He jolts up, sweat lapping at his bones. Black scribbles itself across his pupils, and he can't make anything out in between the gaps.
The blankets that once brought him comfort now throttle him. Wrestling with them, he is quickly being sucked under. In a blurry haze he fends them off with his hands, but more keep coming in a seemingly never ending cycle. With stiff limbs he desperately pulls at the covers weakly. He searches for a hole, seeking some sort of escape from the dark hot void.
Cold air tumbles into his body, brining relief and breaking the chaos. He throws the covers, watching in satisfaction as they plow to the ground in a defeated heap. His tongue is out, panting, as he brings the back of his hand to his temples to try and pry the sweat off himself. But there's too much, glued to his back and neck.
A loud growl of agitation bounces off his dark walls, and his shoulders tense as it echoes. His long fingers curve and point downwards, akin to a frightened cat. Costively he glances around, but then realization settles in. He's in his own quarters, so no one can hear him.
Besides, he is Lord Hater! He can be loud. He can wake up the whole ship if he wants to because he's the one in charge!
His lips curl at the reminder.
Speaking of waking people up.
He turns besides him, but Captain Tim isn't there. His pillow is on the floor, and Hater doesn't even have to search the room to know that he isn't in it.
Lord Hater has been having nightmares for the past week, and each night hoping that he won't goes to vain when they interrupt him in the early morning. And it isn't Peepers early, it is even earlier. One or two in the morning. Each night Captain Tim has fled, although to be fair Hater unconsciously kicks him off the bed while he is tossing and turning.
Hater hasn't been able to fall back to sleep, and would lie there trying for the rest of the night. He feigns sleep when Peepers comes to wake him up, but is starting to suspect Peepers knows. He looks at him in concern during meetings when Hater knows his eyes are drooping, and asks him if he is okay more often. Lord Hater snaps each time, but he can't help it, he's exhausted.
Last night he played video games, but today he's bored of them and not in the mood.
He can't remember his dream, but the fear smacking his heart and plaguing his mind will not leave. Hater growls again, flopping down face first into his pillow.
The night before he dreamed of Dominator, and the night before that Wander, and the night before that one Dominator again. Dominator killing him, Peepers, or Captain Tim. Dominator destroying his ship. Dominator ripping his heart from his chest and making it bleed down his eyes and glueing it on his shirt to match her. In some dreams they got together, but it wasn't his fantasy ending. That scared him a lot. He finally got her, and the relationship wasn't what he wanted. In every dream Dominator destroyed everything, and not in a good way.
He guesses his dreams aren't far from reality, and that gets to him the most.
Whatever dream he had tonight he knows it's been the worst. It crawls in the back of his consciousness, itching to be let out, but it must have been so terrible Hater blocked it from his mind. That doesn't stop it from haunting him though.
His bones are anneal and tremble against each other for support. Loud clicks resonate through the room, and the force of his teeth clunking together rattles his skull.
The weird part is that he isn't cold.
The urge to hold someone or something barricades his brain and stretches his heart. Hater feels sick with nausea at the rare feeling, and overwhelmed. With not having the want- that now is starting to feel like a need- often he doesn't know how to handle it. His hands are stiff and coil into his palms for comfort.
His fingers clutch at the pillow, but it isn't enough. The tease of having someone there just infuriates him more. He wishes desperately Captain Tim was here, but knows that once he doesn't want to be found it is impossible to locate him.
Earlier in the week the demand stumbled across his conscience, sure, but it wasn't being screeched like it is now. His limbs were not acting like this, and going against what he was thinking.
He bones are buzzing now. Every moment feels like it's going so fast and spiraling out of his control, yet he's moving so slow when he gathers himself to sit up again.
He needs someone.
Someone loyal and kind, preferably small. Someone who won't tell anyone about this, ever. Someone who knows how to make him feel… just normal again.
He needs Captain Tim!
Hater dwells in frustration, huddling himself into a ball to attempt to make his trembling subside.
Who else other than Captain Tim? Who would be quiet and… comfort him?
Who would snuggle with him?
No, no! Hater flinches inwardly at himself, limbs shooting back out into a lying position and stiffening. Not snuggle! Just lie closely next to him in an evil manly way.
Who is there left?
Recognition gradually creeps across his conscience. Peepers. He's loyal, and always knows the right things to say. He never tells anyone anything, but Hater thinks that has to do more with him not having any friends.
He needs Peepers.
His thoughts leave him as the panic filters in, and he is walking to Peepers room before he has the chance to debate with himself about going. Although he wants to run his limbs move like he's in water. His heart quivers in his ribcage, and rings in his ears.
Peepers room has never felt so far.
Peepers has never felt so far away.
Solace is something Hater never thought he would get the sensation of from the sight of a door. Frigid air tickles his feet from the crack under Peepers shut door. It beckons to him, slivering up his legs and calming his bones that are radiating heat yet somehow still shaking.
His hand dances along the golden brass door knob. The first touch sends a jolt of biting ice that nips up his arms, and if Hater had skin goosebumps would have penetrated the surface of it.
Contravention claws in his chest, raking its long nails along his heart and cutting along the insides of his ribs. Why won't I stop shaking?! The cry makes the dissatisfaction morph to lividness, and the nails start tearing his body ruthlessly.
Forcing himself to exhale, Hater mumbles, "Alright Hater keep it together. You're totally cool and awesome and in control."
His self mantra does little to aid him, but he assembles his bones and stills his hand enough to twist the handle open.
The door crawls into the crepuscular room, and the emergency lights from the hallway illuminate the poster of Lord Hater that looms above Peepers bed. The lights bask it in shades of red and drown down onto the form of Peepers. He is curled up into himself, appearing even smaller than usual. His chest rises and falls steadily, and the purple sheets are drawn up tightly around him.
Fresh clean air expands his lungs and floods his veins as he takes his first step into the tiny room. He didn't realize how hard it was for him to breathe until now.
Hater stays on the pads of his feet, trying to lighten his weight as he descends towards Peepers bed. The blue lines racing across his black walls and spiraling along the ceiling also attribute light to the room, so Hater has an easier time making it to Peepers bed. Although, he knows that he doesn't have to worry about tripping since Peepers keeps his room impossibly neat. Come to think of it, Peepers does not have much to begin with. Hater inwardly argues that his room would be spotless if he didn't have all his awesome stuff, stupid perfect Peepers.
Analogous to the poster, Lord Hater towers over the slumbering figure of Peepers. Being up close he now notices the teal headphones that shroud the sides of Peepers face. Funny, Hater didn't think Peepers was the type to listen to music while sleeping. Mockingly laughing under his breath, he figures that it's some dumb nerdy classical music. His quivering bones start to still at the comfort of familiarity.
Plucking the headphones off his face, he giddily lifts one of the speakers to his ear. "I am enough. I am…" Shooting the speaker back he gags, "Ahh gross!" He throws them down on Peepers dresser vociferously.
Peepers stirs as the headphones pierce through the deafening silence.
As Lord Hater awkwardly stares at his unconscious commander, he ponders if he should wake him up. He is feeling a little better, but the thought of returning to his room alone again makes his stomach want to plod up his throat.
Drawing in a deep breath, he pokes Peepers lightly on his shoulder. Peepers shifts, nuzzling his face into his single white pillow. He shoves him with his pointer finger again, harsher this time, and the commander mumbles as he moves his shoulders and inclines his body further into his pillow, snuggling with it. His arms are tangled around the pillow, and his hands peek out at the top.
"Uhh C Peeps?" Although the question is whispered, it penetrates loudly through the ear-numbing silence.
Hater jabs him again, this time in the ribs, and jolts backwards when Peepers lets out a snore.
"Peepers? Oh buddy… pal, can you hear me? I'd really appreciate it if you woke up now." His words are drenched in sugar tainted lemonade. The kind that makes a person want to choke as their tastebuds are viciously attacked by something that seems so innocent.
Hater pokes him one last time, and Peepers lack of response makes him see red that isn't coming from the emergency lights.
"PEEPERS!"
Instantaneously he shoots up, the force of it ripping the covers away from his body. His eye is squinted and sleep runs along the crevices of his lids. It interlaces into his short light lashes.
"Hu- what?" Peepers slurs out, but it sounds incomprehensible to Lord Hater.
The commander begins to ruthlessly scrub the sleep out of his eye, desperately trying to alert his senses.
He searches around for what woke him up, and once his pupil falls on Hater he is wide awake. "Sir?!" Peepers jumps, spine straightening. It cuts through the silence, making Hater's ears wince.
"Sir what's wrong?!" In the blink of his eye Peepers is pulling out his gun from under his pillow. It whirrs to life, top glowing red.
"If there was someone attacking I would have blasted them already!"
The lack of patience in his tone is evidence to Peepers that something isn't seriously wrong.
His shoulders slump, and fatigue eats away at his senses. He rubs his eye, sighing out, "Sir what's wrong?"
Hater dejectedly sags, shoulders pulling him down as he sheepishly rings his hands together. He looks down to Peepers dark floor. "Uhh,"
All the while Peepers is tackling his eye to not stay shut. He went to bed later than usual, and has been feeling sleep-deprived with thoughts of Dominator too. Plan after plan of failures of how to stop her, and each day looking more hopeless than the last.
Peepers rubs at the top of his eye, the reminder of Dominator wearing him down as all effort is torn out of him in a single broken exhale.
"I had a nightmare."
Conscience is brought to him from the meekly muttered sentence. With his eye half lidded he glances up at Hater, who is staring at the floor. Peepers wishes he was more awake, but he can barely manage to breathe right now.
So he shifts over on his bed, drawing the covers up to allow enough room to let Hater in.
After several seconds of Hater still looking at the ground, Peepers calmly sighs out, "Come on then."
Hater's head pops up, and if Peepers was more aware he would have feared Hater's jaw would have came off from the force of the action.
His eyes grow wide, and shine in naiveness. "Really?"
Peepers musters enough strength to give a single nod, grumbling out, "Yes come on."
He slaps the empty space next to him once, like a person motioning for a dog to join them.
Hater jumps into bed next to him, and the minute Peepers head hits his pillow he sees darkness.
The commander knows what is going on, yet at the same time is too out of it to really comprehend it. Sure he knows Lord Hater is in his bed, but isn't thinking Lord Hater is in his bed. If he was more aware it would have taken him much more time to fall asleep, if he even managed to fall asleep.
A wide smile spreads across Hater's face as tranquility settles into his bones. Since Peepers is practically already asleep Hater steals his pillow, so Peepers sleepy opts for blindly finding the next firm but soft object. It happens to be Hater's chest, and aware but not really comprehending that fact Peepers cuddles into him. Hater doesn't care since no one can see, and Peepers warmth and presence calms him. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone, or much less even out loud to himself.
Everything's perfect.
Except when Hater shifts to straighten his legs out, and they're hanging off Peepers bed.
Hater tries to shift more to the right, but if he moves any further he will fall off the bed. If he moves anymore to the left Peepers will fall.
"Peepers your bed is too small!" Hater complains, dragging the words through the silence.
Peepers, who is still half awake whines out, "Sirrr…" The rest of what he wants to say falls to a jumble of moans.
Peepers lightly thrashes in frustration of being bothered again against Haters chest, engraving himself into Hater's shirt.
Hater sits up and Peepers sinks down Hater's chest, whimpering as his head falls into his lap. "Peepers come on we're moving back to my room, my bed is bigger and better."
Peepers is already almost fully back asleep, half of his conscience in a dream of just warm blackness. The other half lazily convincing himself that reality is a dream since there's no way Hater would be in his bed.
Hater gets up and Peepers almost sobs when the warmth is ripped away from him. He ends up with a face-full of freezing mattress.
Blindly Peepers reaches out for the source of heat, "No don't go." He grumbles out, and Hater barely makes out the words.
Grabbing onto Peepers limp arm, Hater schlepps him out of bed. Peepers remains motionless, face digging into his mattress.
"Peepers come on." Hater's demand falls numb on Peepers caved-in shoulders. He huffs out, pretending to be annoyed as he lifts Peepers into his arms.
Peepers grouses, lashing in Hater's arms momentarily. He stills when he settles into a comfortable position. His head is nestled in Hater's neck, arms trapped in between his and Hater's chests. His eye remains closed throughout the whole encounter, and Hater assumes he is fully asleep now.
As he takes the first several steps Peepers jostles in his arms. His hands fall, hanging down and his body starts to slip with them. Hater's jaw clenches as his shoulders bounce, hands hurrying to hold Peepers tighter. Carefully he takes Peepers small hands in his large one, debating what to do with them. He stands there, motionless, staring down at Peepers small hands in his palm. He maneuvers them around his neck, and Peepers head settles back under his neck. He lets out a nasally content exhale, and Hater refuses to coo at it. Out loud, that is. In his mind he is failing, words like adorable, cute, mixed in with agitated screams bubble in his mind.
Throughout the walk to Hater's room, he hopes that no watchdogs will see them. Without a doubt bad rumors would arise from the sight of him carrying his commander. Late at night. To his bedroom.
Little did Lord Hater know, many rumors about him and Peepers conspired months ago and now they're old news to talk about.
Hater kicks the door open to his bedroom, door bouncing against his bedroom walls. The noise, shockingly, doesn't disturb Peepers. He draws back his sheets, exhaustion suddenly impending his bones. He lies down, shifting Peepers in his arms with one hand and adjusting the pillow behind him with another.
Before he falls asleep, he forces himself to blindly deactivate his alarm clock.
If Peepers wakes up at his usual time tomorrow, Hater vows to make him stay in bed until at least one in the afternoon.
He lies down, Peepers head resting on his chest being the last thing he sees before he slips unconscious. This time his dreams are black serene panels emitting warmth, and for the first time in months Peepers sleeps in.
Until eight am that is, Hater having methods forcing him to stay until one.
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