E for Hangmega: Character A wakes up from a nightmare and debates if they should wake up Character B
The lovers, the dreamers (and me) 3,202 words || The ghost of Kenny omega || angst hangman has a nightmare post winning the world title, Kenny is more of a constant ghost than a real person here, unhappy ending. trigger warnings in authors note read on ao3
Sleep has never come easy to Adam, even as a child.
He'd stay curled up under thick blankets following the inky shadows outside his bedroom window through the gaps in his curtain. A nightlight glows opposite his bed, coating his room is a soft warm light and he'd stare into the yellowness of the small round bulb until shapes would glow; bright and white behind the darkness of his eyelids. The mattress would creak and somewhere just outside his window, a horse would winny, a cow would moo and something would find comfort in the sounds outside.
Even when the world felt untouched by life and cold, Adam knew there was always something new , happening just outside the confines of his thoughts. Eventually the shadows would disappear and in what felt like seconds, the sun would rise and the cockerel would crow and Adam would scrub sleep from his eyes just listening to the old house open up and exist around him.
He almost pines for the creaking floorboards and loud animals now as he stands in the middle of a hotel bathroom. The floors are wet and there's goosebumps growing like corn over his biceps. He blinks into the harsh whiteness of the overhead bathroom light and when he screws his eyes up, he doesn't find the patterns decorating the back of his eyelids. He's just met with emptiness. He forces his eyes open and the light stares back seemingly unbothered by his silence.
He stares around the small bathroom; over neatly folded towels tucked onto a nearby shelving unit, it blends into the white tiles all perfectly polished and under his bare feet, Adam feels the underfloor heating. He shifts in place and his legs ache, pain twists around his thighs like ivy and Adam feels it sucking the energy from his tired frame. He stumbles to the shower, feels the tiles dampen against his sweaty hand and when he breathes in a little, the thick glass door fogs up and Adam slams it closed. The water gurgles through the pipes, Adam can almost feel them shake before the water spurts out, all rippling and warm over his chilled skin and he soaks in the warmth.
He feels tight muscles become loose under the hot water and the bruises that once danced just outside the confines of his skin now bloom like pansies across his chest, over the curve of his shoulder and when Adam opens his eyes, blinking shampoo off his eyelashes, he stares down at himself and follows an imperfect outline of Kenny's boot decorating his chest, its barely visible against the flush of his chest but when Adam turns to face the fogging mirror, he can imagine every little dent in an almost twisted vision of beauty. At least Kenny finally deemed him worthy of touching again.
He shakes his head, pushes the last of the now cold water off his face and Adam lets the pipes rattle once again as the water stills. The glass door slides open, now smudged with heat and condensation and when Adam turns to stare into the mirror, he's met with nothing more than a shaken outline, mutated by the mist.
He sighs into the silence, listens to the way that the world seems to move around him in an almost unnerving quietness; he pads to the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips and when he switches the bathroom light off, the world is bathed in the soft glow of the moon. Adam follows how it dances across the thick carpet, twirling between the last scrap of winter clouds and Adam wonders to himself as he pulls on clean boxes, if the dance is one of love: a tango of passion or maybe it's a waltz of pain, almost masochistic in its nature- the clouds overtake, shielding the world from the moon's beauty.
He shakes his head, blinks at himself and pulls on a hoodie. "Maybe I just gotta sleep." He says and Adam doesn't know who he's talking to, maybe to the moon who's still intertwined with her dance or maybe just to himself: saying it like a promise. He shrugs to himself and turns.
He purposely doesn't stare at the title as he crawls under the covers. They're soft against the bare skin of his thighs, the sheets dig into the skin of his calves and they're tight around him.
Like a cave, like a cocoon, like a coffin. Adam tries to not think about how it squeezes around his legs as he kicks them out. The sheets shift but they don't untuck and maybe it's the stubbornness that's flooding his veins, opening them under his skin or maybe it's the panic that makes him claw at the cotton sheets until they come away under his hands. They sit looser now, barely wrapped around his frame and when Adam breathes, it's easier to get air in the bottom of his lungs.
He doesn't lay straight away, he sits against the pillows. Watching the darkness fall still around him until the moon pokes its head out again and suddenly the world dances in silver. He sits and watches and breathes. Green eyes flicker around the empty room, tracing the outlines of shapes that Adam would know in the daytime: the curve of his jacket tossed on the back of a wooden chair, the poky sharp edges of his half open suitcase, the damp towel still crumpled on the floor- wetness soaking into the carpet. A half empty whiskey bottle tilted against the bedside lamp, the brown liquid shifting when Adam's hand reaches out to straighten it. He fiddles with the lid, feels it unscrew and pop between his fingers and soon it's resting in the middle of his hand.
He stares at it, dripping whiskey into the curves of his palms, soaking into the lines until they look like small murky rivers and any other part of him would be disgusted with himself. He licks at his palm and soaks in the feeling of alcohol twisting through his veins. Something calms inside him; the messy splattering of his heart settles into his normal rhythm and once his palm is clean.
He tosses the lid back onto the bedside table, listens to it clatter and clink against the glass and slowly he feels himself sink back against his perch of pillows, scrubbing a hand across his eyes.
He's trying not to long at it when he reaches out to reach for the bottle of whiskey again, moments later.
He takes deep, slow swallows and he licks at the top of the bottle, tongue pointed and sharp. The moon slices through the empty bottle in his hands, sends its light spilling through the room and Adam hates the way that silver and gold mix together so well. The moon highlights the world title like it's something worth being looked at and Adam can't seem to break his eyes off it. He follows the moon as it dips between the titles curls and when he sits up, the mattress under him creaking- he spots Kenny's name still burned into the nameplate.
He's staring at him, almost like he's mocking him from wherever Kenny is. Adam feels his nose wrinkle and his stomach rolls in anger. He tosses the bottle, hard enough that he's half sure that there's shattered glass glinting in the dark under the light of the moon but he doesn't bother checking. He slams his head into the pillow, feels the sharp bend of his elbow through the feathers and when he closes his eyes, they're tighter than normal. He breathes slower than normal; thick, deep, slow breathes and he counts them in his mind. He pictures sheep hopping over fences, the slow rumble of thunder, the calming sway of a sea breeze catching rippling waves and Adam feels sleep creeping up on him.
It's nice at first, sleep rolls over him in waves and Adam barely registers its happening until his breathing smooths out and it reminds him a little like being carried to bed as a kid. He tilts his chin and he almost feels his mothers shoulder; draped in soft cotton press against his cheek. He feels smaller, safer.
There's no alcohol on his breath when he breathes out. Just the hum of strawberry toothpaste and he blinks his eyes open and his childhood bedroom spills over in front of him. It builds up around him, the horse wallpaper and darkwood floors unfold like a scene from an old abandoned picturebook. He presses his feet against the end of his bed and he doesn't remember there ever being such little room. The carpet tickles the tips of his toes as he pads over it.
It's rougher than he remembers.
The floor is cold under his bare feet and Adam stares down at them, tests himself out on wobbling legs and he slams his shoulder into his dresser when he takes a step and tumbles. He learns quickly how to stabilize himself, one arm stretched outwards while he clings to the dresser. The first step he takes is tentative as if he's on ice but soon he settles and he's comforted by the normality of his steps.
Figures watch him from their shelves, they perch, peering at him and Adam feels the eyes on him long before he spots them glaring at him from the reflection of his mirror. He stares at their black beedy eyes, sees his younger face reflected back and Adam barely registers the glimmer in his eye. "UH.." His own voice feels smaller, as if it's reaching higher up in his chest and everything feels slightly off kilter.
The wallpaper peels at the top, the paint of his ceiling crackles, leaving behind exposed lumps of drywall and plaster. The floor pokes up at odd angles, stabbing against his ankles and under his feet the cold floor starts to burn.
The pain is slow at first, the bottom of his feet sting before the heat rises and it starts to burn, he raises his foot, hops back to the bed and like a child, Adam curls up under his blanket, pulls it up over his head. He lays there, curled around himself shivering and panting as the little room collapses around him. He coughs through the clouds of dust, wipes tears off the corner of his eyes. He stays, just panting and shaking under the blanket until it thickens under his fingers.
The room feels bigger when he finally peeks out.
There's no destruction under his feet. The hardwood floor, once so sharp has morphed into a plush white carpet, white walls and common artwork hangs around him and Adam pushes himself off the bed slowly. His hair twirls around the wet curve of his jaw and he pats at his face, strokes a hand over his hair. He feels taller or maybe the world is smaller and Adam feels a little like Alice in Wonderland, everything growing and shrinking around him. He breathes in the still air around him. "Cowboy."
He recognises the voice instantly, it booms around him, echoing around the empty room and this time the room doesn't fall at Adam's feet, Kenny simply pushes it down. The walls don't puff up in smoke, they just settle and Adam settles in Kenny's large hands. "I like the hair." He tugs at Hangman's curls and Adam tries not to let the pain get to him, he swallows down the wail that bubbles like acid up his throat.
"Let me go." Adam demands, his voice shaking and Kenny's laughter makes Adam's ears hurt. He shakes his head, once. Twice and Adam follows the way that mis-matched curls ripple around his head and Adam can do nothing but stare up at him, letting himself become trapped in the blue of Kenny's eyes and the vastness of his pupils.
"You don't remember this place do you?" Kenny asks and Adam stares around the room, watches how it sits out like a stage in front of his eyes and he shakes his head slowly. He feels trapped in the middle of Kenny's palm, his hands rest against his and it's violently cold as if Adam is touching something dead. "Just watch." Kenny's large finger shoves at Adam's face and he holds him still by the cheeks, pinching.
Voice whirls around them and Adam's stomach twists around itself. "Matt?" He whispers and the voice barely sounds like it's rattling through his chest. It's too quiet, too pathetic when all Adam wants to do is scream. The door creeks open and Adam is forced to watch the faceless shape of himself trailing kisses down Matt's neck and he feels sick with himself. Matt's hands come to wrap in his hair, giggling when Adam whimpers.
"You were so loved." Kenny whispers above him and Adam just, stares. Watches the scene unwrap like the worst possible gift. He leans forward, feels Kenny's fingers slip to around throat and Adam wishes the pain that comes from the slight squeeze was something new.
Matt's whimpering suddenly and like a film, the camera switches and Adam's letting him roll his hips desperately inside him. Matt's clawing at his back, whimpering out praise and Adam closes his eyes, shaking his head. The scene darkens and Adam's left, pinched between Kenny's fingers.
"Youre always so loved Adam." Kenny's voice is rougher now, almost hissed through his teeth and Adam doesn't ask if he's in pain. He simply lets himself be scooped up off his palm and he dangles, legs flailing and arms twisting in the freefall. "But you're so stupid you can't even see it!" Kenny hisses and Adam can almost taste the anger that's falling through his words. "You don't love anyone- you never have!"
"I-I have-" Adam yells and his own voice echoes back at him with a sting of pain. There's the scraping of glass against wood and Adam's above himself again, in the same hotel room that had been highlighted with the light of the moon. The room smells of alcohol and Adam wonders if it's seeming like a second sweat off his sleeping body. He feels sick, his stomach knots and cramps so tightly that he feels the acid burning its way up his throat.
"I do-" He whispers, voice hurling through his anxiety.
Kenny clicks his tongue above him and he dangles Adam like bait over an open bottle of whiskey, so close his bare feet knock against the dents of the rim and the brown liquid ripples. "At least you loved one thing." Kenny hisses and Adam almost doesn't register that he's letting him go until he's falling, tumbling through the liquid and it fills his lungs instantly. It stings and it makes his eyes hurt and Adam stares up through tears at Kenny as he just looks at him, watching as he thrashes.
"It won't love you back." Kenny snaps above him and Adam sees shadows creeping into the corner of his eyes. He feels the waves of whiskey lap at his chin, over his mouth and soon his arms sting and his head aches and it fills his lungs enough that no amount of sluttering empties them. He sinks to the bottom of the bottle.
And wakes up, sitting bolt upright and shaking in the same hotel bed. He flicks the bedside lamp on and the room spills over in bright orange light, the sun barely rises across the shadows of the city and Adam gasps for breath.
He doesn't smell alcohol on his skin when he pushes his face into his hands, forcing himself to breathe in despite the tightness of his chest. He doesn't know how long the shaking makes his hands uneasy and when he wobbles his way nervously into the bathroom, he takes moments to notice the bright red marks against his face.
There's his own skin under his nails, he picks it out from under bitten nails as he scrubs his hands. The water runs too hot and Adam pushes the faucet to cold. He washes his face, scrubbing at his skin until it stings with the cold and it's only when the shock replaces the anxiety does he sink against the bathroom door, knees cupped to his chest. He counts out loud as he breathes.
"One."
He breathes in.
"Two"
He holds it.
"Three."
He breathes out, slow enough that the air whistles between his teeth as if he's back home calling sheep.
He breathes and counts until existing doesn't feel like a chore. His fingertips tingle and when he blinks his eyes open, he's almost relieved to notice he's wearing socks and the floor is pleasant and warm under him. He steps back into the light, watches the start of the sunrise- spilling out across the sky in bright oranges and soft pinks and there's something calming to him. The moon disappears, leaves the sun to paint newness across her starry sky.
The warmth of the winter sun is pleasant as Adam strips off his hoodie. The sheets are damp with his sweat and he shifts to the middle of the large hotel bed.
His phone buzzes and Dolly Parton rings through the hotel room and Adam pads at the screen, squinting against the sudden brightness. "It ain't time for you Dolly, sorry." He apologises and when he sinks back into the pictures, he uncrumples his eyes. His pupils turn from small pinpricks to large pools and before he registers what he's doing, Kenny's picture flashes and his phone rings.
Adam pretends that he doesn't understand why he stays on the line, long after it goes dead. He stares at the screen until it darkens just a little and he scoffs to himself. "Why?" He asks himself out loud, sighing when he's met by silence. The text message that buzzes through moments later is quick and short.
"Unable to pick up. On a plane."
Adam throws his phone on the side of the bed. It bounces and settles cracked-screen facing upwards. His eyebrows scowl and he turns it over and lets himself sink back into the body-warm sheets.
Sleep doesn't come easy but the dreamless sleep is welcome.
He's late to the airport, even later to arrive home and he lets his mother lead him to his childhood bedroom. The walls are decorated with teenage posters, faded by the sun and Adam breathes in the change. "Thanks Ma." He whispers and she strokes a hand across his face, pinching at his cheeks.
"You'll always be my little boy Adam." She tells him and Adam just chuckles, turning to gaze out the world that rattles around him. He sits on his bed, listens to the squeak of the mattress springs and when he closes his eyes, something akin to a comfort he hasn't felt in months washes over him.
Sleep might never come easy but Adam will always know he can come home, champion or not, He will always be bathed in the golden glow of love from family, friends and fans.
Somewhere outside his window, a horse winnies and somewhere, an entire sea away; a couple reunites with worn down smiles.
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