Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Otabek, stop!" I plead through wracking tears. "Why--" I stop and break down. "W-why are you doing this, Beka?" the sobs percolate through my words, my voice pathetic and meek. "What did I do to deserve this? I-I'll make it better--"
BEGIN TRIGGER ZONE
"Shut up," he rolls his eyes, fastening his helmet. "I've had enough. You always smell like filthy cat, you're a motherless coward, you can't take care of your own ugly appearance, and you're an asexual faggot. My new girlfriend is a lot better than you'll ever be. Let me go, Plishitsky."
"No!" I protest. "Otabek, don't," a painful hiccup interrupts my begging. "You can't leave me how my parents left me-- how everyone eventually leaves me."
I double over, suddenly not just emotionally but also physically wounded. Blood wells in my eyes alongside the stinging tears as I watch Beka rev the motorcycle and ride away, despair overflowing with the dizzyingly hot blood. I want to wake up. I know this is a nightmare. But I can't open my eyes.
END TRIGGER ZONE
"Yuratchka," a tender whisper shatters the horrifying dreamscape into momentary blankness. "My love, Yura, wake up."
I blink into a shadowy reality. The bedside lamp suddenly flickers into usefulness. Otabek's tired silhouette leans over me and presses several ginger kisses on and around my lips before speaking again.
"You're crying, Yura. Oh, Yuratchka, don't cry-- I'm here," his voice strains with empathy. "What was all that about?"
"Beka," I hug him possessively. "I-I," I stutter, trying to collect myself. "I just-- I don't want to lose you," I rub desperately at my eyes as fresh tears begin to rise. "I'm not," a long airless sob, "I'm just not good enough for you, Otabek. I'm sure the rest of the world would agree--"
"Yuri!" he chastises me gently, hushing me with more kisses, climbing on top of me now. "Who made you think you aren't good enough for me? Did I say something?" His eyebrows furrow and his voice lilts with concern and pain (at my pain?).
Pinned under him, I try to just avert his beautifully dark and serious eyes. But he catches my bleary gaze wherever I look. He prompts me again, softer. I think my heart breaks at the sound.
"Am I doing something wrong?" his voice is barely audible.
"No," it's choked but I want to wail and kick and scream beneath him. "Beka-- my Beka-- you're doing everythingright," I shake my head and frantically try to quit this dumb crying. "The nightmares, they're just so bad. They're so distorted and ugly and--"
"-- nightmarish?" he offers with a small smile above me.
"You get the idea," I sniff.
"How can I help you, Yura?" he lowers himself into another longer kiss on my lips.
Through the wall of flesh and oscillating lips I mumble into his ear, "I like this, please."
"Mm," he hums into the kiss. "I love you-- oh. We have a visitor," Otabek shifts and pulls Agape from the end of the bed.
She mewls in protest of the relocation until she suddenly lands on my chest. She apparently likes the comfort of warm skin-to-fur contact, laying down and curling up with an innocent purr. She stretches out and falls asleep almost instantly. I wipe my eyes again and look up at Otabek.
"She's very cute," he murmurs affectionately, patting first Agape and then stroking a hand through my own hair. "Almost as cute as you," he knows the line is sappy and hokey and deserves a playful punch, but all I can do is groan in response with the kitten on my chest.
"Ew," I smirk and roll my eyes, and then suddenly lose confidence.
Otabek watches the transformation on my face. He frowns again.
"Yuratchka, I do love you," he tries to console me. "Whatever your nightmare was about, it wasn't reality. This is. Here, with your loving Beka and ferocious cats and obnoxious extended family," he smiles a bit as he comes to the last part.
I fight down a new wave of tears. Fuck, does he have to be so... good? I love Otabek so much. How is he so perfect and right and--
"My love," he caresses my face, laying down again beside me. "Talk to me, Yuri."
"You left me for a better girlfriend in the dream," I admit quietly. "You called me ugly and disgusting and a faggot-- among other things," I have to bite down on my lip to quiet a new round of sobs. "But I didn't want you to go," I look up at him. "I don't want you to go. I-I..."
"Yura, I'm not going anywhere you aren't. I would never lie to you and call you worthless names either— never, Yura."
"I-I... I know."
"No, Yuri, look at me," he stares at me with the most genuine and intense look he can manage in the middle of the night under the weak light of a single lamp. "Never," he repeats. "You're beautiful and enticing and... do you mind if I consider you mine?"
"I am yours," I agree with a half-smile and another sniffle. "B-Beka... I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
"Then please do, Yura," he nods vehemently. "Marry me— let me marry you."
In terms of financial stability we might not quite be there yet, but we are both obviously emotionally ready to stop seeing other people for good and just love each other in... holy matrimonial ways.
All I can do is nod at his informal proposal, adjusting to bury my face into the crook between his neck and shoulder. Agape mewls groggily but resettles contentedly again. Reassured, when he lulls me to sleep again, it is a much nicer dream that follows.
