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Bodies naked on the bed hugging each other, only covered by a delicate sheet that was doing a decent job on keeping them a bit warm. It happened again, another nightmare with that godforsaken city; Prehevil was once more disturbing the doctor’s sleep and consequently bothering his boyfriend too. They’d wake up in the middle of the night to recover themselves and talk about what happened, as if it would ammenize their fears and guilts.
It was always like this: Daan would wake up first and desperately check if Marcoh was alive, if he was still breathing and in one piece. Then, he’d open his eyes and see Daan’s expression turn from fear to relief in seconds. The boxer’s hands always cupped his face and told him it wasn't real, they're safe now and he can rest peacefully. However, something this night went differently: Marcoh saw tears running down his boyfriend's cheeks and this never happened before. He couldn't help but be worried.
“Amore, what happened…?” the boxer's hands calmly caressed his cheeks.
“That same nightmare, that one I told you.” his lips were quivering and Daan was speaking quieter than normal. “You died from blood loss after being dismembered again, but before that we had a fight. It never occurred until now.”
“Want to talk about it?”
He pressed his lips together and moved one hand to the boxer’s right hand. “Yes”.
Both adjusted themselves on the mattress and Daan decided to smoke while telling the events of the nightmare. He finished his cigarette seconds after he ended the story. Marcoh listened to everything, eyes locked on his boyfriend, attentive to every single expression he made. He knew the doctor feared losing another beloved person, maybe that's why the nightmare was so terrifying to him.
“And the rest of it you know well: that man with the chainmail dress cut your arms off then beheaded you in front of me.” Daan let a heavy sigh out and relaxed his body, which was stiff until the “storytime” ended. “What pains me the most this time is the fight we had earlier in the dream. I said things to you I’d never say and I doubt I’d like them to be said to me either.”
“Can you tell me…?” Marcoh left his stance and prompted them both to sit on the mattress facing each other. He had the doctor’s hand in his, squeezing them slightly. “I know it's a nightmare, don't worry.”
“I yelled at you saying you're just a filthy homosexual at the end of the day and thanks to you we both would rot in hell.”
His voice faltered and became lower, almost a whisper. Daniël averted his eye from Marcoh's gaze and instead was focusing on his hands being held. He knew it was only a nightmare, none of the horrors were real anymore. Prehevil was a distant terror lost in Bohemia, Rher and his sick ideas of “fun” were gone, the eerie streets of Prehevil were gone, the masked man with the chainmail dress was gone, every second of that experience is now gone. But somehow it still cursed Daan’s dreams, making him wake up, worrying his boyfriend.
“I can't let this dream—nightmare—plague my sleep anymore but I don't know how.” Marcoh squeezed his hands again and then brought one of them to his lips, pressing them against the fair skin. “Maybe it's impossible for us to live in one hundred percent peace.”
“We still can try. My old coach used to say ‘if you want to win a difficult fight, never stop punching, even if you think you can't anymore’.” He leaned towards the doctor and stared at him intensely. “Don't like the idea of giving up, not now when our lives started to get better.”
“It isn't that I’m not willing to continue trying, it's just…” Daan stopped for brief moments as if he needed to think a little before proceeding. “... it is hard to find holiness in hell.”
“You were the only ‘holy’ I found inside that hell, Daan.” Marcoh urged to hug his beloved one and he felt a little kiss on his shoulder after a couple of seconds. “I owe so much to you and I’m not talking about favors or similar. You're the best thing that city gifted me and I’m sure I’d rather go through all of it again than never have met you. If suffering in Prehevil means meeting you over and over again, I would do it every. single. time.”
Daniël allowed himself to smile. He pressed his body against Marcoh’s like his life depended on it, letting out a calm sigh and caressing his broad back, brushing his slender fingers delicately on the boxer's skin. Such tenderness that he reserved specially for his dearest ones. Feeling the warmth of his boyfriend was quite calming and helped him organizing his mind. Maybe he could live well with the information he was genuinely loved by someone; being cared was somewhat new to the doctor. Usually Daan was the one caring for others, professionally or not, but most of the time as a doctor. Either way, it was a feeling of not being sufficiently “human” to be cared or loved. Love’s still a twisted, hard emotion to feel and even so Marcoh makes it easier for Daniël.
“I wouldn't mind going to hell with you, Mijn liefje.” the doctor moved away a little bit, enough to look his boyfriend in the eyes. “I wouldn't mind it at all.”
Daan tilted his head forward as he put a free hand on Marcoh’s face; lips pressing against his in a slow, soft kiss. His action was immediately retributed and he felt a gentle hand at the back of his neck, toying with a hair lock. He could try to rest again; his thoughts soothed by the boxer's affection.
“Think I’m ready to sleep now.”
“Can I hug you until you sleep…?” he said, softly and with so much love that was almost palpable.
Daan smiled between the little kisses he shared with him. “Of course.”