AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yet another random prequel to Whispers that came out of nowhere while I was working on a fic I'd actually planned last night. Skip it if you can't stand Ken/Sena, this is a weird dose of angsty sap that came out of nowhere when I was falling asleep. I seriously promise that one of these will have at least a semi-happy ending soon. =3

Consolation
A Weiss Gluhen Ficlet
by Amet

He wakes from a sea of nightmares, pain and death and grief that echo the darkness in his soul, what's left of it, anyway. He wakes from suffering and aching to the feel of warm skin sliding along his own, slender hands pulling him closer, clutching at his shoulders. Sena looks more pensive than any shit sixteen year old has a right to, but Ken can't quite bring himself to snark about it with fingers drawing gentle patterns down his back, comfort without demands because Sena knows as well as he does the way nightmares can cling like a foul odor in the waking word. The wonder of his lover is that despite all expectation, Sena just knows, and Ken doesn't have to speak to be heard.

There is warmth here, consolation and relief. He loses himself in it for a handful of moments, tracing the sharp jut of a bony hip, lapping along the straining tendons of his lover's neck, pressing his lips to Sena's forehead in supplication, sighing contentedly when his lover is finally fed up enough with his playing to drag him down and find his lips.

It takes him a moment to realize, when Sena's eyes flutter open with an apologetic glance and they are too blue to be real, shining with an inner light that can't be possible...

"I'm still dreaming, aren't I?" he asks, trying not to feel the betrayal, spreading his palm over Sena's stomach, beneath his tee shirt and the kicker's that it feels real enough.

"Yes." Sena's fingers reach out, brushing across Ken's knuckles.

"I'll wake up and you'll be gone again," says Ken, and his voice is an accusation.

"Yes."

The apparition is calm, waiting, absently massaging his hand and he curls his fingers, drags his nails down its stomach, tipping his head in consideration as welts rise in their wake.

"Do you think," he asks, "That when I touch you he can feel it? Wherever he is?"

The apparition smiles, presses his lips to Ken's again. "I hope so. You feel good."

He loses himself again. One moment, five, it doesn't matter. There is nothing for him outside of this anymore. Every night he goes to sleep in a nightmare, wakes in a dream, wakes again to find the nightmare is real. Cold prison bed, bad prison food, and the enormous weight of the knowledge that Sena is gone and there is so much he will never say.

"I love you," he says, and there is an urgency in his voice. He can feel himself beginning to wake. "I'm so sorry that I never... you know."

"I know," the apparition soothes with a hand at his brow, smoothing back his hair, "I always knew."

He wakes in the darkness of predawn, to the suffering and aching, and he can still feel the wetness on his cheeks.

 

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