He found himself awake, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. A shadow, darker than any darkness he’d seen, loomed over him, unmoving but oppressive. He tried to cry out, but no noise escaped his mouth. All he could feel were the tears streaming down the sides of his face. His chest felt as if it would implode, his lungs burned from emptiness.

He could just barely see Percy out of the corner of his eye, fast asleep, unaware. The presence continued to hold him, paralyze him, suffocate him. Then a memory. This had happened before. Right after Mum died. The same exact thing, almost every night. He just couldn’t remember it until now.

His limbs weighed a thousand pounds. Every time he tried to move, he felt as if his body sunk deeper into the bed, into the void that was below him. The panic was welling up, pushing through his throat.

“Help,” he screamed. But the scream was only a whisper. “Help...”

Percy’s hulking form appeared to stir beside him as the young man slowly sat up, roused from his sleep in groggy confusion. He couldn’t see his face, but he soon felt a strong hand grasp his arm.

“Aryn? Aryn what’s wrong?”

His voice sounded miles away. The figure still loomed.

“Help,” he repeated through the tears, eyes staring up towards the ceiling.

“Aryn, it’s okay. What’s going on? I’m here.”

The words were muffled, like he was underwater. But they were heard. He could feel his hand on him, anchoring him, keeping him from sinking further into the void.

“Just breathe, you’re not breathing.”

“I can’t…” he whimpered. “I can’t move.”

“You’re okay. You’re okay, just try. Try to move your hand.”

It was then that another strong hand grasped his own. “Squeeze my hand.”

He willed it to move, but it refused. The shadow refused. Its grip remained on him, on his mind. Terror crept in.

“Percy help, please…” he cried weakly.

Suddenly his face came into view, in front of the shadow’s. Another hand was placed firmly on his cheek.

“Aryn, look at me. You’re okay. I need you to breathe and try to squeeze my hand. Just squeeze my hand. I know you can.”

He imagined his hand moving, the muscles contracting. He focused as much as he could on Percy’s hand: how it felt, where it was, how it was holding his own, how the pressure felt, the texture of his palm. He focused on what it would feel like to squeeze it. How it had felt earlier, when they were talking.

His hand twitched weakly.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The shadow’s hand slowly removed itself from his throat, allowing him to breathe. Air entered his lungs at an unsteady, jagged rhythm. But it entered nonetheless. He focused on Percy’s face. Tears began to flow freely once again as he managed to ball up his other hand into a fist, then moved his toes, then his legs.

The shadow was gone.

He slowly sat up, trying to catch his breath. His eyes caught sight of Percy’s concerned expression. Their hands were still clasped tightly, one still holding his face.

“Aryn, are you okay?” he asked softly.

He lifted his eyes to his, vision blurry from tears as he shook his head, his lip quivering before he burst into a quiet sob.

There was no hesitation. Strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him close, a hand coming to cradle the back of his head. He buried his face in his broad chest, trembling and gasping for air as his own hands grasped at Percy’s shirt. They began to gently rock back and forth.

“Shh, it’s okay… You’re okay. I’ve got you,” he whispered into his hair.

He could feel Percy’s hands on him, one holding his head while the other gripped his side tightly. His mind was overwhelmed, terrified, traumatized. He pulled himself closer to Percy, if it were possible. His head swam as he felt disoriented, but he anchored himself to the blacksmith boy, clinging to him desperately.

Percy slowly began stroking his hair, murmuring phrases of comfort repeatedly until his breathing started to settle. He continued to rock him, a primal comfort that helped cease his sobs. As the moments passed, he could feel himself calming, the visage of that shadow beginning to fade out of his mind.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he decided to slowly remove himself from Percy, sheepishly glancing up at his face. His green eyes were warm and full of concern, and something else he couldn’t quite decipher. The way he was looking at him made his skin flush. Heat rose to his face as Percy carefully brushed a lock of hair from his damp forehead.

“What happened?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

He felt his breath tickle his nose.

“I… ever since my mum died, I’ve been having these nightmares,” he started hoarsely. “But they’re waking nightmares. Like my mind is awake but my body isn’t, or the other way around. I’m not sure… There’s always this shadow, this void. It feels… evil. And it’s holding me down and I can’t breathe or move–” his tone grew more panicked.

Percy suddenly grasped his face, gently. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t get yourself worked up again thinking about it.”

He forced himself to take a deep, shaky breath. Then suddenly he was aware of everything. He felt Percy’s hands on his face, the difference between his calloused palms and smooth fingertips. The way they were sitting, his knees cast to the side as he faced the larger man, legs touching. The heat radiating between them.

A thumb brushed delicately over his flushed cheek.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He sat silent for a moment, eyes closed.

“You are helping,” he whispered back.

He couldn’t see it, but he could just tell that a small smile was growing on Percy’s lips. One of his hands left his cheek and made its way to his arm as he slowly caressed it, making his skin prickle. His breath was close to his face again. Strangely close.

Aryn’s eyes fluttered open to meet Percy’s, their noses nearly touching. The smith’s green irises darted about his face thoughtfully, presumably taking in his features. He felt that same flutter in his stomach as yesterday, only now it was more of an unbearable tumbling.

“Aryn–”

“We should get back to sleep,” he suggested breathlessly, yet not pulling away.

Instead Percy was the one to move. He sat back slowly, almost reluctantly. Aryn caught the look of disappointment in his eyes.

“We should. Just… wake me if you need me, yeah?”

He nodded in response, turning to lie down once more, his heart thumping in his chest as uninvited images flashed in his mind.