So I have decided

to once again participate in a shipping week

this time it's Midnight X Lucy!

Hopefully this week will

be as much of a success as the CoLu week.

LittlePrincessNana and GemNika set up the prompts and

date for MidLu week so give them a special thanks

for setting this all up for us!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot!

Any way's today's prompt is 'Birthday',

hope you enjoy!

Midnight Madness

''I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind-'

Night One: Birthday

~QOoOQ~

Why is it when others are on the brink of madness, they attempt to calm said person down before they can harm anyone? Why when they are unable to sooth them, the brave bystanders attempt to confine their madness to a room where they are secluded from all types of life forms around them? Was there a reason to lock them away so irrationally, what would that person feel if they were balancing on a thin line between insanity and a normal life, only to be trapped in a room alone, where they could no longer speak to anything but the blank, white walls they were within? The answer would always be the same.

Fear; an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat. This was something every person had to live with everyday they continued to wander the earth they called 'home', but it was the things within their home that petrified each and every one of them. Fear was something that everyone despised to feel, that one dreaded emotion that showcased their weaknesses to a foe, it proved that humans were not invincible, they could be defeated with even the weakest threat of many.

Although, could the same be said for a man who both feared and lusted his madness? It was a questionable declaration that many who knew him found themselves questioning, without it-the man was unresponsive and remained so until the shadows once again enveloped his pale form and yet his fear gnawed at him, worried of just what his insanity was capable of making him do. He was driven to the edge by something unknown to not only himself but others around him, one day the man began to notice small differences within him each day and it disturbed him to know end that he was beginning to see changes in his self that he himself had no memory of making. It was as if a large proportion of his memory from days had been taken out and hidden from him.

He had been one of those many people who were shunned from society, pacified by his friends before being trapped within four white walls with nothing to keep him company but the small fly on his wall, it may have seemed odd to any other person but to him-it was normal to be alone, normal to feel lonely and afraid, normal to call the only friend he had-which happened to be the fly on the padded walls- Nightmare. The man was unaware as why he had name the small insect Nightmare, it was just the first thing that came to mind when thinking of a name for his friend, maybe it was because of the haunting dreams he saw as his body rested or maybe because that was the general word that described his whole being; a nightmare.

Again he was unsure of the reason why he even kept the nuisance around when all it did was keep him up at night and buzz around his head although if he had to say something to defend himself, he would have to say that he kept the fly for the sole reason that he would not be left alone. It was something he could never handle, the silent room only proving how he was by himself, the suffocating air around him that seemed to chill slightly the more his body stayed passive, waiting desperately for anyone to enter and take him away somewhere he would be surrounded by other beings.

But that time never came.

The day he was taken in by some real people was the day he would forever be isolated from any contact other than Nightmare who had miraculously made its way into his 'room'. Macbeth tilted his head to the side, staring out the small window that was positioned close to the roof, out of his reach but even if he attempted to escape his confinement-there were still bars screwed on the inside and outside of the window, either way he would need to be some super villain to escape, not including the petite size of the window.

Black eyes glanced at the monitor beside his door, slight movement catching his attention as he stared at the screen in minor interest, Macbeth watched as a nurse walked toward his door before knocking quietly, he didn't respond and let silence surround him once again as the nurses footsteps faded in the distance after leaving his food through the bottom slot, he could hear the loud grumble of his stomach demanding food and yet he did not feel the need to eat. Glaring slightly as the smell of the cooked food reached his nose, Macbeth turned away from the provided substance and looked at his friend on the wall. He tilted his head, "How long has it been Nightmare?"

The fly remained unresponsive except for the small twitch of its wing every so often, registering Macbeth's voice as he continued to muse over his thoughts, occasionally sharing some with the fly but other than the quiet murmurs and the irregular intervals in which the 'Maddened' would scream, all was quiet. Rolling his head over the edge of the bed, the male stared at his feet that hung above him, resting against the padded wall, he wondered if it would be too much to ask for some color within the room-maybe black or a midnight blue, either way he would feel safer shrouded in darkness. Sighing to himself he silently closed his eyes and allowed himself to be pulled into a Nightmare-filled sleep.

...

Macbeth cracked a black eye open, staring suspiciously at his door where a disturbance was taking place-evidently rousing him from his sleep; not that he minded. Multiple voices were heard, a few he recognized but one voice in particular caught his attention, a females voice chanting meaningless words that held no emotion behind them, her voice was soft and almost soothing to his ears, perhaps she was a new patient.

Curious, Macbeth sat up from the lumpy mattress he had been curled up on and glanced at the window, the moon shinning through the small glass, by the looks of it the time would be around midnight. Nodding to himself he sighed and stood up, taking unsteady steps toward his door eventually able to peek through the small rectangle at eye height with thin, miniature bars across it. His dark eyes roamed around the hall, searching for the substance of the noise that disrupted his sleep, his eyes locked on a crouched form on the floor just outside his door, slowly rocking back and forth.

Her blonde hair covered her face and most of her back, her skin was a sickly pale color that much resembled his after the lack of outside privileges, although why would they let mental hospital patients roam outside in the first place? "I don't know why I am. I can't do that, they can't hear you." her quiet whispers reached his ears, her head snapping up at that point. Wide, fearful brown eyes frantically looking in every direction as her whispers continued. "They don't understand. No, he can't get me here can he? I'm safe but I am not, right?" Abruptly, her words stopped, eyes wandering up to meet his. Macbeth blinked, it was odd to see someone stare him directly in the eye-mental patient or not- without being frightened, he had no clue as to why they might fear him, maybe it was his hair or the darkness around his eyes but either way this girl just continued to stare.

One of the nurses allowed the guard beside them to open the 'room door' right across from his as she carefully helped the girl up from off the floor-her whispers continuing after the brief eye contact they held. She reminded him of a broken record, playing over and over again only stuttering at odd moments, pausing only sometimes to look around her.

It wasn't uncommon to see patients-or as Macbeth liked to call them, prisoners- to speak to themselves whether it was an attempt to keep themselves sane from lack of social connection or because they had already lost it. Although this seemed to be different from the normal nutcases around him, she seemed more sensible-aware, guarded. Frankly it bothered Macbeth, he had no idea as to why but it irked him to see the mysterious blonde like that, she wasn't meant to be like that-he could tell- but then again, didn't they all?

Her constant mumbling never ceased despite the bang of her door closing behind her. Despite the numerous echoed screams bouncing off the walls around them. He observed her through the small box in their door, her pale features barely visible in the darkness of her room but Macbeth could clearly see the look of sadness in her features as she stared out the window that was just out of her reach.

.

Midnight Madness

.

~QOoOQ~

Macbeth stared at the physiologist in disinterest. There was nothing to be said anymore. He was fine, there was no reason to hold him in this prison any longer and yet they persisted and said he was mentally unstable. He didn't understand how, his thoughts had not changed much since he was young, minus the growing maturity he was the same person he had always been, the socially awkward, night loving kid. The physiologist moved from his standing position beside the window to sit in the seat behind his desk, his hand clasped above the desk between them.

"Now, Macbeth-"

"Midnight." The dark haired male corrected, "I told you to call me Midnight."

A long, unimpressed look was followed after his curt words before the man sighed, "right, Midnight. It seems there has been no improvement in your condition since coming here." He clicked his pen and glanced down at the notebook in front of him, "Don't you think it's about high time you start trying Midnight?"

"No, I do not believe it is." The dark haired male replied stubbornly. There was no issue with the way he was living now. He didn't even have to pay for his own clothes, food or the roof over his head. He only had to sit in a room and speak to Nightmare the whole day. 'I see no gain for me by getting better so what is the rush?" The only down side was-

"It's not healthy for you to live like this all the time Midnight when the only companion you have to speak to his a mere fly on the wall in your room and I doubt you consider me a companion of any sort."

-that. Freed Justine was on the top of his hit list.

He went rigid. Nightmare? How did he know of his fly friend? "...How did you know about that?"

"You don't talk to yourself nor do you speak pleasantly to the guards and so I peaked in on you out of curiosity. Are you getting lonely all alone in your room Midnight?"

"Better of there than with the idiots outside." Bullshit. He'd rather be out of this institute, but it would happen, Midnight wouldn't allow him. Freed's eyes hardened and he leaned toward his patient.

"Why did you do it knowing you'd be caught?"

"Simple." Midnight grinned at him without shame. "I couldn't resist."

...

Macbeth sighed as he was allowed back into his room, it was dark once again-not that he minded of course. He could feel a faint pulse in the back of his head. No. He shook his head frantically, jaw clenched firmly together, a grim expression on his face. Not again. He refused to allow it to come out again. If he could keep it at bay than maybe he would succeed in escaping this institution. The throbbing became more insistent. Damnit he hated this feeling. The feeling of being overpowered-being completely useless.

He could barely hear the screaming resounding around the halls anymore. He crouched low on the floor and held his head in his hands. Stop! Don't come out again! His body shook with unease and he hoped to Zeref that the feeling would pass over quickly. Macbeth stilled. Someone was here. His fly certainly didn't make the sound of even breaths when flying around. His dark eyes traveled up to his bed to see the blonde girl he had been watching earlier. What was she doing in his room? How did she get in his room? What the hell were the guards doing?

He eyed her relaxed form suspiciously. "Who are you?" Her body twitched slightly before her head turned to him. Her lips were moving but no sound came out of them. More mumbling? What was wrong with this woman? Her dull, brown eyes connected with his, she looked so dead. Perhaps she felt the same as he did about this place. It was a prison, not a home.

"Me?" She questioned her voice soft. She turned her gaze to the side so she faced the wall. "Who am I?" Was this girl being serious? Macbeth couldn't fathom why she would question a wall about her name, shouldn't she know it already? After all it is her own name. He took a wary step forward, he was stronger and she seemed unaware of the presence a male had.

"Who are you and how did you get in my room?" He questioned her again. Macbeth could feel the disgusting feeling of him taking over him, hands crawling up his throat. No. Not yet. She looked at him and rolled onto her stomach.

"It would be more polite if you said your name first."

"This is my room and you are invading my privacy, i see no need for me to introduce myself to my intruder." Really? Was this woman even aware she wasn't in her own room?

"They say my name is Lucy, now you."

He raised a brow. "...Midnight." He didn't trust this woman. She can have his name. "How did you get in here? Are the guards not outside on patrol?" She shook her head slowly, her blonde hair swaying with the movement. Macbeth had to admit, she was beautiful. What was wrong with her? She seemed normal, Why was she here?

"They sleep quite peacefully." Of course they did. Security was not the best here. Her eyes suddenly became sharp and she looked as if she was analyzing him. "I`m not supposed to be here." She told him. "They said it would be better. I would get better in here but I don`t like it. I hate it. I feel trapped. This isn't nice. I want to be home." Lucy paused. "No. Never mind. Home is not safe either. He will be there. Maybe I will stay. It is safer."`

What was she talking about? Who was she talking about? "...Why are you here?" She stopped moving and it was so quiet that Macbeth swore if he didn`t see the steady rise and fall of Lucy`s chest, she wasn't breathing.

"Why?" She asked. She slumped off the bed and slowly stood before tilting her head to the side and repeatedly tapping the side of her head with her finger. "Because they can't hear them."

"Hear who?"

"The voices." Lucy replied simply. "They are afraid of what they cannot understand." Macbeth paused at this. This woman had the same thoughts as he did, an odd one she was. "I can hear voices," she looked up to the ceiling, "but nobody else can. They tell me I need to be rid of them but I don't want them to go. They help me and they protect me." Lucy looked at him. "I didn't always have them. Only started hearing them recently."

He questioned her. "Why?"

"..." Lucy shrunk away from him and curled herself into a ball. She seemed to shiver under the moonlight. "I told him no. I didn't like it but he insisted. He wouldn't stop." She replied brokenly. "His hands. Oh Mavis his hands were so dirty! I could feel the filth on them when he touched me." Macbeth's stomach dropped. Zeref he already knew where this was going. It made him feel sick. The woman looked nothing less than innocent and although he could be wrong but she seemed like a genuinely nice girl. "They told me that coming here was a birthday gift. I would be safe. But I don't feel safe." Damn, it was her birthday?

He would have liked to wish her well but considering the situatin…

"...What are the voices like?" Macbeth asked. He thought a distraction may be something she needed. He was not good with his words nor did he know how to comfort a woman but he could at least avert her attention to something less traumatizing. She snapped her head towards him and tilted her head, thinking.

"There are twelve of them." Her smile returned slowly as she began to explain each of their personalities and rolls in her mind. Macbeth couldn't help but let a ghost of a smile appear on his lips. This woman was strange. She didn't look at him with disgust nor did she run in fear at the sight of him. Although the reason could be because she was in this establishment along with the other insane people there. Either way, eh would take advantage of her presence. Finally there was someone he could speak to that didn't assume him to be different or mentally unstable.

...Even if he really was.

Midnight Madness

''-There was something so pleasant about that place.'

Night Two

Shattered-Nightmares712: Hopefully you guys enjoyed the first chapter out of seven for this week, I'm excited to get this story going and see how many people support this pairing! Special thanks again to GemNika and LittlePrincessNana for creating this year's MidLu week! The song used at the beginning and ending of this chapter is 'Crazy by Melanie Martinez'. Thank you guys so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this as much as I am writing it! Good luck with your own writing!
Until next time!

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