Summer Nightmare

     “Oh, it’s dark already.”

     Hakka turned to face the window, finding that, indeed, it was. The sun had set right under his nose, leaving not a single trace of its presence in his absence. Behind the glass, there was no distinction between where the land ended and the sky began. The blossoming Sakuras, which were a beautiful sight to behold during summer months, had since been covered up by a blanket of darkness. Hakka could not tell what time it was, but he had overstayed his curfew.

     “You are… so right,” the man mused, with a sheepish smile. “Guess time flies by when you are having fun.”

     In the chair across from him, Saki gave him a similar smile, though Hakka’s comment made it more endearing than anything else.

     “Indeed,” the wizard said, “Sorry, I lost track of time as well.”

     “No, no worries,” Hakka stood up, “I’ll make my way back now.”

     “Now?” Saki stood as well, “Absolutely not. You can stay the night, you know?”

     “Oh, no, no. I don’t want to impose.”

     “It’s okay! It is no trouble,” Saki waved it off, “You can take my bed, I’ll sleep in a futon or something.”

     “Like THAT is not imposing?”

     Saki chuckled, “If the roles were reversed, would you want me to go out this late?”

     Hakka pouted as an answer, not willing to prove him right. Still, Saki was right, and the most he could do was compromise, “I take the futon, you make the bed. Only way I’ll do it.”

     “Okay, I take the bed– but you let me make you dinner before we sleep. How about it?”

     Hakka let out one long, theatric sigh, “Fine. But it better be a good one, alright?”

     To call such a meal a “good snack” was a distasteful disservice. By the time the futon had been arranged for the night, Hakka had a full stomach and a stupid smile. Saki had been kind enough to serve up some homemade toast, drizzled with honey, topped with fresh fruits, and finished up with some whipped cream. Hakka was in heaven.

     With a curfew no longer directing their schedule, the pair stayed up for a couple of extra hours and only settled into their respective beddings when their eyes were struggling to keep open. Goodnights were short and sweet and shortly after, there was quiet. At least, as quiet as a summer night could be.

     The window was only barely cracked open, but that was enough for the sounds of the night to take a peak into the room. Wind first and foremost, swaying the blossoms out into the open. Crickets, awake to start their morning, chirped away to announce a peaceful night. A little bit fainter, Hakka could hear the sound of a stream running right next to Saki’s home. He could smell it a little bit too, wet grass, almost like rain. Though he wasn’t quite sure of it.

     Inside the room, there were noises too. A single fan, propped up on the floor by a bunch of Saki’s books, a decent compromise to serve some cool air for the pair, accounting for the size difference of their beddings. The bubbling hum of potions bustling with magic, safely stored on a couple of shelves, left for Saki to experiment and analyze later.  And finally, the subtle turning of a page. Hakka didn’t need to take a peek to know that Saki was reading, though whatever he was reading, he didn’t know. For now, Hakka focused on how soft the sound of paper touching paper was to his ears and allowed himself to be lulled by it. Maybe that was all it took to fall asleep.

     The futon was not the most comfortable place he’d ever laid on. Passively, Hakka noted that it would probably be some strain in his muscles by the next day– his hand already hurting, aching at the base of his wrist– but none of it mattered. At that moment, grounded as he was within the comfort of it all, Hakka knew it was all worth it.

     Because he was comfortable around Saki. He had been for as long as their friendship had blossomed, as long as he could remember. Just the mere thought of such a strong connection, a bond that was unbreakable through thick and thin, was incredibly comforting. Hakka prided himself on being a friendly individual, with friends on either side of the map, but there was no friend just like Saki. No one he could ever trust, or he wished to see well as much as him.

     With a gentle sigh, still entranced by the gentle sounds of the night and the wizard’s good night reading, Hakka lost himself to a state of unconsciousness.

     Something was shielding his vision.

     Hakka tried to blink it off, finding his eyes heavy, then his face stiff. Blinking away made the problem worse, and as he felt something stuck to his eyelashes, his first instinct was to try and wipe it off. His hand scraped against a cold, smooth surface, vaguely reminiscent of ceramic: his mask.

     And when he looked at his fingers, they were covered in blood.

     Hakka gasped, the ugly sound emptying his lungs, and he recoiled backward. His foot tripped up with something, and as he scrambled to stay standing, he turned to see what lay on the floor. As if in slow motion, he caught sight of a hand, limp and sickly, belonging to a face he recognized from the guild. And next to them, another one. Then, another one…

     The more Hakka looked around, the more cadavers he saw, all unmoving, all beyond saving. His breathing kept him in a chokehold, trying desperately to believe in any possibility that they might be alive, but the amount of crimson permeating the floor was evidence enough.

     Whispers of the Karasutengu boiled through his veins, his hand aching as much as it had back when the skin had turned necrotic. Hakka knew that the carnage in front of him was all his fault, a tragedy he could have avoided if he only had more self-control. This was all his fault, and they were all dead because of him.

     “Hakka?”

     A voice called out to him. The only survivor amid the bodies. But Hakka was too scared to listen, that fear morphing into a fury that kept eating away at his nerves. This was all his fault. He was furious at himself, blind to the surge of feelings in his chest, desperate to let them out. The mask became heavier atop his features, and in a desperate attempt to get it off, Hakka wielded his weapon and started slashing. At the floor, at the bodies, at the only other person still left alive to witness his downfall.

     This was all his fault. So why did it matter if he stopped now?

     As the blood splattered across the field, and his body felt set ablaze, he starred down at his last victim, finding a pair of pleading rose eyes starring back, the light slowly draining from

     “HAKKA!”

     When Hakka woke up, he was still staring at those eyes. But he was no longer trapped within a nightmare.

     Confused, utterly dazed, he started glancing around the room, looking to find that same void in the horizon, tainted by crimson blood. Instead, as he blinked rapidly, struggling for his eyes to come into focus, he found himself in the interior of a building, presumably a small room.

     His eyes were fuzzy, so he tried to focus on something else: noise. Slowly, as if a song introducing one instrument at a time, he started discovering sounds that had once felt familiar to him: Outside, the wind, the crickets, the stream, signs of life against that once barren wasteland. Inside, the small fan, the bubbling of potions– but no turning of pages.

      Disoriented, Hakka’s head pounding, he focused on another sense: touch. His skin felt hot, sweat coating it from a bad nightmare. His head was pounding, the primary reason why his vision was blurry. And his hand, where the curse had made its roots, was stinging way more than it had before he fell asleep. The curse touching his skin burned like fire. His hand, touching metal stung like ice. And though he could not feel the metal, Hakka was able to focus on what it was touching–

     And he found the end of his spear pressing against Saki’s throat.

     They were on the ground, his friend looking back with a horrified stare. He was still alive, shaking as he breathed, but through the darkness, the exorcist catch a glimpse of a small string of crimson, slowly trailing down from where the blade touched skin.

     Hakka let go of his spear immediately as if he had lost the strength to hold it. Realizing what he had done, blinded by the mask of a nightmare, his body cringed away from Saki, backing up to the point where he stumbled against Saki’s bed and fell on top of it.

     “Hakka-” Saki started, never breaking eye contact.

     “STAY AWAY!” Hakka’s screams upraised them both, and Hakka cringed where he stood. “Sorry. Fuck— Saki, you have no idea how sorry I am.”

     The wizard did not answer, instead focusing on Hakka’s gaze with an expression Hakka could not read. The more he tried, the less he could interpret through the dimly lit room. So, he continued talking.

     “I wasn’t thinking. I must have acted while still asleep, when I woke up, I— look, I never meant to harm you. I didn’t want to, my hand has been acting up lately and— and I-I mean, I know that sounds like an excuse, but I really, really didn’t mean to hurt you—“

     Saki stood up from the floor where he stood, and Hakka tried to move away, finding it hard to do when sitting on the bed.

     “I swear, I swear you have nothing to worry about. I don’t know what came over home. I will leave, you don’t need to see me ever again, I promise. I just need you to know, Saiki, I would never want to do anything to hurt you. Ever. Ever, I—!”

     “Hakka.”

     Saki had sat down next to him without Hakka noticing, but he did not seem hostile— or worse, scared. Instead, his hand came up to meet Hakka’s cheek, to which the man quickly reacted, closing his eyes, knowing how much he would deserve it.

     And yet, the impact never came. Instead, he felt warm fingers against his cheek, accompanied by Saki’s gentle voice, “Please, Hakka. Breathe with me.”

     Breathe?

     Hakka tried to do so, and as he took in one shaky breath, he realized how shaky his lungs have been the entire time. His chest felt tight and nervous, and through so much dread fogging his mind, he had almost forgotten how to breathe. But Saki was there, and with his help, Hakka was eager to try.

     “Do you want to talk about it? Saki asked, voice gentle. Hakka quickly shook his head, so he added, “That’s okay then. Let’s just breathe, together.”

     And so, they did. Saki set the pace with deep, lasting breaths, while Hakka struggled to match with his own trembling ones. It was a hard process to balance, forcing himself to focus on how friend, while his primal urges asked him to flee– but Saki’s presence, as much as Hakka must have scared him, was surprisingly calm. Overall, Saki was as comforting as he had ever been.

     Hakka breathed, slowly feeling himself being pulled back into reality. His hand still ached from the sins it had committed, but as his body relaxed, the pain started fizzling out. With it, went the cloudiness over his eyes, and Hakka was little by little able to regain a clear vision. He could not see every single source of the noise from outside, but the window was right in front of him, just so slightly open. The draft from it was weak enough to fight the Summer air, but it rocked the cotton blinds along with it. Hakka decided that was the best place to look at, instead of facing his friend.

     It was impossible to tell how much time had gone by, but Hakka could feel its progress just by his breathing alone. It went from hitched, to rapid, to evening itself out, all as he copied Saki’s back and forth. Ashamed, Hakka realized he had just come out of a panic attack, and he didn’t think himself deserving of one. Saki, who was in all his right justified to be scared, had instead been the one to help him out of it.
     
     “I’m sorry,” Hakka whispered, hoarse voice so quiet, even he could barely hear it.

     Saki’s hand had not left his grasp on Hakka’s cheek all through their breathing. The wizard ran his thumb across the skin, another small comfort, “Hakka, it’s okay.”

     “I–”

     “Hey,” he leaned forward, boldly aiming for a smile, “Listen to me, please. You have nothing to apologize for.”

     “But– look, I–” Hakka sighed, hating his mouth for stumbling with words, “I hurt you.”

     “This?” Saki tilted his head up, showing the small cut on his neck. Hakka tried his best to make himself seem smaller, but Saki kept his tone carefree,

      “Paper cut, Hakka!” The exorcist must have made a face, because Saki’s smile grew wider, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I mean it. Listen, you’ve seen me fight, right?”

     “... You’re… not mad?.”

     “No!” Saki seemed almost offended, “Of course not! You didn’t hurt me! And hey, If this was your best shot at trying to knock me out, you have to do some training, my friend! I’m pretty sure I could kick your boss a hundred times over!”

     He… had a point.

With a sigh, Hakka slowly melted into the bed, allowing his sore shoulders to dig into the mattress. Saki slowly followed, laying at his side. For a second, neither of them said anything.

     Then, “I had a nightmare.”

     “Wanna… talk about it?”

     “No,” Hakka sighed but kept talking, “The curse, my mask… I had hurt people. The guild. They were all dead.”

     The statement landed heavily in the air. Saki approached Hakka carefully, once again reaching for his cheek. This time, Hakka leaned into the touch.

     “There was so much blood, everywhere. At first, I thought my hand was acting on its own, but it wasn’t. I was almost enjoying it. A-and then, in the dream, you were there. And I had my weapon so close to you, and–”

     “Hakka,” Saki’s voice was the most serious, most honest he had ever been, “You are not a monster.”

     The statement was enough. Suddenly, his fight or flight response was gone, and all that remained was fear, relief, and a third emotion he could not manage to make out. Hakka took a shaky breath, trying to will his eyes not to drop any tears threatening to spill.

     “Do you… want a hug?” Saki asked, and Hakka nodded enthusiastically, feeling so vulnerable, he felt raw. Saki wrapped his arms around him, whispering little nothings in his ear, “You are not a monster,” over and over again.

     Night came and went with Hakka’s eyes still closed, and Saki still comforting him out of a bad dream.

 
     Hakka woke up to the sound of ringing bells.

     The taste of last night’s events was bitter on his tongue, but his body had long lost sight of fight or flight. Instead, he felt relaxed and surprisingly well-rested— he had not slept on the floor but in Saki’s bed. With his eyes still closed, Hakka allowed himself to feel out the mattress, sighing at the touch of cotton sheets and a good feather duvet. Once upon a time, he had made fun of Saki for dressing his bed with it while in the middle of summer. Now, it felt so soft, so comfortable, and fresh, Hakka wondered how he would ever live without it.

     The more his body settled back into being awake, the more he started processing his surroundings. The window must have been open because that ringing— Saki’s wind chimes marking the outside of his home— was the perfect morning chorus. There was also a freshness to the air, a small breeze that came through a wide-open window. All and all, a very comfortable morning.

     And yet, Saki’s presence was missing from it.

     Opening his eyes took a little bit of effort, bright through the morning sun. Once Hakka finally adjusted to the light, he found that, indeed, Saki was nowhere to be found.

     Had he left?

     Hakka sat up, dread starting to swallow him once again. That bitter taste brought vivid memories from the nightmare, and far worse— what had come right after. Saki’s eyes, a genuine terror that he never wanted to witness again. The more he woke up, the more he recalled it. The more he recalled it, the less comfortable the morning seemed to be—

      “Oh, you’re awake?” Saki’s voice, coming from the kitchen, “You okay with scrambled eggs?”

     Hakka nodded.

     “… No scrambled eggs?”

     “Shit— Yes, scrambled eggs are just fine! Be right there” He squeaked out, finding himself an idiot. In turn, Saki let out a laugh. |

     “Alright then, take your time!”

     With a big sigh, Hakka slipped out of bed, trying to focus on how casual Saki sounded. Not afraid, not upset, not a drop of resentment. Still, he took his time finding the courage to appear in the kitchen, still a little tense as he did so.

     “Morning’” he called, a little hesitant.

     If Saki noticed, he didn’t act like it, “Hey, good morning! I also made toast, if that’s okay? I know you liked it yesterday, so I wanted you to have more— still, I didn’t want it to be too repetitive, so. Eggs!”

     “If that’s okay? You kidding?” Hakka was almost drooling, all previous dread vanishing at the thought of food, “Saki, whatever you make will taste godly. And you know I’m a good judge of some good food!”

     Saki chuckled, “Perfect, because I made a lot a lot.

     “Oh-ho-ho,” the man stretched as if preparing for battle, “Is that a challenge?”

     “Depends,” Saki put his index finger on his cheek, mimicking some deep thought. How hungry are you?”

     Hakka pulled a chair for himself, sitting down with a determined expression. He thought that was answer enough, and by the way Saki smiled, his message had been well received.

     There was already a plate set up for him, with a cold glass of chocolate milk, and a smaller bowl of fresh fruit. Having breakfast with Saki was always a culinary experience that left nothing to be desired.

     “Need any help with anything?” Hakka asked, already stuffing his face with a handful of grapes.

     “Not at all,” Saki looked amused, “The eggs are almost done, and then I’ll sit down. I couldn’t sleep once I woke up early morning, so I got a head-start.”

     Hakka paused on his devouring, suddenly too self-conscious to eat. That meant, well…

      “So…” he started, despite himself, “About last night.”

     Turning around from his spot in the kitchen, Saki’s gaze was fixed on his friend. Hakka had felt like apologizing. He felt like apologizing every single time that last night crossed his mind, and he figured this would be a constant feeling for months ahead. But as he studied Saki’s expression, something dawned on him: Once again, it was not afraid, not upset, nor it harbored even a drop of resentment. And Hakka didn’t have to apologize.

     With the word sorry lost on his lips, he opted for a better alternative, “Thank you,” and he meant it. “Thank you for everything, Saki.”

     Saki’s eyes were tender, “You are my friend, Hakka,” he replied, “I care so much for you. And I swear, a nightmare will never change that.”

     “I– I care for you, too.”

     “Very glad to hear that. Now–” Saki turned off the stove, the rich smell of scrambled eggs finally hitting Hakka. Man, he was hungry, “You ready for breakfast?”

     “I was fucking born for this,” Hakka replied with a laugh.

     The more they ate, the more they shared about the plans for the day, and what they wanted to do for the rest of the summer– the more last night faded away from mind. Hakka knew he would do better to control his curse, and he would ensure Saki was safe around him, no matter what.

     Because Hakka felt safe around Saki. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t return the favor?