeat and exhaustion on every line of his expression.

He’s grieving, she realizes, hunched over her bed like it’s a casket and she’s already a rotting corpse within it.

“I’m dying?” Natalie whispers, her free hand curling around her blankets, gripping her sheets with a sudden, stabbing fear.

Lucifer hesitates, and it’s all the confirmation she needs.

“Yes,” he says eventually, voice quiet, squeezing her hand. “But not for long. I promise. Just go to sleep and in the morning everything will be okay. I’ll save you, Natalie.”

The look in his eyes scares her more than her failing body.

“You better not do anything stupid,” she warns him, curling in on herself as a painful cough climbs through her chest. She feels his fingers comb through her hair, the only bit of comfort he seems to be able to offer. Dark spots creep into her line of sight, suffocating her.

“I’m scared,” she admits, feeling tears sting the corners of her eyes.

“Everything will be okay,” he repeats, as much to himself as to her.

She trusts him. She trusts him with her life, with her heart and head and soul and every other piece of her being that she can imagine. And so she repeats it too, as her vision fades into black and the pressure in her lungs increase. She holds onto this last bit of hope, and these words and his hand curling through her hair are the last things she registers as she succumbs to the crushing darkness.

Everything will be okay.