Every once in a while he walks by the dilapidated excuse for a house that Nightmare called home. He'll be walking to school or from school or wherever or sometimes nowhere at all and suddenly his feet take him down that street, all the way to the end with the dead tree on the front lawn, twisted branches grasping at the sky. It was never a nice house, but after standing empty a few months it's a wreck. Still, it's strangely comforting to go there, to see it and be reassured that yeah, it exists. There really is a house and there really was a boy called Nightmare who lived there and attended school sporadically for no real reason at all and was even more fucked up than One. Debatably.
And that's it. Nightmare vanished and all One has left of him is a lip piercing and an abandoned house. The guy could at least have had the courtesy to leave a note, but then courtesy wasn't something Nightmare had been acquainted with. Whatever happened to him, he's gone now, and One is best-friend-less. Unless you count Swag, and he isn't sure he does. He isn't really sure of anything.
It's the middle of the night and he's too exhausted to stir when his window opens. He does wish he'd bothered to pull his blanket back before collapsing on his bed, or at least kept his shirt on. There's a soft rush of cold wind and something that might be the rustle of clothing, but that's it. He can only think of one person who would climb in his window at night, and Swag isn't particularly quiet or graceful with his entrances, so the silence raises some alarm.
One sits up, not afraid but annoyed and a little confused, and the figure leaning casually against his windowsill isn't Swag at all. For one thing he's taller, more gaunt than skinny, and pale as paper in the moonlight. The hardcore goth kid getup is gone, not a chain in sight just a loose grey t-shirt and plain black jeans, and his eyes are even more red than One remembers, but there's no mistaking that smile. It stretches straight and sharp across his face like the blade of a carving knife.
"Close the window it's fucking cold," One says, laying back again. Winter is just around the corner and Nightmare doesn't close the window before climbing onto the bed. He kneels on the mattress, hovering over One and still grinning the way he always did before doing something horrific. That grin was the last sight for many the neighborhood pet. He says nothing. "Where have you been, anyway?" One demands, tugging at the tangle of his blanket in a half-hearted effort to pull it up over his bare chest.
"Dead." Nightmare says simply, in the tone of mild observation most people save for commenting on the weather. One doesn't think he's joking. It wouldn't be entirely out of character, but Nightmare's idea of a joke was more along the lines of razors in candy bars.
"How?" One humors him. Nightmare lifts one shoulder and lets it fall.
"Don't remember."
"So you came back to haunt me? I'm flattered," One drawls, more convinced by the second that none of this is real. He closes his eyes, he's tired. If his friend is still around in the morning, dead or alive, he'll deal with it then.
"Something like that." Not content to be ignored, Nightmare brushes fingers like ice down One's arm and he jolts back up, eyes shooting open because holy shit that's cold. He feels the chill all the way to his bones and it aches.
"What the fuck?" One rubs at the goosebumps, trying to work some warmth back into his skin, it isn't helping. Nightmare's answer is to lean in and press freezing lips over One's mouth and it's not like it's the first time they've done that but something in One screams at him to pull away, too late and then- blood. Blood and eyes glaring lidless pupils blown - staring at him watching him he's naked and screaming with no voice and - darkness blindness screams that aren't his and are and something is chewing his organs, eating him from the inside out and there's laughter.
One is gasping with his hands pressed to the sides of his head and it feels more than a little like his skull is cracking. It's all gone, all but the laughter. That's coming from Nightmare.
"Sorry," He says without sounding the least bit sorry, "I don't know how to keep from doing that now." One's mouth tastes like blood and he can't seem to stop shaking. "You'll have to touch yourself. If I do it that'll happen again." Nightmare tells him. One takes a second to process, and then his hands are scrambling at the front of his jeans practically of their own accord.
His mouth is numb, it tingles strangely when he runs his tongue out over his lips and his piercings are like ice chips. He swallows dryly when he gets his dick in his hand and pointedly doesn't look up, not yet. One doesn't even know what the hell is going on, he's had some fucked up wet dreams before but this one is a chart topper.
He's already hard.
Stroking himself with Nightmare watching isn't as uncomfortable as he expects, he keeps his eyes on his hand and for a few seconds it's not that different from when he's alone. He glances up when he begins to feel warm again and Nightmare is rapt, his expression calculating. He looks like he's studying One jerking off, trying to learn what it's all about, or maybe trying to remember. His gaze darts up, locks with One's.
Suddenly he's moving, swinging a leg over One's lap to straddle him and bracing his hands on the mattress, face inches away. His eyes seem to glow. One leans back and moves his hand out of the way and Nightmare rolls his hips, his clothed erection sliding roughly against One's and pulling a ragged groan out of him.
"Don't touch my skin." Nightmare warns, sounding as breathless as One feels and then he jerks his hips, grinding them together again so One can only grunt his understanding.
It's a test of will, them rutting against one another at a desperate disorganized pace, increasingly wild. One wants to shove Nightmare onto his back and thrust into him, wants to tear away his clothes and kiss and bite and he has to settle for fisting the blankets and growling curses through clenched teeth.
They get closer and the control almost slips, their lips are a hairsbreadth apart, barely that, they're sharing breath in harsh gasps and One tastes blood again and it drives him right over the edge into one of the best orgasms of his life. Nightmare follows with a low noise that scrapes through One's mind like nails on a chalkboard.
By some unspoken agreement they break apart, One shoving himself back against his pillow, Nightmare sliding towards the foot of the bed. They stare at each other, breathing heavily. One's breath leaves little clouds in the chill night air, Nightmare's doesn't.
"Shit," One says when he's feeling less shattered. He doesn't say I missed you because that would be stupid. Nightmare probably knows anyway. His eyes are definitely glowing, he doesn't look human and he most likely isn't, maybe he never was, not really.
"I'll see you around, One."
He wakes up and it's freezing. His blanket is crumpled on the floor and his window is open. Still.
He can't decide if that really happened.
