Inspired by the song Overjoyed by Bastille, particularly the lyrics: Oh I feel overjoyed when you listen to my words / Words are all we have / And I hear you calling in the dead of night

xox

i.

You lie awake at night, dipping ever so slowly into dreams. That's when you hear his voice for the very first time. It's a grizzly murmur, but you find it consoling, especially when compared to the harsh silence left by others around you.

'Tell me about yourself, Peter. Tell me your fears, your dreams, your weaknesses.'

You oblige, whispering into the dense darkness every thought that's plagued you for years. You don't think to question the mystery of the voice. You entrust him with your deepest secrets, things you would never tell anyone else who would ask.

ii.

He watches you silently from the shadows, not breaking the darkness to move closer. He never reveals himself to you.

At this point, you're not sure whether he's a dream you've conjured in your sleep or not. Maybe he's really there, maybe he really cares.

Of course, after all this time you've learned that even when someone's there, they don't necessarily care. The two factors aren't related, though you wish they were.

You wish you had someone you could confide in, someone to listen, to console you when your body was raked with tears. You wish you knew he was real.

iii.

The mere fact that someone, something, is listening to you makes you happy, overjoyed.

You don't share much, nothing more than the words you whisper into the night. He doesn't tell you any of his own secrets, but sometimes you prefer it this way—you're finally the centre of attention. You know how long you've been waiting for this day, never truly expecting it to come.

You spend your nights talking to him, your life transformed into a whisper into the dark. Your days are spent thinking of nothing but him. You find you can't focus on schoolwork anymore. The pranks your friends pull can't hold your interest.

You're slowly falling apart at the seams, just when you thought you'd be put back together.

iv.

'The world's so cruel, why is that?' you ask hesitantly. The voice doesn't reply for a while, and you wonder if he's left you, too. So much has been fading, everything you once loved, slowly slipping out of your grasp.

'Why do you think, Peter? Surely you know.' You start at the sudden question, but savour the familiarity of his voice. Maybe not everything is leaving.

'How should I know? I mean, I'm not… not—' You didn't know what you are anymore, to be honest. You're a lonely boy who can't find good enough friends on his own, so he resorts to talking to shadow-people. You're not even sure he's real.

v.

'C'mon, Rab, let's go,' he murmurs, leading a burly Slytherin sixth year down the corridor. 'Watch it!' he growls in your direction, turning the corner and nearly trampling you in the process.

'Hey,' Rabastan says warningly. 'Come on, let's just go, we're already late as it is.'

You stop dead in your tracks, recognizing his voice. There was no doubt in your mind as to where you'd heard it before, but maybe you were just imagining it. You had convinced yourself that he wasn't really there, that somehow, the realistic friend you had made was simply a dream.

By the time you had sorted out your thoughts and plucked up the courage to ask him about it, he was gone.

vi.

'What is it, Peter? You seem different lately. What's bothering you?' His voice is concerned, but you catch a hint of impatience, as though he'd like to change the subject.

'I know. I know who you are, and you know it.' You're perched on the edge of your bed, you whisper lingering in the night. He doesn't say anything.

'You never told me. I didn't even know for sure you were real. Why did you keep it a secret? What difference would it have made, I would've found out eventually?' You didn't know what to think anymore. You felt betrayed, and it didn't help the situation at all when you heard no response.

vii.

He doesn't return the next day, and you're left alone. You can't escape the dark dreams of his voice lingering in the night, and it's hard enough to know he's not there. You can't help but worry you've stopped him coming. You need him to be with you, you don't want to lose his trust.

You're running out of people to trust.

viii.

'Please,' you beg. What if he's here and ignoring you? You had thought of the extra attention to be a welcome change, but now that it's gone, you feel hollow and alone. 'Please.'

'Listen, Peter. I'm sorry, but it's different now.'

Your heart leaps at the sound of his voice, and it sinks right back down when you process what he's said. 'I thought you cared. I thought someone cared.' The desperation you felt was evident in your tone.

'That's not what I'm saying. I did care—I do. But I just can't do this anymore. I hope I've helped while I had the chance. I'm sorry. Goodbye, Peter.'

'Goodbye,' you mutter, even though you know he's already gone. You've placed all your secrets, all your trust, in him. He took away your fear, your despair, but in its place he's now left hopelessness. He's stolen your optimism and shattered your belief that things could change.

xox

"Flowers don't survive long in the hands of thieves. So much is wilting."

-Andrea Gibson, Sleeping

xox

A/N: For the All Sorts of Love Competition: Mystery Box with the pairing Peter/Rabastan and the prompt 'dark dreams.' And for the Song Fic Boot Camp using the song Overjoyed by Bastille and the prompt riddle.