I dunno how I feel about this one, but I don't mind criticism, as long as it's constructive. Thank you for reading, and feel free to pop out a review. That sounds really weird. Anyway, I hope you like it.
Impenetrable darkness.
Darkness, shadows, Fearlings, Nightmares, and fear...so much fear. And usually for the Boogeyman, that was a good thing. But not today.
Because today, he wasn't the predator. He was the prey. Just like little Jack Frost suggested, it was his fear the nightmares smelled. Ever since Pitch Black had been dragged back down to his pathetic, lonely little hole, he'd been sitting in a shadowy corner waiting for the suffering and the eternal migraine to come to an end.
It wasn't only the small part left of him that was Kozmotis Pitchiner suffering anymore. Oh no, Pitch Black as a whole entity got to experience the horrible feeling of fear. And it was painful, devastating, and inescapable. He would end his miserable immortal life, if he could. But immortal was just that.
In his corner, Pitch didn't notice a boy enter the lair. Not just any boy, though. He wore armor, carried a staff complete with a diamond dagger, and on top of that, his entire body glowed. And when the boy spotted the dark man huddled on the ground and surrounded by his own monsters, he sent out a glowing beam of light. It chased after the Fearlings until they were burned by the luminosity. The Nightmares shrunk back, never having seen such a being before.
Sensing a disturbance, the Nightmare King's head shot upwards.
"Nightlight?" The man squinted his gold eyes, which weren't used to such a bright light after being in darkness for so long. The boy's green eyes seemed to widen at being acknowledged, but just like Pitch remembered, he didn't seem to be afraid. And then he lifted his hand and gave a little wave, smiling brightly.
The Boogeyman scowled.
"I suppose you're here to rub in the Guardian's victory, hmm?" The spectral boy's eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Don't play innocent with me, boy."
Nightlight just stared at him.
"Still not speaking, are we? After all these years?" Pitch glared at his old enemy irritably. "If you're not here to gloat, than what could you possibly want?"
He expected Nightlight to either realize he was correct and fly away annoyingly, or laugh in his face, which was equally annoying. Either would make the Nightmare King want to snap him in half like a pathetic little glowstick and watch as the toxic glow-juice ran dry.
But Nightlight did neither of those things.
He took a step forward, shyly at first, and then another. But then he lifted himself into the air and moved quicker than light itself to sit cross-legged in front of Pitch on the floor. If you blinked, you would've missed it.
The older man was not pleased. He backed into the wall even further than he already was. It made him angry that he would dare bring his vile light near him in his weakened state.
"Get back," he demanded. "I know I'm not in my strongest state, but I do still have those lead cages, Nightlight. I hope your immature mind can recall what that means for you."
The boy simply stared at him, his green irises sparkling. They scanned Pitch's defensive stance and realized his luminosity was bothering the shadow man. He dimmed himself substantially. Pitch continued to glare at him, refusing to relax from his stance.
"Did you come here for something? Because if not, I would like to kindly ask you to get out of my sight immediately before I dispose of you myself."
He glowed slightly in protest, but other than that, not a muscle moved on the guardian.
"You are extremely irritating and I would kill to blow you out like the pathetic little birthday candle that you are."
"You talk too much," Nightlight suddenly spoke softly. Pitch was taken aback by not only the insult, but also by hearing another voice besides his own. Not to mention Nightlight's was otherworldly and musical, much different from his.
"Ah, so you can speak."
A nod.
"Interesting. Can you scream?"
The boy chose not to dignify the indirect threat with a response. Instead, he reached out his dimly glowing hand.
"What?" Pitch asked flatly. Nightlight nodded towards the gray hand that lay limp in the other's lap. "Please," he scoffed. "You expect me to trust you?"
Frustrated, the spectral boy grabbed Pitch's hand himself. The man flinched away at first, feeling the pain of his light. But suddenly, it was gone, along with the pain of fear. All Pitch could feel was Nightlight's soft hand around his.
He'd never felt comfort like that from anybody. Not since Kozmotis had gone.
Before Pitch could think another thought, Nightlight's soft white hair was against his face and the boy was leaning against him, squeezing his hand tighter to calm the fear that he still sensed. Pitch would've pulled away if it didn't feel so good to get some affection. He'd craved it almost as much as he craved fear. And here he was, getting some from his oldest enemy. A comforting luminescence.
"I thought you were dead," Pitch finally said softly. "They all did."
Nightlight shook his head.
"Where did you go, then?" he asked curiously. The boy was silent for a long time before looking up at the Boogeyman.
"On a quest."
"You let your friends think you were deceased for a century so you could go on a childish adventure?"
He shook his head again. Then he sat up on his knees, closed his green eyes, and pressed a soft kiss to Pitch's forehead.
"It taught me that great men can become horrible," he explained in his musical voice. He seemed nervous to be using it. "But it also taught me that it is not always their own fault."
Then his lips brushed Pitch's. He was surprised, but fought not to show it. There was a long silence.
"You should visit the others."
"The others have each other. You have nobody."
Another long silence.
"I hope you're not expecting a thank you," Pitch broke the it.
Nightlight just laughed that perfect laugh of his.