The walls of the house were thin. Yuuri frequently stayed up late so that he could read literature, or because he couldn't fall asleep. He would often hear heart-wrenching cries in the middle of the night from the room next to his. This had happened a few times since he had first brought Viktor home, but ever since the incident with that vile man who'd try to buy parts of Viktor, it was occuring more frequently.
Viktor would yell things, too; terrible, pitiful things that would make Yuuri want to start crying. No. Stop. I'm sorry. He felt so helpless. What should he do? Confronting Viktor might make it seem like it was his fault, and was the last thing Yuuri wanted.
But Yuuri couldn't bear for Viktor to be languishing in this manner. He sounded like an injured, frightened child in his night terrors. This particular night was worse than usual.
Yuuri had been just closing his eyes to drift into dreams when he heard a muffled whimper in the darkness. His eyes shot open, heart beating faster. He heard sobbing and ragged breathing, and then a hard, painful-sounding thump as Viktor kicked something. His fairy could not go on like this. He was barely getting any good sleep, and it was evident in how he dozed off while doing ordinary tasks, how he had deep purple shadows beneath his eyes, and how he seemed disoriented and uncoordinated.
Yuuri swung his legs out of the bed, then began picking his way across his room in the blackness of the night. His hand fumbled on the cold doorknob, and he turned it and entered the hallway. His footsteps creaked on the floorboards, and the portraits of his ancestors appeared especially eerie in the dim light slanting in from the windows.
With a shiver, he entered Viktor's room. There Viktor lay, blankets all rumpled and twisted. Moonlight streaming down from the skylight above, illuminating long, pale limbs and a messy silver braid. He tossed and turned, face contorted in desperation and misery. His wings beat frantically, his body jerking like a puppet on strings. He mumbled incoherently, teeth gritted.
Yuuri rushed to his side, biting his lip. Should he wake Viktor up? Tentatively, he reached out and touched Viktor's warm shoulder. Too engaged in his mental battle, Viktor did not perceive it.
"Viktor, it's alright," Yuuri tried. Viktor groaned, features scrunched up. A tear slipped from one of his squeezed-shut eyes, trickling down his face. He abruptly flipped onto his back, pinning one of his wings under his body. Yuuri gasped. He was no fairy expert, but he knew that something was very wrong. Fairies always laid on their sides or their front, never on their backs. Their bodies automatically adjusted, even while they were sleeping, so ensure that their wings were safe. It was in that moment that he knew he had to intervene immediately.
Yuuri gently shook Viktor, who eventually opened his bleary, watery eyes. Tears shone in them like jewels.
"Yuuri," he wept. He wrapped his arms around Yuuri's neck and held him tightly. His body was trembling. To Yuuri, he seemed so, so delicate.
"It's alright," Yuuri murmured. "You're safe. I won't let any harm come to you." He tenderly embraced Viktor, rocking him back and forth. Tears welled up in his own eyes, overcome with emotion. The fairy's breathing eventually steadied and his body went limp. Yuuri carefully guided him onto his front side. Viktor's eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted.
Yuuri watched over him for a while to be sure that he wouldn't be plunged back into a nightmare, then slowly pulled the covers over him. He did his best not to disturb him. He tucked Viktor in, and smoothed his hand over the top of his head without thinking. Quickly, he relinquished his touch.
His pulse felt thick and fast in his veins, and he could feel the blood pumping into his ears and fingertips. With one last glance at Viktor, lying there as serene as an angel, he slipped back to his own bed.