Twitching and rolling around in his sleep, Voldemort woke up with a jerk and quickly sat up gasping, drenched in sweat. He quietly looked around the darkened room with distant, sad eyes before looking over at Quirrell, lying next to him, as he snored lightly. Bringing his knees to his chest, Voldemort wrapped his arms around them and just watched Quirrell sleep for a while, not wanting to wake him up as he was just too adorable: with an arm draped over his eyes, his brown hair visible from above the arm, his cute nose sticking out from beneath the elbow and his mouth slightly open. Somehow Quirrell managed to make snoring tolerable, and honestly a little bit cute.
After a while, Voldemort's thoughts turned toward his nightmare. It had been that one, again. Voldemort had dreamt about the time he finally met his family.. about the events that led to him murdering his father, his grandmother and grandfather. Feeling annoyed over this recurring dream he silently swore at himself; why couldn't he just get over this fucking dream? It kept occurring regularly and it was starting to get really tiresome. Why does this keep happening?
Voldemort quickly turned and planted his feet on the cold, hardwood floor. He heard Quirrell move around in the bed and was afraid he'd woken up his lover. Thankfully Quirrell had just been re-adjusting himself in his sleep, which caused him to stop snoring, much to Voldemort's disappointment. Sighing with relief, Voldemort stood up and tip-toed out of the room and went to the bathroom. He turned the tap on the sink, waiting until the water was cold enough and splashed himself in the face with it. Looking at himself in the mirror above the sink, Voldemort could tell he was starting to get sleep deprived. Even though he normally looked like that a bit, he noticed that the dark circles around his eyes were even more noticeable and his face was even thinner than usual. He looked terribly tired and miserable.
Walking back into the bedroom, Voldemort kept thinking about the nightmare. He was thinking about what it was that kept causing it. The fact that he murdered his only living family didn't bother him, they had deserved it. Disgusting people with disgusting opinions. They had treated Voldemort horribly. If anything they deserved much worse than they got. Wait. Could that be it..? Could it be that Voldemort had regrets over how lightly his family had gotten off. They HAD deserved something a lot worse after all.
Lost in thought, he planted himself back on the edge of the bed, not realising how roughly he sat down, with his back turned to Quirrell. He didn't notice when Quirrell woke and sat up, yawning and stretching his arms.
Quirrell looked over at Voldemort, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, before gently calling out to him. Voldemort didn't respond or show any indication of having heard Quirrell at all.
Voldemort was just sitting there, his arms by his sides grasping the edge of the mattress, his knuckles turning white, staring down at his bare feet. Suddenly someone placed a hand on his shoulder, causing Voldemort to jump up out of bed with a yelp, holding a hand to his chest. He could only stare at Quirrell who was now on all fours, his right hand hovering in the air where Voldemort's shoulder had been moments before, with an alarmed look on his face.
"You.. you scared me!" Voldemort said, still just standing in the middle of the bedroom.
"You were scaring me! I called your name five times and you didn't respond at all!" Quirrell retorted, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He patted the spot next to him, indicating that Voldemort should sit down too.
Hesitating at first, Voldemort sat down next to Quirrell, looking down at his hands and suddenly feeling oh so very awkward. He didn't want to trouble Quirrell with this so he just sat there silently. Voldemort could feel Quirrell's eyes on him, although not seeing the worried look on Quirrell's face.
"So, what's up? Why are you being so distant all of a sudden? Did something happen?" Quirrell asked after a few moments had passed, breaking the silence.
"Oh.. nothing. I'm fine." Voldemort muttered, hating how obviously not fine he sounded.
"No, we talked about this, remember? Fake 'I'm fine''s are not allowed! Tell me what's bothering you. If nothing else you'll just be able to get it off your chest." Quirrell said and wrapped one arm around Voldemort's shoulders. "Remember, it's nice to just talk. You said that yourself!"
"I.. I just don't want to bother you with my stupid problems." Voldemort said, he knew he sounded and looked so pathetic right now. Wishing he was anywhere but here right now, but at the same this was the only place he wanted to be.. sitting here with Quirrell.
"Oh Voldemort. You can always 'bother' me with your problems, you silly. Now fess up, what's going on?" Quirrell said sweetly and hugged Voldemort tight.
Voldemort felt his eyes water and buried his face in Quirrell's shoulder. How could he be such an idiot? Of course Quirrell would listen to what he had to say. Voldemort could only hug Quirrell back and stayed like that for a while. "I'm sorry.." he said meekly as he released his hold on Quirrell.
"Shh. Don't be, just tell me what's wrong." Quirrell said as he adjusted himself so he was sort of holding on to Voldemort, caressing him almost.
"Alright. Alright, so I've been having these.. dreams. Bad dreams. For a while now. It's always the same one, over and over. About the time when I met my.. family." Voldemort said with disgust, he always hated talking about his family.
Quirrell squeezed Voldemort's hand as Voldemort mentioned his family, but he didn't say anything, he just sat and listened.
"I relive the moment I kill them all, each time. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind that part. I think what's bothering me about this is that they got off too easy. They just died. They didn't.. suffer." Voldemort continued, his head resting against Quirrell's shoulder. "I really don't know why this bothers me so much."
Quirrell only sat there for a while, stroking Voldemort's white hair, not saying anything. Voldemort didn't mind, he was sort of relieved to not have to talk more right away. Just sitting like this, being held by Quirrell, already made him feel a lot calmer.
"Do you think you'd feel better if you'd have done things differently?" Quirrell finally asked.
The simple but blunt question caused Voldemort to be taken aback slightly. He had never really thought about it that way. He sat up and looked at Quirrell who just met his gaze.
"I.. don't know. To be honest I've never really thought about it." Voldemort said, realising how stupid that must've sounded. All these dreams and he had never thought more about it?
"Well, what would you like to have done differently? What's the first thing that comes to mind?" Quirrell simply asked.
"I don't know! Having spent the night torturing them? Trying to outdo my crucio curse with each member of my rotten family?!" Voldemort spat out, surprising himself. "Maybe never going to meet them..? Just not knowing they existed at all.. That would've been nice." he said and sighed.
"Yeah. That would've been nice. But imagine what that might have changed. Imagine how you would be if that meeting had never happened. Imagine everyone you never would have have met.." Quirrell said, sounding a bit sad.
"I know everything would be different. I would be different.." Voldemort replied. "Though I still think I would have met you." he added with a little smile.
Quirrell looked away shyly, blushing, an adorable smile plastered on his face, as Voldemort said that. "You really think so?" he asked.
"Of course, dummy!" Voldemort said. "I believe that we meet in every universe there is out there, and in each and every one we end up together."
"You can't know tha-!" Quirrell started but was interrupted by Voldemort.
"And in all of them you are the amazing-est, most intelligent and most beautiful person ever!" he said and hugged Quirrell tightly.
"I.. thank you." Quirrell whispered and hugged Voldemort back.
"No, thank you. Thank you for always being there for me. Even when I'm being really stupid and stubborn.." Voldemort said.
Quirrell didn't say anything in response, he just touched his forehead against Voldemort's before rubbing his nose against his, making both of them smile. Eventually they lay back down in bed and cuddled, Voldemort got to be the small spoon this time. He couldn't help but smile as he closed his eyes and snuggled closer to Quirrell. Life was pretty okay. It was wonderful.