Chapter Text
They haunt him. Kenley, Old Niel, and the others that he left behind from Blackthorne Security Company. He remembers Old Niel’s death. He remembers the Captain’s grim face as he pulled the trigger on the eldest teammate, and Klein’s mournful, teary eyes. Old Niel’s death was a reality check to all of them of the dangerous path they’ve chosen as Beyonders. Things have taken a turn since that day, as if fate itself was leading them to an unimaginable end. Kenley’s death was a shock. He wasn’t especially close to Kenley, but news of his death was another reality check. Just how many more of them will die on this path? It seems to be just a matter of time that a gruesome fate falls upon them. The Captain seemed intimately familiar with this, always repeating that quote.
“We are guardians, but also a bunch of miserable wretches that are constantly fighting against threats and madness.”
–
One day, the other red gloves invite him out on a drink.
It’s not unusual for them to do so, since they actually drink quite often. Alcohol seemed to be one of the few indulgences that temporarily distracted from the horrors they saw as an elite squad. So used to Leonard rejecting their invitations, it came as a surprise the one day that he accepted. Bob and Cindy are usually the only ones that make an effort to talk to him and are usually the only ones inviting him, much to the chagrin of the other teammates.
Right now, he’s sitting at the bar, half-listening to the drunken rambles of his squad. He doesn’t plan on drinking too much, and settles only for a glass of whiskey, staring down at the amber fluid. He doesn’t focus much on the familiar color of the drink because he knows that if he does, he’ll get reminded of something that he knows will plague him for the rest of the night. Somehow, the conversation turns to romantic pursuits, and Bob and Cindy try to rope him in the conversation.
They’re telling tales of the people they're courting, their official partners, and unsurprisingly, the conversation turns to bedmates.
“Hey, Leonard. What about you? Anyone you like? Anyone you’re interested in?”
He frowns, giving a lukewarm answer.
“Not really.”
There wasn’t anyone he had an excessive interest in. There wasn’t anyone he currently liked, either. Really, the only person that matched those two descriptions would be…
His eyes turn downcast, and the others turn the conversation away from him, not wanting the forlorn, melancholic air of their colleague to ruin their outing. The liquid in his glass is gone, and he flags down the bartender to refill his drink.
Leonard stumbles home, the route a drunken blur, kicking off his shoes before flopping on to the bed. The red moon is high in the sky, casting its bloody glow through the gaps of his curtains. Klein didn’t seem overly fond of the red moon. He seemed to prefer the open sky during the day with the Sun casting its warm glow on his favorite napping spots in the lounge. The scene from his memory makes him smile into his pillow.
Klein always looked so sweet, especially when he was in the arms of slumber. He remembers those days, when Klein would take on a shift to guard the Chanis gate. When the Sun rose again and he was relieved of his duty, he would shuffle over to the lounge that Leonard and the others would frequent, napping in a Sun-warmed spot on the couch as the others would continue their card game. The memory warms him for a moment, but grief washes over him. Goddess, he should’ve cherished those moments. Why did he take everything for granted? Why did he think they were safe? At that time, he was content and didn’t think of advancing. What a fool he was.
Thinking of when he woke up to the battle already over, to Klein and Captain Dunn’s open chests, his hands ball into shaking fists, teeth grinding.
So weak. Still so weak.
He abandons sleep for the night. Instead, he walks back to work in an attempt to scour for any clues that will lead to absolution.
–
The mission exhausted him.
His squad was called out to deal with a rogue beyonder that was affiliated with the Rose School of Thought. The organization was already on the Church’s radar, especially with reports of possible activity appearing in Backlund. The Beyonder already lost control by the time Leonard and his squad showed up to the scene, and could only follow the trail of corpses to hound this beast. He lingered at one corpse in particular for just a second before heading off to do his job. The termination was quick. An out of control Sequence 8 lunatic couldn’t do much to a squad of Sequence 7 Evernight Beyonders. As they headed back to file in their reports, the image of the corpse lingered in Leonard’s mind.
A young man with quite a plain face, his chest a gaping wound. The image was all too familiar to Leonard. It was and will be forever ingrained in his memories. Captain Dunn… Klein…
He’s been awake for two days now. It was only predictable that he would rest, whether or not it’s willingly or by his body failing him. The ghosts linger in the corner of his vision, and dreams blur with reality.
In unexpected moments, they’d visit him. Captain Dunn would be standing by his shoulder, nodding in approval as he finishes his paperwork. Captain Dunn would appear in an unused desk in the offices of Saint Samuel’s cathedral, brow furrowed while frowning down at a stack of reimbursement claims sent by Old Niel and occasionally Klein. Sometimes, Leonard would find himself lingering, staring too long at these scenes. He’d snap back to reality when one of his coworkers addressed him, uncaring about whatever he was seeing. After all, they were all too used to their pathway’s shortcomings in memory and reality.
He became used to Captain Dunn appearing in times he was working. It felt so natural seeing him there, even if it was just as a voiceless statue. Leonard didn’t mind Captain Dunn’s appearances anymore. If anything, it felt like silent encouragement to get stronger, silent approval of the path he’s taken.
Would Captain Dunn be proud if he’s seen how far he’s advanced?
The thought gets tucked away, drowned out with the rest of them by his increased workload. There’s not enough free time for thinking as he and the others are buried in work. This was the path he chose.
It was in the domestic settings that he would see Klein. Leonard always associated Klein with such soft, constant, and peaceful aspects of life. Klein would be nibbling on a pastry, politely chattering as Leonard would enjoy his tea on his few, rare breaks. Klein would appear in the kitchen, exasperated at the tasteless meals that Leonard would conjure. Sometimes, in moments of loneliness when Leonard was especially feeling weak, Klein would appear more intimate and more caring— so out of character than what he would actually do if he saw Leonard in such a state. Klein would comfort him, sometimes hug him, while Leonard would vent his frailty. Old Man was noticeably absent during such cases. He appreciated it, especially during his most shameful moments.
His most shameful moments…
His brows furrow, expression downcast as he recalls the previous night.
Nights such as these were actually quite common. He’d finish up his work and go home, sleeping the few hours that he needs due to his pathway.
And every single time, he’d dream.
While the Captain was there, he didn’t exactly haunt him the way that Klein haunted him.
His eyes, the topaz gleam of his pendulum, his voice— all of it echoed in his unconscious state. Klein was the only person in the world that Leonard could ever be close to, and it reflected clearly in his dreams.
Like now.
Klein’s wearing a loose and worn pajama top. His shirt is rucked up, exposing his toned stomach honed by his training. His face is gentle and slack with sleep and the gap of the curtains allows the morning light to trickle in, shining warmly on his sleeping figure. Leonard’s eyes linger on the exposed skin as his fingertips reach out to touch.
Warm. So warm.
His hands greedily push his shirt up further, tracing over the soft, smooth skin until it settles on his chest. A heart pounds steadily under his palms.
His hands continue their exploration, mapping out the bumps of Klein’s less prominent rib cage, kneading his pecs, and pinching lightly at his nipples. The shirt hinders his movement, and he rips it open uncaringly, staring down at the unblemished chest with wretched eyes.
The body shivers at the cold morning air and shifts in discomfort. Klein wakes up to the sight of Leonard caging him in, squirming at the ticklish feel of his fingertips running down his sides.
What Leonard was doing was strange, abnormal, and unwarranted.
Klein should’ve reacted by pushing him away, shouting at him, anything else than this.
Instead, he cradles Leonard’s face, pulling him closer with a tender smile on his lips. His green eyes widen in shock, and he barely manages to catch a sympathetic glance before lips meet his own.
The kiss from Klein was more of a peck, if anything. It only spoke of his inexperience, of how he wasn’t around for long enough to ever get to explore a relationship. The idea of Klein, pursuing or being pursued…
Leonard focuses on the body in front of his, surging forward before Klein could pull away. The kiss turns rougher, and a hand grasps the back of Klein’s hair roughly, pulling him into an open mouthed kiss, tongue prying its way inside. He feels Klein’s muffled moan, and the kiss turns biting as Leonard devours him. Klein tries to pull away for air, but Leonard doesn’t let him. They should’ve pulled away long ago, and Leonard’s lungs burn but his desperation is too strong. Klein stops fighting against him, his body lax beneath him. His whimpers tapered down, weak and smothered. Saliva drools down Klein’s chin, pooling down at his clavicle. Leonard keeps them together, even as black spots fill their vision.
He’s content in suffocating them both. He’s content in drowning in the same darkness, as long as it leads him to Klein.
He wakes up with a gasp of breath, and the old man’s voice rings in his ears.
“If you were asleep any longer, you might’ve died. What did you encounter?”
Leonard only pants, breath still short. His response dies before it could leave his mouth, anything he could say choked up in his throat.
“Boy, are you alright?”
It’s rare that this parasite gets concerned for him. Leonard smiles wryly.
“…Can you leave me alone for a while? I need some privacy.”
He hears ‘Him’ scoff, disgusted, as ‘He’ leaves Leonard to his own devices.
With the parasite finally gone, he pulls the covers away, revealing the tent in his pants.
He takes care of it quickly, the images of the dream fresh in his mind. Coming down from his high, he looks down at the mess in his hand blankly. By now, he’s gotten used to the guilt of tarnishing the image of his colleague.
He cleans up, the familiar bitter feeling of regret lingering like bile at his throat.
—
He’s had so many dreams. So many nightmares of this exact moment. A couple months ago, he wouldn’t have found this possible. He would’ve just taken this as one of his delusions— a hallucination of his past haunting him. Sherlock Moriarty, Gehrman Sparrow, his ties to The Fool. Seeing the puzzle pieces come together had him in denial of the full picture. But now, digging up the grave and seeing nothing inside, Leonard smiles wryly, his face pinched.
He can use many words to describe the way he was feeling. Betrayal towards Klein for having not told him, elation for the confirmation that he still walks this plane, guilt, relief.
The ink from his unmoving pen drips onto the blank parchment. Abruptly, he crumples the paper, throwing it in the half empty bin full of other words that will remain unsaid.
He feels Pallez’s judgment in the back of his head, but wisely, the parasite says nothing.