Dreaming Ends

Shand nods slowly to himself as Luna speaks, letting her words sink in and slowly forming his thoughts around them.

"Maybe it is. Maybe... I️ don't know, everything in life is always formed around happy endings, you know? And this is pretty damn close, but. They all got endings, at least. And for everything it is, this isn't that."

Did he really bring Luna back from the dead, kill a goddess in his mind, and create a new world for them to inhabit just to sit on the rooftop and whine about his immortality?

He feels like he's had to have lived long enough at this point to accept that facet of himself for what it is. And yet still, the more the years drag on and add up, the more he finds himself wondering what an ending would feel like. The more he finds himself covetous of everyone who's gone on before them. His father, Trita. Dakara, Enna, everyone he's ever loved. He hurts, sure, but maybe he's more jealous than anything.

Typical Shand. Even in his most sincere moments, still selfish.

That realization stings a little in his chest, and he swallows, looks down at his lap and away from the miracles all around him.

"When...when you were dead, what was it like? Did...you feel anything? Was there, like, peace?"

"It was weird."

Luna admits, keeping her eyes steady on the stars above them, counting them to herself.

"First of all, to get there was beyond painful but, more than that, it was terrifying. Lying in your own blood, knowing you only have seconds, that each breath is one less one you have... It's terrifying. You begin to think over your life and how you failed, how you can't change anything, wonder if you did enough, if your death was worth it. Okay, maybe that last one is just me since I was dying for something. Anyways, then you start to worry about what's next, if you'll go somewhere or if your memory will live on. There's also the question of will anyone mourn you. The answer was a pretty stern no for me which filled me with unbelievable grief."

She hums a little to herself as she tried to think of where to go from there. It's not like she's entirely answered his question.

"After you pass and all that fear is irrelevant, it's kind of like... You're floating? I didn't feel anything anymore. I kept seeing these visions of moments, happy times, joyful minutes. I think for most people those would have been scenes from your life that you treasure but, because I have so few of those, I was seeing things my mind had fabricated to keep itself happy, moments that didn't actually happen but that I wanted to happen. Which, this is incredibly sad now that I say it out loud."

A sad laugh passes through her lips, hands clenching into fists on the ground behind her. She doesn't want to dwell on that fact but there's nothing she can do about it. There aren't enough good moments in her life to keep her into forever.

"I saw myself as a child crawling into my parents' bed at night, I saw them tuck me in between them and tell me about how there was nothing in the dark and, if there was, that they'd keep them away from me. I saw us waking up together the next day and making breakfast before going into town hand-in-hand to shop for some new dress my mother wanted and a tool my father needed. They let me pick out a new stuffed animal to keep the old dog one I carried around company."

Luna stops. She has to stop.

Every single piece of that memory was made-up, a lie created by her own mind to placate her for eternity. When first seeing it, it all felt so real but there was a nagging feeling that it was off.

Now, here there is no denying the fact. Her parents were never like that. They didn't care, she slept in the hall by her door in the dark alone and scared, they rarely had family meals, and they didn't even buy her the stuffed dog in the first place, she had found it in a giveaway box in town by herself.

Tears slip silently from her eyes and her lips tremble, mouth still open like she has every intention of starting her answer again but is working tirelessly to find her voice and reign her emotions back in.

There's no point in crying, not now. She's here in this miracle of a world and existence, she should be happy, but things still find a way to haunt her even after all this time.

Is she always going to be like this? Overly emotion, always a mess on the brink of breaking down? She can't do that to Shand forever, it's not fair.

Shand turns, drapes an arm over her shoulder and pulls her closer to him.

“Hey, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to cry. It’s okay now.”

He lets her stay there with her head on his shoulder as she sniffs a bit, mopping at tears and he feels like a monster, comforting her in what is obviously deep grief and pain, and in the inside wishing he could experience this thing forbidden to him, what it is to die, to end.

He’s not sure what memories would flash before his eyes if he were to get that chance, though. He’s had countless experiences of almost dying, times he should have died if he had been normal. But there had been no soft light to guide him, no floating, no memories contrived or otherwise.

For him, it was as if time constricted itself and no sooner had darkness fallen over him than he was awake again. No peace, just immediate immersion back into the pain.

He’s just like a child who is told they can do whatever they want except open one door. Suddenly nothing holds any interest except opening the door. And Shand’s forbidden door has always been death.

He pulls her tighter to him in spite of himself and tries to remove himself from his own feelings to understand hers better. It helps a little, at least, to know that she hadn’t loved this limbo world of death, that it hadn’t even been populated with real memories. It made him feel better still for being dumb and brazen enough to yank her out of it.

“I’m sorry.”

He says it again, shaking his head.

“I️ wonder if its like that for everybody. I️ guess that’s kind of morbid of me. Sorry. Again.”

He chuckles softly, ruffling up the hair on top of her head to lighten the mood, maybe make her irritated at him a little to take her mind off everything heavy.

“Well, I️ guess that’s not something either of us are going to have to worry about now.”

Luna shakes her head to dismiss his apologizing, not wanting to hear it, it doesn't feel like there was a need for it in the first place.

"No, Shand, stop, it's okay. I just got lost there for a minute."

She laughs through some remaining tears, furiously working at her eyes to keep them from overflowing any further.

"I just... In that moment, I didn't even know that was fake but now, looking back, knowing I couldn't even have real happiness in the end."

The wince that happens at the thought is impossible to hide from him, especially sitting as close as they are and she can feel her body get hotter the more she dwells on the topic.

This heat increase may be good for him, in all honesty, but it feels like hell for her.

"I couldn't even find my own rest in death, isn't that sad?"

The sad laugh continues like that's all her body knows how to do in response for being caught being overly emotional. She needs to continue deflected so she can fully regain herself.

"Can't screw up much worse than that so I guess not dying at all may potentially be beneficial."

"You're allowed to get lost."

Shand smiles over at her, feeling more warmth coming off of her and knowing she's struggling. He takes both her hands in his, partly for support, partly because he knows that his are cold and hers are hot and between the two of them maybe they can help each other out.

"And I️ think..."

He takes another look around him, at everything that is so different from what he's known. So different that it's calm and beautiful, so different that it makes him ache a bit for the familiar.

He inhales and tries again.

"I️ think peace is peace, and little bit of it you can have, you shouldn't regret or feel badly about."

A little laugh spills out of him and he shakes his head at himself.

"I️ mean, I️ just basically dream-vomited an escape reality, and if you think about it, that's kind of sad. But fun. And awesome. Awesome-fun-sad."

She gives him a quizzical look like she wants to laugh, but she knows that there's more because it's never over with him.

"What I️ guess I️ mean is that...for both of us, there hasn't been a lot of peace, or happiness to fall into. And I️ think for us, it's a perfectly acceptable thing to make our own peace where we can. It's crazy different here, and it'll probably take some getting used to, and I️ guess parts of it will always remind us of what we came from and why we left it. But, I️ think we're going to be kinda happy here."

An airy sigh of a laugh pushes out of her nose, hanging her head a bit with the response.

"That's it then: We're both just sad."

The comment isn't defeated, despite the words. It's amused and oddly calm like the thought is comforting in some odd way.

"At least we're sad together and maybe that's the greatest peace we could hope for."

Luna lifts her head to look back out over the horizon, allowing him to keep her hands in his, she can especially now feel the difference in their body temperature.

The light on is cool in tone but warm in feeling, like the world is kissing their faces goodnight with the calmest whisper, the air grazing over them.

This entire world is there for them, to entertain and house, to explore and nurture, like Shand created it but it has since taken on its own role with an undeniable passion for the two of them.

"Awesome-fun-sad."

She repeats quietly.

It doesn't really matter now that the memory she saw was fake, that she can't actually look back on certain times fondly, because now she can make her own that centuries from now will make her smile because they're genuine. This moment and all others to come will be real.

“The not being alone part, thats pretty great.”

Shand shrugs his shoulders more to deemphasize his own words, to make them feel less dramatic.

“I️ mean, I’m really glad now that I️ selfishly jerked you out of the dirt with no regards for what you might have wanted. I’m really glad that worked out for both of us.”

He’s giving her that snide smile now, holding onto just one of her hands, letting their joined hands rest between them on the pile of pillows while they dangle their feet over the edge of this impossible tall building, like children dangling their feet in a creek.

And despite all this, he really does feel like a child. Well, he knows that’s what he comes across as often, but it’s been a while since he actually felt that childlike sense of awe and wonder, of holding onto the moment, and wanting to hold it so tightly for fear that it might drift away from him.

“You know, this might be weird to say.”

He rubs at his neck before he plunges into it, swallowing and then just going for it.

“All those years, we just had the dreams. And it was like, we had each other but it was more like shadows, or memories or... smoke or something and now that it’s real, now that you’re really here with me and... I kind of just want to hold onto you so I️ don’t just jolt awake whenever and lose you like always.”

The words pull her from her awe-filled but mindless gaze out over the horizon, the confession and sudden gentle earnest tone giving her mind something to fiercely latch onto.

Luna's eyebrows are raised in surprise, mouth even hung a little to increase the impact of her expression, eyes wide, but there's also an understanding.

Her breath times the few seconds of silence that pass between them.

In these moments, her expression shifts.

"I never thought someone would care this much."

Lips press into a thin line and her eyes sting, but not because she's sad, and she's bound and determined not to cry again, especially not over something as happy as this.

So her mouth pulls into a wide smile, the kind that closes her eyes, hiding any potential watering from view. She said she's never laughed this much, but she almost feels like she's never consistently cried this much either.

"All those times we laughed and talked about our lived just to be forcibly pushed back to my world, to be surrounded by so much hate, were some of the worst moments of my life. But we don't have to feel that anymore, we can stay like this forever."

Her hand tightens around his in an attempt to reassure both of them of this new truth in their lives.

"I don't want to not be like this. Ever."

Shand lets out a choked little laugh to relieve some of his own nervous energy. He thinks back to Nameless's words right at the end, at his grave.

How he had planned for this. Thousands of years before Shand had been born, this had been in his sights. The two of them, together. Comforting each other in the heavy and blinding sting of eternity.

He almost can't bring himself to look at her with the way he feels, the vulnerability and the brokenness and the elation. He's never been laid this bare before in front of anyone else, for anyone else. And if he had the whole world to choose from, any world to choose from, he'd still choose Luna.

"I️ guess, somehow, this was always the plan. Me and you, forever. I️ still can't get over the thought of Nameless having a heart."

His gaze falls on their hands now, hers warm and almost pulsating with heat inside his. It feels so strange to think that she's been embarrassed of this heat that rages in her, rolls off her for so long. She's seen it as this destructive force, but he's always thought of it more as her love. This strong, relentless refusal to give in or back down, that iron determination to throw it all away on him. When he feels that heat radiate from her, it's a reminder of how much she cares. How much he doesn't deserve it, and she keeps caring anyway.

He's starting to feel a lump form in his throat and the pressure and pricking of tears in his eyes, so he blinks it away, deciding they've both had enough deep emotional reflection for now.

"Ready for that dance now?"

His hand trembles on top of hers in a way she's not sure she's ever seen from him, and given the amount of time the two of them will be alive, it may not be the last time.

But that's the beauty of all of this: They know so much and so little about each other. There's so much to learn about each other and even themselves.

No, she doesn't understand the shake to his hand but she wants to and she has all the time in the world to try.

Luna takes her hand from his, instantly missing the cool presence of his skin but not for long, flipping her hand on top of his so she can pull him to his feet with her as she stands. He doesn't flinch from her warm touch and, if she weren't already smiling, she would be now.

Too many others have demanded she wear gloves all her life to save them the discomfort, but Shand seeks this fire and it makes it feel like the years of hiding may have been worth it.

From the hat over her hair to the gloves on her hand, she's always been shoved down in the shadows, an unwanted spirit haunting her world. Now she's in a place that only wants her openness and freedom, a drastic switch but she's happy for it, though it will take some getting used to.

"What song? Even our version of Drunken Sailor isn't really a dancing song."

"Ah, I️ was ready for this."

He breaks from her for a moment, although it's a hesitating departure, like he's trying to come up with some way around it. He bounds over to the old gramophone on one of the side tables under the pergola. He checks the vinyl, sees it all lined up correctly and then lets the needle drop.

It's a roaring swing tune, one that feels almost jarring in light of their conversation and the tranquility, the heavy silence of this night. But after the initial jarring quality of the trumpets, the upbeat rhythm, it takes both of them back.

This had been the song playing when they had danced together for the first time at the Blind Fox. After absolutely and staunchly forbidding her to dance with anyone, anywhere, for any reason, Shand had gone a little soft when he had realized how badly she just wanted to move with the music.

That day, he'd taken her out on the dance floor himself and spun her around him, already aware of course that Nameless had been schooling her on the side as a secret from him, but still impressed in her skill level nonetheless.

They had shared the perfect dance that night. She had been elated, over the moon, the epitome of freedom in a beautiful dress that trailed behind her like a shadow of her graceful movements. He had eaten a little crow, of course, but he'd been used to that for a while now.

He makes his way back to her now with a schoolboy smile spread across his face as recognition of the song slowly overtakes hers.

"Luna, may I️ have this dance?"

Shand bows dramatically, holding out his hand for her to take.

Luna smiles at his theatrics but decides to play along. She reaches down and unties the fabric, changing it back from the jumpsuit to the dress, though with a new slit.

Free side in hand, she pulls it out a bit in a curtsy to match his bow, taking his hand in hers when she stands back up.

"I'd want nothing more."

Once he's upright and they both take a starting position, pulling each other in close, she does pause, a little embarrassed by what she has to say.

"I haven't danced since all of that speakeasy stuff so I can't promise it's going to be very good."

The music seems to care very little about what she just shamefully admitted, the beat continuing loud and proud off to the side, demanding they join in and follow the rhythm as they had once before.

On the top of this building, cool air blowing, flowers in bloom and snow drifting around, the music doesn't fit the scene, yet, at the same time, it's extremely them. A collision of worlds that comes together to create something new and beautiful.

Who are they to fight it?

Her foot starts to tap to the beat as she waits for him to lead them on.

"Don't worry, I'm rusty too."

He admits with a shrug. Like either one of them would have found the place or occasion to keep their Charleston up to par.

But he leads her on all the same, the steps more choppy at first, and then falling into a rhythm and coming back in waves that wash over them both.

The music seems to swell and fill more space than the sky has to offer above them, and Shand can almost see this rooftop dissolve and be replaced with that dark dance floor, that iconic bar over in the corner, the brightly lit stage up in front of them.

They'd come so far from that moment, hadn't they? Back in a time when Shand had been falling apart so much more than he'd have ever admitted, and Luna craved nothing but freedom. Their vices, their desires- really, his- had taken from them more than they had wanted to give. But something deep inside both of them had been forged in that fire, hadn't it?

For a contrived world, a lie, a dream, it sure had changed them both to the core. Coming up out of it had been rough- reconciling the fact that all the hurts and pains and memories of awful things would stay with them for their entire lives, even though none of them had been technically true.

There are a million memories from that place that haunt him in his sleep more than he'd care to admit. But this moment on the rooftop with her ranks among his favorite memories ever, and he feels like he's calmly existing inside this favorite replica moment in a way that he's never been able to before.

Free of tension, of stress, of straining himself trying to hold on and be strong. All he has to do right now is dance.

"You seem to be doing fine to me."

And he really is. For being as clumsy as he usually is, he's leading them around the rooftop with wonderful confidence and expert steps.

Luna is no dead weight, floating along after him, just like it's always been.

There's never been a moment she hasn't been happy to let him lead the charge, any charge, and follow after. Some would say she is too trusting of him, but he's never steered her wrong before and he still isn't, from the creation of this world to this small moment of a shared dance.

They spin and fling out away then twirl back in, his hair blowing to each side and hers bouncing with each step, dancing like they have people to impress when, in reality, all they have or want is each other and to keep in time to stay standing and moving with the other.

She can imagine Nameless watching, commenting on their mistakes, randomly changing the song to throw them off. She sees Trita and Dolan behind a bar leaning against each other, watching with patient pleased smiles, Lunath at his booth, a little irritated, but mostly happy to watch them own the floor with childish smiles.

Other forms watch with their own peace and, really, that's all Luna could hope for them at this point, hope that their laughing and spinning provides rest in whatever afterlife they're in.

"Well the roof hasn't rolled under my feet yet, so I️ wouldn't be quite so confident."

Shand laughs as the song starts to come to a close and they slow down. Even though it's not part of the dance, he spins her out from him, then back in, dipping her down slowly. Something about the occasion seems to demand at least one something more austere, more timeless than the swinging and twirling and half-mad stomping they'd come to love.

As the grit and static of the gramophone die away, they're left with silence again, permeated now and then by the call of birds wandering across the night sky.

He watches Luna turn, look out across the horizon with awe, wonder, delight, her hands clenched together like the beauty of this new world is too much for her.

Shand wonders if she would have been more like this in her life before, had her world only been kinder. Not condemned her as some demon when she'd really been the closest thing to an angel they'd ever been lucky enough to see.

But something about the idea that this version of Luna is for him to see only, that the dreaming look in her eye and the vulnerable expression are parts of her that have only come out of hiding here in their joint paradise, makes him feel full to the brim with a strange kind of pride, the kind that beams out through your eyes and changes the way you hold your shoulders.

He wonders what a hundred years from now might look like. What a thousand years down the road could hold. He can't imagine the two of them ever growing bored, every getting tired of each other or of this. The both of them crave rest and peace so much that he thinks they could get half an eternity of just this- swing dancing on the rooftop of an opera hall in the moonlight, and be perfectly satisfied, just so long as the two had each other.

"Hey."

Luna smiles over at him, having caught his content stare and it makes her smile, especially when he looks away quickly to act like he hadn't just been gazing off at her.

"I know you're an island boy, but have you ever played in the snow before? Like, really played in it? Snow angels, snowmen, igloos and all of that?"

She's more than willing to change the topic, to keep their dreaming alive, to keep their conversation going. They have time to daydream, all the time in this world or any other, but now all she wants to do is keep talking, keep laughing and playing around, even if the conversation is aimless.

"Obviously, I can control fire and some wind, but part of being an Aterkin is that I can work with any and all elements, I just never really worked on anything more than fire. Still, I have some ice and water control."

He tilts her head as the purpose of her words is lost on him and it takes everything to not giggle at his boyish look right in his face.

"Do you mind if I make it snow tomorrow? Or, at least try my best to make it snow?"

It only feels right to ask for permission seeing as he created this world and the snow he has falling isn't sticking, just drifting through the air around them.

Shand hates the cold and it feels wrong to request something like this, but she hasn't played freely in the snow since... Well, ever, but she heard other children talking about it so she's always wanted to try.

He lets a wide smile spread slow and easy across his face, unable to hide his happiness at the fact that she's asking for some control, for some ownership of this place along with him. That had bothered him at first, knowing that this was something he had pulled out of thin air and wondering if she'd feel like she was walking on eggshells to try and let this world be just his.

"Of course you can. Me and you, we're the only ones here. Almost like its god and goddess, or something."

The idea is ridiculous as soon as he says it, but it makes him laugh at his own stupidity nonetheless.

But he remembers that's she's also asked him about the snow. Truth be told, he can't remember ever playing in the snow. The first time he'd seen it in earnest had been in his adult years, the ones full of running and hiding and escaping and dying and lather, rinse, repeat.

"What the hell is a snow angel? What is any of that?"

He asks warily, knowing that snow is not in his normal range or in his wheelhouse. But still, the excitement on her face and the glow in her eyes as she talks about all these things makes him feel like there's a good chance he could enjoy them right alongside her.

"Wait, before I️ concede to playing in snow, I️ think we should make a deal."

He has an impish gleam in his eyes, and he knows it's a little demanding of him, but he knows Luna and knows that she'll see it all as a game anyway.

"I'll play in the snow with you if you promise, at some point in our eternity here, that you'll let me teach you how to swim, in the ocean."

Luna pauses a comedically painful long amount of time, staring at him with a very controlled and calculated expression, long enough that Shand has time to think over the offer and see if he should reword something then conclude she’s going to refuse it with every drop of will and determination in her small body.

She chews on her lip but her eyes keep a forced calm about them, attempting to keep her reeling to herself.

There is a sudden fear that bubbles up in her at the idea of willingly stepping foot in water, and an old scene threatens to play in her mind on repeat, a scene she tries and tries to keep pushed down.

Pushed. Probably not the best choice of words given the memory, but she still fights it.

“... Okay...”

Her voice is steady but wary, willing to try to learn at least once if he’s the one teaching, though the idea clearly doesn’t thrill her.

“I’ll teach you about all of the fun things to do with snow and you can teach me how to swim.”

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"I️ know it's not your first choice for fun."

Shand offers in an attempt to ease some of her discomfort, knowing ultimately that it probably won't help.

"But we'll do it slow and easy, and you'll be safe the whole time, okay?"

He grins at her gently, as if trying to silently remind her that she'll never have to be in real danger again. Trying to conjure up all the memories they have of protecting each other, saving each other, doing incredibly risky and stupid things just to shield the other one.

They both have countless memories of that kind of thing and really, those are some of the first things that come back to Shand when he had seen Luna again for the first time in so long.

Those were the memories that grounded the two of them together, linked them in an indestructible way. They each had years and years of proof that the other would be there for them when they needed it.

"Plus, I️ happen to feel like there's a really good chance that over those cliffs in the distance is this tiny little cove that's got a rock barrier that makes it virtually like bathwater. Barely any tide or waves or anything like that. I'd say our odds are really good for that."

He stretches a bit now, like he can feel a little bit of tiredness seep into his bones the longer he stands. So he lets himself fall back into one of the lounge chairs under the pergola, pulling his knees into his chest for warmth.

The last thing he wants to admit to her right now is that he's tired. That he can still feel the slightest bit of an ache in his body from making this world, from all the events that had come before.

That's one of the most the frustrating part, for him, about his own self. He'll live forever, most likely discovering each day something new that he can do, that he is capable of. But the effort continues to wear at him, weigh in his shoulders and send jolts up through his joints. He's immortal, but he's not free of exhaustion, of pain. He probably feels them even doubly so.

But damn if they don't dog him at the worst of times. Their dance is over, but she's still standing, looking out over the expanse like she's trying to memorize it with her eyes. He hides a soft cough in the thick sleeve of his coat before patting the other chair to get her attention.

"Sit with me?"

She sits down beside him , always eager, always looking excited just to be near him. He wonders what he could have done to deserve anyone looking at him the way she does, after some of the things he's messed up so much in life.

It makes him want to just embrace it all and act like a child again. There's no one there to watch and judge them, anyway.

"What would you say about some tree climbing tomorrow? After all the snow shenanigans, of course. There's caves we could explore. You could also help me practice my flower crown making skills, should you so desire."

Luna plops down next to him, sitting a little distance away, watching him shake ever so slightly as the wind hits against him. She has no clue what it’s like to be cold, all she knows is unbearable heat, but it seems to be just as miserable.

Hesitantly, she scoots closer so their sides touch, trying to at least use the warmth that annoys her so much to someone’s advantage. But even with the giant jacket between them, she’s clearly insecure about being this close to anyone, shifting away from him every few seconds in an attempt to not overheat or burn him.

“That sounds fun! I haven’t just gone exploring in a long time. I’ll make sure not to wear the dress though, even if I’ve already ruined it.”

She teases him, the tiredness on his face not lost on her, and the way he fights it like a defiant child is amusing and charming in its own right.

But she’s not about to put up with him killing himself and his mental state all because he doesn’t want to sleep.

Her eyes look back out over the horizon, a kind but sly smile on her face.

A soft note hums in her throat then rolls into another then another, a soft lullaby filling the air around them. It’s not Drunken Sailor, it’s something and entirely different, something unknown to Shand, intentionally so that way he can’t attempt to sing to it himself and stay awake.

The sight before her and the presence beside her nearly pulls her to sleep, mind and heart both calm for the first time in forever and she feels as if she could sleep for days on end, but she refuses, not until she’s sure he’s drifted off before her.

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As the cool air whips his hair across his forehead and her body heat starts to calm his shivers, he wants to laugh at her and tell her that it's not fair, what she's doing.

But it's already made his eyelids so heavy that he's not sure where he would find the energy to open his mouth.

He'd had an unconventional childhood, to put it lightly. And before he'd met Luna, he'd wondered about a lot of things, questions that had never been answered and mundane things that had never been defined for him.

He'd pieced a lot of it together for himself, watching other people and analyzing and making extrapolations from his observations of people over time. But one of the things that pressed him the most, for the longest amount of time, was the idea of a mother.

Because that's all it was to him, an idea. He'd never had one, his father had never had one. Motherlessness was written into his genetic code like the color of his hair, his height. And so little else had ever filled that void, that need for nurturing, in a trustworthy and wholesome way that it felt strange and foreign and had made it difficult for him to cope with being cared for, to trust anyone who showed interest in or affection for him, for a long time.

Meeting Dakara had shifted something in him, slightly. It was different, of course, because there was a spark between them immediately that made them argue, clash over things despite being unchangingly invested in each other.

So from that relationship, Shand guessed about what it would be like to argue with a mother, to have a bond strong enough that it can't be broken by strife, or at least someone who cares about him as closely to unconditionally as is possible for someone in his life.

And Dolan had always cared about him. Silently, of course, but enough to almost eat him alive all the time. It had come out in a gruff, protective but dismissive kind of way, like Dolan was always trying to prevent himself from hurting in how much he cared. Maybe a mother was somewhat like that, but more open about the caring.

Those had really been his only interactions with that kind of care, anything he could transfer over onto his blurry mental framework of what it would be like to have a mother. Until he'd gotten close to Luna.

And the way she's huddled beside him, so clearly trying to keep him warm but also so obviously afraid of burning him at any given moment, humming a song so sweet and lulling that she's almost falling asleep herself but is painfully determined to see him in rest before she goes herself.

He's thought it long before now, but something clicks into place in his mind, overtop of that cloudy idea of what a mother's love might be like.

It must be something so close to this. The lullabies when he's terrified of his own mind, the tight embraces to bleed him of his anxiety when his breath is coming fast and he's in a cold sweat and the demons frolicking in his head won't be still. The extended way she studies his face when he speaks, even when he doesn't, like she's trying to get to know him for the sake of learning how to make him even happier.

This is the safest place he knows, and that's what he decides a mother must be. His eyes close on their own, lids fluttering a few times as his last attempts to fight sleep die off. Before he drifts, he fumbles around for her hand and finds it, holding it in his and pulling it close to him as his mind fades into that warm, safe place.

His face is peaceful and still, undisturbed like the water of an isolated lake, waiting to spring to life with ripples but content to be smooth and calm in this moment waiting.

“Goodnight.”

He’s long asleep by the time she sends him off with a temporary goodbye, but she doesn’t mind, in fact she prefers it this way, prefers allowing him to cling to her hands and press against her side for warmth while he sleeps.

Its not that she minds it while awake, but sometimes she doesn’t know how to handle this much affection and adoration.

The way he watches her closely, judging each and ever reaction, no matter how slight, to everything he does, constantly working to adjust to what he sees, the attention he gives, the earnest concern... All she’s ever known is hate.

A witch, a curse, an Aterkin. She was damned from her first day on earth and the plague of her existence on the world only increased her isolation every day after.

Even when she thought she had a group of friends to care for her, they turned their backs and watched her drown just as easily as any stranger that passed her on the street, pulling children away from the purple-haired demon.

She wonders what life would have been like if Shand had lived in her world, grew up in that atmosphere. Would he hate her?

Probably, it’s the culture of every town and city there.

But he didn’t live there and wasn’t raised with that mindset, maybe to his own downfall with how her existence has also hurt him in a list of ways.

It’s clearly to her advantage, as selfish as that may be.

Her eyes slip closed, head tilting back, breathing in the crisp air that blows over her, hand tightening with his as she drifts off.

There is a vague question she thinks on as she slips, a question that feels more like a habit now: Will she see him in her dreams?

Not that it matters now, he’ll be there when she wakes up.

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Sometimes, in the dreams Shand would have leading up to his reunion with Luna, he would lose himself. The things he would dream would be so far removed from himself, from his own experiences and life, that when he first started having those dreams, he was confused and lost whenever he closed his eyes.

It didn't take him much time then to realize that in his dreams, he would go searching for her. The connection of their minds wasn't a guarantee that they'd see each other every dreaming moment in that shared dream space of theirs. It was mostly a tease, and he'd always fall asleep wondering. When she wasn't there, a loneliness and this dread, this feeling of being utterly exposed and open to danger would haunt him no matter what memory played over in his mind.

But one day maybe his subconscious just decided it had had enough, because all of a sudden he would dream dreams where he could look down and see his feet moving, but everything around him was strange and foreign, a world he wasn't familiar with. He'd be running through overgrown forests, across busy, harsh, futuristic looking streets and fighting through crowds of people he couldn't place. Never with any rhyme or reason.

Because in his dreams, he could never find her. Not until that day that he'd held her in her final moments.

That's what he's dreaming of now. He's back there, and although not much time has actually passed since it had happened for him, it's been haunting him every time he closes his eyes. The tears rushing down her face and mingling with her blood, that desperation of wanting to just hold onto her tight enough to keep her from slipping away from him.

He knows the outcome of this moment. He knows that Luna is here with him now, resting beside him in reality, but the blind terror still claws at his subconscious as he holds her close in this dream, the two of them in the middle of a field of flowers giving up petals to the gusts of wind that Shand tries to shield her from.

But, in an instant, their surroundings change and although she's still dying in his arms, they're stretched across the floor of his room at the Blind Fox, the room dark except for a dim light coming from the corner.

He glances up briefly, not wanting to look away from her too long, feeling the weight and importance of every moment. It's her lamp in the corner, the one that he'd broken and had never quite lived down.

Around them, too, the room is filled with other things they've shared mentally between the two of them. All the souvenirs he'd ever brought her back from his travels. That stupid dress that he'd been so incensed at when he first saw it, two crystal rings that sit on top of each other so neatly that maybe they're actually welded together, connected.

How could they be such different people now than they were, and yet still be so much the same? He looks down at her again now, and realizes that's she's gone. In the time he'd taken to look up, she's slipped away forever. For the first time, her skin starts to feel cold and he can feel himself screaming her name.

She's right beside him, she's right there on the rooftop with him but he can't get that to sink in and feel more real than the dead weight of her cold body in his arms as he cries.

“Dying isn’t as fun as you think it is.”

Luna sits with her back against his, feeling his sobs that shake even her own body against his, eyes closed.

She’s not sure when she got here in this dream of his, but she’s here now, listening to his heart break over her fate.

It was painful and her body felt like it was on fire while also growing colder. There was indescribable terror that pierced every inch of her skin.

But that was all temporary physical pain.

“This was the worst part of it all.”

Her lips pull down in a tight from, rest her head back against him, ignoring their surroundings to stare up st the ceiling, her version of this memory flashing before her and all she can do is watch it play out.

No, it wasn’t her own suffering that scared her the most. It was his. Hearing him cry over her, his voice tunneling, arms around her tightly.

He’s immortal and she knew he was going to live forever with this as his last memory of hers, with inescapable guilt and agony for the rest of his days over an end she brought upon herself.

These thoughts, facts, hurt her the most when she passed from this life and, clearly, they were valid.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, I wasn’t even trying to reach out to you... “

It only confuses her further that she did see him after years of only vaguely being aware the other still existed.

He would have been better off that way, her presence a distant memory. He wouldn’t be screaming his voice raw if things had stayed that way.

Would he, though? Because, now, he’s created a world of his own design that he can parade around in to his heart’s content and she can stay here with him.

The end justifies the means, but it doesn’t mean it hurt any less.

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As soon as Shand hears Luna's voice, he turns his head slightly, sees the back of hers there, feels her sitting back to back against him.

When he turns back around, her body isn't laying lifeless in his arms anymore. It's just them, sitting together in the floor of his old room at the speakeasy.

It's almost the same relief as jerking awake, except he knows he's still asleep. He holds his face in his hands, trying to catch his breath and wipe his tears away and recover from the scene, able for the first time to remind himself successfully that it isn't real.

He sighs into his hands, knowing that she's right. Death can't be fun. Hers has stuck with him and even though it didn't stick for real, he'll never be able to get it out of his head.

But still, he finds himself as fascinated by death as ever. There's no way for her to know, thankfully, how much he still longs for it. How often he fantasizes about it. Over the thousands of years, he's lost count of the many times he's tried desperately through tears and gritted teeth to find a way to end his eternal existence.

Nothing had worked, of course. Many, many times he'd faded out to black, been engulfed by the pain like she'd described and then the nothingness. Each time, he'd been convinced he'd finally found his way out.

Then each and every time, he'd come back to the surface of himself, the pain returning in miserable waves, reminding him that there is no relief for him. There never can be. There can only be teases, disappointments. Inescapable pain, pointlessness. Loneliness.

Things feel different now though, in this world with her, but he wonders if it's just natural for his mind and body to ache for death. He's still partly human, after all, and isn't that what it is to be human? To die? To have an expiration date- a time limit on your life?

Of course, now that he does have her, he understands the other side of the coin. He could never leave her- he could never want to. He can't imagine the agony of facing death knowing she'd be left behind, alone. What would something like that even do to her? Would she ever recover from that?

He pulls his face from his hands and lets out one last, quivering sigh to banish all the sobs. In so many ways, she's his anchor now. She's what tethers him to this life that he would have so willingly traded in before. She's the only thing keeping him going, the only thing giving all of it any meaning. Without her, what would even be the point?

He reaches behind him to take her hand again, holding it tightly, much like he's doing in his sleep now.

"Stay with me forever?"

He asks it quietly, in almost a fearful tone, like a child clinging to a parent who's just returned to them after a long trip.