Chica's cold nose pressed to your hand, her tail wagging wildly as you began to stir. Your stomach was rumbling with a mix of nausea and hunger, a mix you weren't too keen on. Your hand automatically began to pet the retriever by your side on the sofa, and she eventually wandered off.

The smell of breakfast cooking woke you up a little more, and the hunger overtook the nausea for the time being. Sitting up you winced, head pounding. It had been a hell of a dream.

Dream? That was a fucking nightmare. No more alcohol for me, not for a long time.

Mark peered into the living room, looking a thousand times better and wearing an apron as he cooked. "Morning!" he said cheerfully.

You eyed him, mildly suspicious. "I'm guessing you're feeling better now?"

He nodded, smiling. "Yeah. I know you passed out, but I wanted to apologize for what I said last night. You just meant well, I just didn't want to get you sick." Silence for a little while, save for the sounds of sizzling bacon. It smelled good, you had to admit. "If you want to, I can get you a clean towel so you can shower. Feel free to stay awhile longer. I'm gonna be doing some recording today."

You took a peek at the amount of food he was making and raised your eyebrows. "Are you making breakfast for an army or something?"

Mark grinned but shook his head. "Ethan and Tyler are coming by, we're all recording something. Probably something stupid," he added with a chuckle. "You wanna stay and watch?"

You smiled back and sat at the kitchen table. "Of course I do." His grin grew wider. "What's that look for?"

"Oh nothing," the male waved you off casually. "I just happen to know some information that you might be interested in."

You didn't like that. Not a bit. You stood up, ignoring the enticing smell of the food and sighing. "The shower sounds good, Mark, if you don't mind."

The Korean male shook his head. "No, not at all. The towels are in the hallway closet next to the bathroom." He turned back to the stove as you left the kitchen, feeling out of sorts.

It's that dream. That goddamned dream I had. It felt so... real.

•●♡●•

The hot water was soothing in more ways than one. You let it wash over your head and body, oblivious to your surroundings. You didn't know how much time passed while you were inside, and to be frank, you didn't care.

It's okay. It'll be okay. I just had some fucked-up alcohol-induced nightmare.

But the pain had felt so real, that was the problem. Amidst the steam of the hot water, you frowned and looked down at last.

There were welts on your thighs.

Panic rose like bile in your throat, and for one awful second you were sure you were going to vomit, right there in the shower. Your hands sought purchase, needing support and finding none on the tiled walls. Your head spun, blurring your vision until you at last collapsed, sending shampoo and soap bottles tumbling down.

"You all right?!" you heard Mark calling from outside the door a few moments later.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine... just... slipped..." was your half-hearted reply. Luckily you hadn't hit your head on anything, but you remained on the shower floor for a few more minutes. Inspecting the welts, you felt the panic beginning to rise again. Wincing, you turned and threw up into the drain, trying to be as quiet as you possibly could.

No... no, this isn't real... I'm imagining shit, I have to be! I'm seeing things!

No, the bruises were so very real. Vaguely you felt a mild ache elsewhere, to your backside, and you recalled having been actually spanked by the demonic male.

You would have to have a talk with Mark.

•●♡●•

God fucking damn it.

You did your best to hide your annoyance once you finally emerged from the shower. How long had you really been in there? Mark already had his recording equipment set up. Ethan and Tyler had already arrived, the former shuffling what looked to be Cards Against Humanity. Maybe it was a charity stream? No, you would have stayed away if that had been the case. You didn't want to be in the way.

Smiling, Mark approached you again. "Feeling better?" When you didn't exactly respond, his grin faded a little. "Are you sure you're okay?" he whispered, gently pulling you to the side.

What could you tell him? Nothing. You realized that trying to explain that some demonized form of his had materialized and whipped you was more than a little absurd. "I'm just a little hungover," you murmured.

He nodded. "All right, I get it." A hand on his shoulder made him grin again. "You remember my friend, right, Tyler?" Mark added, with a tone to his voice you didn't quite understand.

The taller male nodded, one hand at the back of his neck and smiling a little. "Hey," was his only comment. Mark shook his head and walked away, singing something about "One-Word Tyler" and making you giggle.

"Okay, everything's good to go," called Ethan from the nearly table. With a sigh you stepped out of the room, not seeing the mildly disappointed expressions as you left. What were they expecting, for you to stick around? You honestly didn't want to force Mark into explaining the random bursts of laughter that were sure to come from you as they played. It would be best if you stayed with Chica or something.

•●♡●•

It was two hours before anybody emerged from the room they had been recording in, but it wasn't Mark who approached you. "So I hear you have a bit of a hangover," were Tyler's soft words. "Do you need a painkiller or something? I've got some if you need one."

You shook your head. Chica lay at your feet, tired from having played with you for a good hour and a half. Honestly, the hangover had just been an excuse to stay away while you thought things over.

You couldn't talk to Mark. Really, you realized that you probably couldn't talk to anybody; they would have you committed into an asylum. You began to frown despite wanting to hide your thoughts, and Tyler sat down beside you.

"What's on your mind? You sure you're okay?" he asked.

You sighed and gave him a look. "You sound like Mark. I'm fine, okay? I just... I had some fucked-up dream last night and it's messing with my brain."

"Isn't that the best part, though? It's a dream. Not real." He smiled, and you gave a valiant attempt to smile back. He seemed satisfied. "What was it about?"

Now you hesitated. Stomach beginning to churn again, you shook your head. "It's stupid. I'll get over it. Like you said, it's not real."

Except for the marks on my thighs.

A hand covered yours, squeezing it in a reassuring manner. "You know I won't judge you, right? I know I look like I would, but I won't."

Distracted, you could ignore your stomach and the dream for once, staring at Tyler's hand covering your own. He promptly pulled it away, going a light pink and standing back up. "I better get to work," he muttered, clearly embarrassed. "Got a lot of editing ahead of me."

"Darkiplier," you blurted out. When you did, you winced, already feeling stupid. "I... I had a nightmare about... someone that looked like Mark. Called himself Darkiplier. Stupid, huh?"

Tyler said nothing, only looking down at you with an expression you couldn't read. He was awfully good at hiding things like that. The longer he stood there, the more stupid you felt.

"T-Tyler... listen... don't... please don't say anything to anybody. Please. I know how stupid it sounds but I'm telling you the truth. I had some fucked-up nightmare about some demon, and it really scared me. Okay?"

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "If it happens again, call me. I won't tell a soul."