ㅤ㇁ ㅤthinking about nolan having nightmares, sweat clinging to his skin like guilt, the sheets twisted like he fought something off in his sleep and lost. it’s not just viltrum that haunts him, though the weight of that world never really leaves, the indoctrination buried deep in his blood, in his instincts, whispering about survival and strength and loyalty to something he doesn’t believe in anymore, but it’s also earth. it’s mark’s face, twisted with fear. debbie backing away like she doesn’t recognize the man she once loved. it’s their silence, or worse, their screaming. and he knows, he doesn’t deserve to mourn what he destroyed, doesn’t deserve the ache in his chest when he wakes up gasping for a life he forfeited the moment he chose the empire. but the nightmares don’t care. they just come, over and over, dragging him back into rooms soaked in red and filled with voices that sound like his son, his wife, his people, all asking why. how he gets angry sometimes, furious at the manipulation that shaped him, made him think love was a weakness and mercy a disease. but the fury always burns out too fast, leaving only the quiet, the empty space of a house that doesn’t feel like home anymore, and the rare nights he presses his hands to his eyes and just lets himself cry, soft and bitter and alone, because if anyone saw him like that, he wouldn’t be able to explain the tears, not when so much of the pain is his own doing.
