A/N: The third and final part of Gaspard de la nuit.
XxX
Yuuri hated these kinds of nights the most, the nights when his flickering candle cast warm shadows across his walls. He hated when the moon hung bright, silver and beautiful and full, amidst the golden sparkling stars and deep, blue satin of sky. He hated when the trees swayed with a phantom breeze, as if some giant forest spirit were blowing across their tops. He hated these tranquil, beautiful nights the most, when all was silent, not even the chirp of a cicada or croak of a frog daring to break the peace, because that was when it came.
At least, when the nights were stormy, there was the calming pitter patter of rain hitting his roof, the deep rolling of thunder and flashes of bright white lightning. At least, when the clouds covered the moon, its beams wouldn't seep through Yuuri's curtains, a silver gild upon the wooden floor. At least, when the nights were too humid for his blanket, and sweat dripped down his brow, the animals of the woods would throw up protest at the drugged heat as well, a weave of calls and replies that broke the quiet.
But no, tonight, nobody tread the streets in drunken revelry, no guards clanked by on the watch for bandits, no adolescents snuck out of bed for a night of mischief. Tonight, all was well, all was peaceful, and all was still.
Anxiety rose in Yuuri's throat to choke him, a kind of fear with knife tipped claws and bared sharp teeth, crawling up his spine like skittering centipedes. He hated these kinds of nights the most, because it was on these clear, cold midnights when the moon threw into relief creatures that no human could, or should, ever lay eyes on, creatures that nobody would ever see save Yuuri, born cursed to lay witness to monstrosities.
Some of these spirits were only wisps in the night, eerie floating flames skirting between trunks and branches. Some of these monstrosities were many legged, with translucent carapaces that revealed their innards and legs that bent the wrong way. Some of these beasts were huge, hulking things, with the anguished face of a man, branching horns of a stag, and slick body of a salamander.
It was not these creatures, though, that Yuuri feared. They did not plague his dreams into the day, because they did not disturb Yuuri underneath the swollen, pregnant moon, content to wander the land by themselves, interfering with no one, nothing, until the sun rose, and they evaporated under the sunrise like frost on a blade of grass.
No, it was the small, crooked thing that inhabited Yuuri's room, that darted like a silverfish across the cracks in the bathroom, a scuttling, demented little creature with spindly thin fingers and wide, bulbous eyes. It was that which frightened Yuuri the most. It was the hunched back, a permanent bow that stretched its paper-thin skin around its ribs and the knobs of its spine, that raised the hairs on Yuuri's arms. An emaciated goblin, come to prey on Yuuri's fear of being insignificantly small, powerless, meaningless among the spirits of the night.
It never touched Yuuri, never came within even two meters of Yuuri's bed, but the glittering of its eyes bulging out of a gaunt face, the taunting, leering widening of cracked lips, the stretch of wrinkles around its threatening grin drove Yuuri past the lurking buzz of anxiety beneath his skin and plunged him into terror, for while he was intimately familiar with deep-seated insecurity, terror reached its insidious roots within the cracks of his psyche and bloomed wide underneath the moon.
Hiding himself from visions of the imp was no use, for even though his eyes could close and obscure his vision, his ears could not shut. The sound was always worse. The click-click-click of nails against the wooden floor, the scuffing of skin in the corner of his room, the high-pitched giggles emanating from a thin, reedy throat. Yuuri could hear the scrape of its blunt, inhuman nails across the linen of his bed as it tormented him.
But worst of all, worse than its haggard appearance and strange noises, was how it moved. It moved like a dancer, with jerks and unnatural contortions, smooth and fluid but in a way that no living creature could, or should move. It scuttled like a crab, crawled like a worm, and flew like a falcon, a pirouette like a spinning top, a tarantella to some unheard drum beat. It moved like a thing possessed, with frightening rigor and frenzy parallel to Yuuri's rabbit-fast heartbeat. All the while, its mouth was bared, lips stretched so far across its face its head nearly split in half.
The candle flickered, wax melting from the top, a viscous liquid that dripped, dripped, dripped into the dish, and the creature's thin skin dripped and melted as well, eyes slowly sliding down its face, mouth lopsided but still smiling. It danced in the moonlight, luminescent and horrid, sliding between shadows, disappearing into corners.
The squealing creak of metal hinges struck through Yuuri like lightning, and despite the thick, wool blanket covering his body, ice cold fear trickled down his back. What he heard next, though, tasted like the golden sun, warming the moist earth, nurturing the buds of newborn crops and waking the birds in their nests.
"Yuuri."
Comforting, like the familiar smell of a well-used scarf, like the feeling of soil between his toes and fingers, like the taste of warm broth, heavy with potatoes and cream. Soft, smooth, deep, like the finest of silk and the glide of oiled otter skin in a river.
Long fingers, not at all like the vision that plagued him, stroked his hair, unmindful of the sweat that wet his bangs. A warm weight settled beside him, long and languid and lean. Yuuri finally relaxed, slowly unfreezing the breath in his longs, the ice in his veins, the chill in his joints, and he looked up at the sun, at the silver strands of fine hair as beautiful as the moon, and yet so much warmer, at the heart-shaped smile and clear blue eyes. The candle died, and smoke curled towards the ceiling, yet Yuuri was not afraid anymore, not anxious for dawn to arrive or paralyzed by malicious spirits. The visions were gone, snuffed out and extinguished, to be replaced with something bubbling of relief, joy, happiness.
"Viktor."
The paranoia was chased away. Viktor laid his lips against Yuuri's forehead and said, gently, sweetly, sweeping away the nightmares like cobwebs, "Sleep. I am here."
And Yuuri finally slept, reassured that he was not small, weak, or insignificant. Comforted. Protected. Loved.
Safe.
XxX
A/N: I had two ideas on how to write Scarbo: the way I wrote it here, where it's more of a psychological fic, and a more plot-driven one. I had started writing the plotty one, but then I quickly scrapped it cuz the original poem isn't plotty at all, it's more disturbing and creepy, so I wrote this instead. As a quick paraphrase, Yuuri can see spirits when it's a clear night and when he's alone, and his anxiety comes to life during these nights as a goblin-like creature, Scarbo. And it's all chased away by Viktor, cuz yay Viktor! In other words, Yuuri's canon anxiety is personified as a creepy horror terror thing.
Lol I also noticed that this was the shortest one by far. At least it's the last one, so.
Anyways, thanks for reading, as always, and for any of you waiting for Tsuna's Fantastical Pokemon Adventure, I'm really, really sorry. I'd promised a week, and it's been like, ten thousand years, but I swear I'll get to it eventually.
Sincerely,
haplesshippo