The comfort of sleep had been lost long ago. He knew what waited for him once his eyes shut and he lost his consciousness to the world of slumber. His memories of the present would be cast aside as the past takes control.

The designer becomes the villain once again. Alongside him is a beautiful villainess who is rivaled by none. He doesn't remember these times fondly, and he wishes he hadn't agreed to these terms in the first place. When they are both normal, a happy couple with a happy life, when the sun would shine down upon them and her hair almost sparkled in the light though, his life felt worth living. The villain can't focus on these things, not right now. Not in the dystopian universe he is forced into as he tries to rest.

She had brought light into his darkened world. Her very being radiates a warmth that he longs for. A hand of his raises to caress her cheek, a thumb lovingly rubbing her soft skin. He dares to take her neatly made side braid into his grasp only to gently pull it up to his mouth. As the designer, or rather the villain as he noted he was still transformed, gives her hair a brief kiss, he takes in that scent of her pomegranate shampoo. His eyes shut as he allows the feeling of bliss to overcome him.

His heart beats feverishly. It was because of her, it almost felt like she was by his side once again, but he knew better than that. He knows what would come next, what always came next in the repeated nightmare.

When his eyes open, she is gone. He is alone. A cold sweat runs down his forehead but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. Tired and stiff, awake yet still asleep.

The world around him had lost its light and been overcome by the darkness. It was familiar, his empty home similar to one he grew up as a child being raised by a cruel, unforgiving, father until he became one himself. He cared for no one else aside from his wife and perhaps the part of his son that reminded him of the only woman he could love.

There is a pounding pain in his chest that makes his body, although maybe slightly underweight, feel obese. His figure, while straight and skinny, feels round and unhealthy when he can hear the thumping in his ears. Had he been any closer to the edge of the bed, the harsh pull of gravity might force him to the ground. He hates the heart that dictates his feelings and it's even worse when it might force its way through his chest as though it need not stay in the proper cavity.

Tears flow and fall. He usually tries to stop them but he doesn't bother this time. They distort his vision and the shadows around his room blur together. The edges, once sharp, are smeared. He knows it's pathetic, crying over a woman who is long gone. He must look like a sniveling mess but luckily no one was there to catch this side of him and he found comfort in that knowledge.

The tears keep falling as the memories of the present begin to return. Anyone else in his position would have accepted failure at his point because that's all he is. He has failed his wife a countless number of times. The figure of his woman, with honey blonde hair, and emerald eyes, fleets from his vision as the harsh reality of the situation continues to creep back into his mind.

Then, he remembers that he isn't alone. There is one who has been by his side through it all. He can't dare to imagine her reaction upon seeing him like this- the broken man behind the stone-cold expression. She had seen it before, but has it ever been this bad before? No, because he tells her not to enter his bedroom.

"Sir...?"

It's a voice. Not the one he wants to hear, but one he knows well. One that had been beside him for ages. His head lifts as tears begin to dry. He cannot find her shadow.

"Sir, please..."

She is begging for him. While he hates hearing the crack in her voice, there is nothing he can do for her. He loved his wife and would only ever love his wife. She, the woman calling out to him, was not the one, not for him. Perhaps in a different world, they are meant for each other but in this one, it's certain they are not. She is bound to find someone more emotionally available than he.

"Gabriel..."

That name. Of course, it belonged to him, but it felt foreign on her tongue. It shocked him a little bit to hear it, though he had never told her not to use it, so he couldn't blame her. It had been the one that pulled him out from the realm of slumber.

"Nathalie..." His voice is laced with sleep and sounds more tired than he really is. He clears his throat trying to wake up because he can't drink coffee at, what time is it, 2 am? His clear blue eyes find her shadow and focus on the woman beside his bed.

"I'm sorry," she bows. She keeps her head low. "You were having a bad dream."

"Ah..." he knows. It is not a shocking fact. If anything is shocking it's how many nights she had heard his night trembles but never done anything about it.

"Was it about...her?"

"Yes." He breathes out a heavy sigh. His cold demeanor isn't present but his aura isn't warm either. It might be the only thing he likes when he's with her, he allows his front to drop, "Do not worry. It was only a dream."

"I know, but, um, you know, nightmares are dreams too and I just..." She lifts her head, eyes hidden by glasses that have a wider frame than her typical pair, yet he can feel that concerned look upon him. "...hate seeing you like this."

He shuts his eyes, for the time being, wishing he had something to hide behind. Even if he feels comfortable dropping the usual front, he still doesn't like showing that more vulnerable side. He never meant to hurt her, but sometimes, maybe most times, it seemed that was all he ever did.

"Thank you, Nathalie. You can leave me be next time."

"But-"

"We should both get some sleep. Go rest."

She bites down on her lip, and straightens out her pajama shirt, she shouldn't be here. It still takes a few minutes before she finally responds.

"Of course. Good night, sir," back to the formality that she never should have broken.

He watches as she leaves his quarters. The door shuts behind her and he returns to the world of darkness. He might just admit to her being a small sliver of light, still not the sunshine Emilie once was. His gaze, though blurry through some remaining tears, stays focused upon the door for several minutes. He does nothing. He doesn't know what to do.

His eyes shut once more, he cannot find himself able to sleep. Maybe it's better, the past is less likely to overtake him while he's awake. He still feels the heartache however much he wants to push it from his mind.

"Emilie, soon we'll be together once more. Wait for me, my love."