Eva woke up with a gasp. What a terrifying dream. She had been alone, and Kenzo had been gone. She had rejected him coldly, and then he had rejected her when she had begged for him to take her back. But that was untrue, wasn't it? Kenzo would never leave her. He would always forgive her no matter what she did.
In fact, here he was, lying next to her in the darkness, only half awake, his body warm and comforting. She put her arms around it with a satisfied murmur, and felt him snuggle closer to her in response. Good. Where he should be.
He felt skinny, almost bony. That was wrong. She shouldn't be able to feel his bones through his muscle and fat. He was probably working too hard again, maybe not eating too much, which was wrong. What right had he to starve and misuse his body, which now belonged to her?
"You belong to me," she murmured in his ear. She knew he hated when she got possessive of him, but she couldn't help herself. Kenzo was hers; she needed him to be hers. He was her perfect treasure.
She heard him mutter back, "And you are mine, Eva."
She stiffened in his grasp.
The voice was rough with sleep, and she could almost have mistaken it for Kenzo's, but the way he pronounced her name was so different. Kenzo said it fondly, liltingly; almost unsure of whether he should call her "Heineman-san" instead even though they were fiancées. He was the shyest person Eva had ever known, the only person she had ever known to hesitate to respond when she spoke.
The voice, on the other hand, was loving but not fond. It was a passionate whisper, an adoring whisper. A possessive whisper. And possessiveness was one fault Kenzo did not possess.
She knew with sudden clarity, her sleepiness gone, that the man next to her was not Kenzo. It was her husband.
Her husband, a rich doctor who worked at a completely different hospital. Her husband, the man whose smile at her was almost smug, not embarrassed. Her husband, the man who never overworked himself and was thin because he played a lot of tennis and wasn't Kenzo-sized. Her husband, who didn't patiently forgive her time and time again because she never gave him reason to. Her husband, the man who didn't know her.
He felt her stiffen and pulled her even closer, his arms wrapping around her, strong and suffocating. She pulled away with an angry, frightened strength, breaking his grip.
"Hm?" he murmured. "Eva, is something wrong?"
"Go back to sleep," Eva said coldly, unable to even pretend affection for this man who was not Kenzo. He was too drowsy to tell the difference anyways.
She went to the kitchen. There, seeming to wait for her was a bottle of champagne. Her best friend had given it to them as a celebratory gift for their first anniversary, only two days ago.
He'd been happy at the anniversary party they'd held, kissing her and laughing with her, even if he had spent most of the time talking to his friends. He'd been happy because he loved her, and she still mistook him for Kenzo when she was half asleep. And the worst part was that she didn't feel sorry at all. She was only sorry that the delusion had ended. If only she could have deceived herself for a few more minutes, she could have pretended to lie awake next to Kenzo again, feeling his chest rise and fall as he slept.
She poured the champagne into a glass and drank.
AN: I am using a list of one word prompts to write stories about Eva and Tenma's frankly dysfunctional relationship, mostly from Eva's point of view. The prompt for this particular drabble was "Dark." I considered writing something creepy and worthy of being a Monster fanfiction, but then this idea struck with me, so I just went with it. Hope you like.
