It's raining, it's pouring

My brain is being boring

Lalalalalliteration

I have no ideas

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~ Hamlet's PoV (angstier than intended) ~

I swear I'm going insane.

I woke up again in this hellscape of my brain, internally begging to go back to laying peacefully next to Horatio. I'd said to him time and time again that this is what happened when I fell asleep. But noooo, the ever-concerned-with-my-insomnia Horatio decided I'd be perfectly fine if my cru- I mEaN bEsT fRiEnD was there with me.

He was wrong. Here I was again, lucid dreaming, unable to wake myself up no matter what I did, in the same dark hallway as always.

I sighed. If I was going to be here, I might as well try to find a safe door this time. I scanned the small plaques on each door, checking off the ones I'd already opened.

The hallway was the exact same every time. It stretched straight forward into blackness, doors lining it on each side, (il)luminated by small torches on the wall every three doors.

(A/N: I don't say illuminated because my best friend always bitches about how that's incorrect. Think about the etymology; specifically the prefix. Back to the story now.)

(YOU MADE ME SO HAPPY. THIS REALLY LUMINATED MY LIFE)

(I said back to the story, O'Kelly.)

I traced my finger lightly over a new set of words. Pulvis et umbra sumus, read the small, gold letters. I shrugged and opened the door.

Stepping over the threshold, I was immediately struck by a wave of dry cold. I shivered and took in my new surroundings.

I was standing in a graveyard on a moonless, starless night. A cruel wind buffeted every upright object, whipping the grass around and chilling the stones until they felt like ice.

I carefully made my way down the beaten path. This was a nightmare, I knew that, so I figured something wound jump out and tear me apart.

I froze as I heard whispering.

I glanced behind me, seeing a small shadow dissapear as soon as I focused on it. I swiveled around. The same thing was happening on every side.

The shadows would be visible until I looked at them, and then they wouldn't be there at all. I knew they were meant to make me question whether I'd really seen them or not, and it was infuriating.

"Very funny, subconscious," I mumbled to myself.

I turned back and marched toward the door. Nothing inside the rooms ever stopped me from leaving, but sometimes they'd try to convince me to stay.

Like now.

"It's lovely in here," the voices whispered. "You know it's easier to stay."

I shook my head. These ones were a lot less persuasive than most of the others.

"You know that we can make him love you if you stay?"

That made me stop.

"W-what?" I stuttered.

"Yes," they responded, more loudly. "He'll love you, and you can both be happy."

Suddenly, there he was, standing next to me.

Horatio gave me a doe-eyed smile that made my knees go weak. He snaked his arms around my waist and nuzzled into my neck, and it took all the willpower I had not to hug him back and relent to the whispers.

"Y-you're not real," I mumbled shakily.

"What do you mean?" He responded.

Oh Lucifer, it even sounded like him. This was Horatio's Hamlet-I'm-tired-let's-talk-about-something-stupid-and-trivial tone of voice.

"No, s-stop it. You're not him," I said a little louder, taking a small step away.

His arms dropped to his sides, following the usual rule - they can't physically stop me - but the way the corners of his lips turned down and his eyes went little wider was much more effective (affective? Shit...) than brute strength holding me back.

"Are you leaving?" he asked. I looked away.

"Yes. You're not my Horatio. I want the real one, not some dream copy."

"But the real one doesn't love you," he cooed, taking a step toward me every time I stepped back. "I love you. I'll always love you."

I was then absolutely stupid and looked back to his face. His hair was slightly ruffled, and half-lidded eyes swept over me, leaving a tingling burn behind each place he looked. He had drawn part of his lower lip between his teeth.

He reached out to run his hands up my chest, resting them on either shoulder and pulling us closer together. A strong shiver ran up my spine as I felt his breath on my face. He leaned in toward my ear, smiling slightly.

"I'm glad you're staying," he purred. "You know I'm nothing without you."

I vaguely thought about that as he nibbled on my ear. Before he could move to my neck, I pushed him away.

"Horatio would never say that."

He hung his head. I half-expected him to look back up baring fangs or something, but instead he simply stood there, hugging himself with shaking shoulders.

It was at that moment that I knew I was crazy, because I reached out, cupped his cheek, and quickly leaned into a kiss. He melted into it.

It lasted about five seconds before I pulled away, breathless, feeling extremely and inexplicably guilty.

"Why did you do that?" he asked hopefully.

"Because I know I'm never going to be able to do it in real life," I sighed.

I walked back out the door and into the hallway with what I thought was no emotion, but I was proven wrong by the lovesickness clogging my throat and the regret swimming in my stomach and the tears running down my face and fuck, when did that happen?

I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. In any proper nightmare, the ceiling would have grown spikes and begun to lower. Why wasn't it doing that? Kill me already, godammit. When you die in dreams you wake up. I wouldn't be entirely opposed to just dying without the waking up part. Waking up suggested falling asleep again later, which hadn't been treating me well as of late.

I heard my name called hazily from all directions. It sounded enough like Horatio's voice to put me right back into my guilty state as I opened my eyes to see him hovering over me like a worried parent.

"You were crying in your sleep," he explained. "I thought I should wake you up."

"Thanks," I grumbled sleepily.

"Okay, now that you're up, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

I was pretty sure he'd been awake for at least an hour. Horatio had the ungodly ability to wake up and function in the morning, and he was in his Life Has Loveliness state.

(A/N: if you know what I'm referring to, I'll love you forever.)

"So, when you dream, you've mentioned a dark hallway and doors, but I don't actually know what you're dealing with. As your best friend, I'd like you to tell me so that I can better prepare myself to assist you until the nightmares go away," Horatio stated, grinning.

I sighed internally at the words 'best friend.' I wished I could explain to him that that phrase was the problem, but my usual facade of self-confidence withered whenever it was faced with the prospect of my feelings for Horatio.

"Well you've got the concept already," I said, sitting up onto my elbows so I could make vague talky gestures with my hands, a habit I was notorious for. "I wake up in a long hallway with a bunch of doors. It's the same hallway every time, and the doors are in the same order. They contain the same things every night. I've been working my way down the hall, but a guy can only take so much Latin before he combusts. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to wake up to Hic et ubique in your face every time you fall asleep?"

Horatio shook his head.

"Yeah, I'd hope not. It's the fucking worst. So anyway, I've gone through..." I counted in my head for a moment. "... something like fifty doors now."

I tensed as he pulled me into an unexpected hug. I immediately reciprocated, of course, because who wouldn't want to hug Horatio?

Probably Claudius, because he's a bitch, but that's beside the point.

"D-did, um... did it help to have me here?" he asked tentatively.

"Yep," I lied through my teeth. It was definitely better to wake up to him instead of my empty room, but I was pretty sure the dream itself was worse.

"Good," he grinned, suddenly springing up from the bed and trotting out of the room.

"Where are you going?" I questioned.

"To make breakfast!" he called back.

~ Time skip ~

"You sure you're good?"

"Yes, Horatio. Get some sleep."

"Okay..."

About a week of my nightmares lessening, as far as Horatio knew. They'd gotten worse if anything, but I felt awful that he was losing sleep over me. Every night he'd wake me up around midnight, meaning I'd either woken him up or that he just didn't sleep at all, and I had to put an end to it.

What's one more white lie?

I rolled on my side and pulled the covers up over my head. My insomnia decided not to bother me now that I didn't have my only comfort method, so within ten minutes I opened my eyes to the dark hallway.

I shivered as I walked past Pulvis et umbra sumus. I wondered briefly if I could go back in and just talk to Horatio, but brushed it off because I'd have to leave again, and I didn't have the willpower for that tonight.

"Reliqua tuo cantabo tibi," I read aloud to myself. Hell, why not?

Upon closing the door behind me, I was instantly swamped in darkness. It was a heavy darkness, as if a black velvet curtain had fallen over the room, and it was simultaneously comforting and suffocating.

Slowly, a small light grew from a dot on the edge of my vision to an identifiable candle flicker. I backed into a corner to see whatever this room had to offer.

It was Horatio holding the candle, wandering around the space with his eyebrows furrowed in worry. He looked directly at me multiple times and didn't react. I guessed this would be a scene that I couldn't interact with.

Suddenly, he froze. I gazed into the blackness where he appeared to be looking, and slowly, a figure came into focus.

"What the hell?" I muttered, though Horatio didn't hear it.

There was a body laying there, face-up and clutching a goblet. The spilled contents of the goblet fizzled and smoked where they had splashed onto the ground.

Horatio stumbled back, holding a hand to his mouth to stifle a sob as his beautiful eyes welled up with tears. The candle was placed shakily on the ground, his trembling hands far too busy with the task of gripping the shirt of the corpse in grief to hold it any longer.

My heart shattered slowly as he cried. Horatio had always been a quiet crier; his breaths were quick and short, his noises never more than pitiful whimpers and gasping inhales.

I felt a stab of envy as he pressed his lips to the dead person's forehead, then nose, then cheek, then lips. As much as I knew I should be feeling sad for my friend and not myself, I couldn't help wishing he would show the same affection in my waking hours. Preferably directed at me and not some girl with a prettier face.

"N-no!" Horatio pleaded desperately. "You s-said you fucking l-loved me! You can't j-just leave me here! Y-you little shit, get up r-right now! This had better not be one of your s-stupid pranks to get m-me to admit anything!"

He dropped his head onto the corpse's chest. Judging by where he'd placed his head, I guessed the dead person was not female, which was reassuring. Horatio had never shown a lot of interest in women, anyhow.

He rotated to the side quickly, grasping with weak arms for the goblet. There was still a decent amount of the foul liquid at the bottom, which Horatio regarded briefly before holding the goblet up as if to make a toast.

"I'll be glad to see you well, my lord, or I do forget myself."

Wait.

What?

Was that ME?

More importantly: if that WAS me, why had he kissed me? The thought of him caring about me in that sense brought me an undeniable rush of joy, although it was entirely unfair of my cruel subconscious to tantalize me in this way.

Horatio let out one last strangled sob. I watched in slow motion as he raised the goblet to his lips and poured the last of the poison down his throat. I tried telling him no, crying for him to stop, but all I could do was helplessly observe as his body convulsed and shook.

I had screamed my voice raw by the time my scholar stilled. His arm was draped across the waist of my corpse, his head on my chest. I was on my knees next to him, but rocked into a sitting position as my knees gave out.

Oh, wait... the position change was only partly my knees giving out. I sighed in an odd combination of relief and resignation as I was rocked back and forth by unseen forces, a sign that I'd learned to recognize as someone attempting to wake me up.

I opened my eyes to an alive, moving, breathing Horatio, more worried than I'd ever seen him.

I immediately reached out for him, my trembling hands grasped tightly in his still ones.

"Jesus, Hamlet, you fucking screamed in your sleep! I thought you were dying or something!" he exclaimed, which made me cry even harder. His eyes widened in pure alarm at the state I was in.

"Oh my God, y-you're shaking, just- oh, c'mere." He pulled me into a comforting embrace and letting me burrow my face into his neck, dampening his shirt with my tears.

I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. All I felt capable of was clinging to Horatio like a lifeline as he stroked my hair.

Almost emotionlessly (because all my emotion was fixed on the image of him dying), I registered the fact that my whole body was shuddering violently and my sobs were sounding less and less normal by the second.

"S-shit, Hamlet, you're-" a look of panic crossed Horatio's face as he realized what was happening. This wasn't the first time he had witnessed one of my anxiety attacks or general breakdowns; far from it, but going by the mounting stress in the room I figured he wasn't prepared for the intensity of this one.

My breaths came out fast and short. I started to feel dizzy as he placed a hand on either side of my face, forcing my eyes to meet his.

"Hey, Hamlet, l-look at me. Breathe with me, okay?" Horatio drew in a long, slow breath. I tried to copy him. I failed. This cycle continued for maybe thirty seconds before he started to really grow desperate.

I would have smirked if I wasn't so occupied with my current activity. What does the great Horatio do when the usual methods aren't working? Drumroll, please...

He quickly pressed his lips to mine. Before my eyes could even flutter closed (much less my brain register the event), he had pulled away. I let out the breath I had apparently been holding.

"I-I can explain! I r-read somewhere that h-holding your breath works the same as breathing slowly, s-so I thought-"

"Do that again," I whispered, cutting off his flustered ramble.

"What?"

"Did I fucking stutter? Kiss me again," I said in a much more demanding tone than intended.

As my lips touched his for the second time, my mind whirled with various thoughts and sensations.

Oh my God. This is happening.

He's a better kisser than the one from the dream.

Holy shit, his lips are soft. This cannot be real.

Is that his hand on my jaw? That's his hand on my face. Hell yes.

If I wake up right now, there will be bloodshed.

Horatio pulled himself closer, straddling my hips as I slid my tongue along his bottom lip, begging for entrance, which he granted.

He giggled slightly into the kiss, only a little at first, but then collapsed into a small laughing fit while still trying to press his lips to mine, which mostly just resulted in clicking our teeth together.

"What's so funny?" I asked, slightly offended.

"Did you enjoy kissing me in the dream this much as well?"

I must have looked absolutely mortified, because Horatio just giggled harder. I felt my cheeks burn as I attempted to formulate a coherent sentence in answer, which ended up coming out as something like "How did you know?"

"You mutter to yourself when you're half-asleep. A lot. Did you know that?"

I shook my head, still flustered.

"Yeah, you really do. It's cute," he smiled, pressing another kiss to my lips. "And sometimes I learn helpful things."

"You're not telling me that you've known all along that I've been helplessly in love with you for years, are you?"

Horatio's nonchalant expression was traded for a bewildered one, and he looked deep into my eyes as if he could find his answers there.

"Y-you love me?"

My face mirrored his in realization.

"It's too late to take that back, isn't it?"

"Probably."

I sighed. My eyes darted around, trying to find something other than Horatio to focus on, but it was rather difficult with the way he was looking at me and the fact that he was across my lap, a position I thought he would only happen to hold in one of my badly-timed daydreams.

"Um... y-yeah. It just kinda happened? I didn't mean to, but you're just... ugh, you're amazing. I don't see how anyone wouldn't fall in love with you. I think it started when we were discussing the complexity of Les Miserables, and you were ranting about Javert's potential unrequited love for Jean Valjean, and how your eyes lit up and your hands waved around to emphasize your point and all I could do was admire how beautiful you were with the sunlight streaming from the window lighting up two-thirds of your unfairly perfect face- mmh!"

Horatio cut me off with another long kiss, gently splaying his hands across my chest, and my train of thought was derailed by pure beauty of this boy and the realization that he might actually feel the same way about me.

"I didn't need a biography, my lord," he sighed against my lips. "You could simply have responded with 'yes,' though I suppose that's not wordy enough for you, is it?"

"Fuck you," I grumbled. Horatio smirked.

"I'm down for that."

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What is it with me and suggestive endings lately? Idk. I guess I'm building my way up to being able to comfortably write smut.

A good portion of this was written between the times of 12:00 and 3:00 AM over several nights, so my dark humor in place of trauma can hopefully be excused.

On a completely unrelated note, watch Phantom of the Opera if you haven't already. Go. Watch it. Do it right now. I promise you won't regret it.

Till next time, faeries. May your nightmares stay at bay and your daydreams come true.