Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sprawled like a cat in a bed that was not his, Ink's hands sheepishly found Nightmare. The familiar curve of his back welcomed him in, the latter embracing him contently even as he slept.

The morning was quiet, a different shade from yesterday's thrills and well-deserved intimacy. Alone in the castle for the first time since what felt like forever, they took it upon themselves to have a fun night: one of candlelight, storytelling, and fond touches under linen sheets.

No outside sound made it through their bedroom's heavy doors, neither now nor then. Silence itself seemed muffled, as if the world knew it had no say to how Ink would find comfort in Nightmare's endless bed or the soft rhythm of his breathing.

No sooner had he closed his eyes than a soft laugh echoed through the decorated room. "Be grateful my negativity cannot harm you." Nightmare murmured, sinking into Ink's rib cage.

Ink giggled in response, ticklish under Nightmare's touch. "And you be grateful I didn't kill you in your sleep." He leaned in, teasing hands over Nightmare's chest, only to pull away with another giddy laugh. "That might be out of character for me though, right?" His eyes shifted, momentarily losing their pink shade and, in turn, yellowing in the shape of a question mark. His mind wandered, as it often did—thoughts of unimportant nothings and soft wonders.

Nightmare chuckled.

"As if your 'character' were that simple to define." He pushed himself up to sit upright, untangling from the mess of arms and legs made between them and settling comfortably against his pillows with a crooked smile. "What would they say, I ponder... The Protector of AUs, oh, so casually sleeping with its enemy, laying in its bed, making a truce behind his friends' backs." His usual theatrics took place in no time, truly awake as he were now. "Leaving himself bare and vulnerable like so... Not a care in the world. I could take advantage of you so easily."

"Hush, you." Ink rolled his eyes, hoisting himself up as well before resting a finger against Nightmare's mouth, devoid of any significant bite in his actions. "Or did you forget our adorable little date already? Which you've planned all on your own, mind you." He smiled, a faint pastel rainbow painted in his face after mentioning yesterday's affairs. "You could try to kill me but... If anything, I'd be the one to have your head at the end of it. Admit it: You've grown soft, Nighty." Ink teased. "Soft all for me."

"I'll give you soft—" Nightmare's tentacles moved towards Ink's waist, grabbing him with vile determination just as a knock on the door threw his plans of a ticklish revenge out the window. Ink's eyes darted towards the wooden piece, caught like deer in headlights, then towards Nightmare. He soon had to cover his mouth, to muffle the laugh that threatened to escape at the sight of his company pouting too much like a child told to go to bed the moment they were interrupted.

"Boss?" Cross' voice announced from the outside. It sounded unsure, albeit holding that usual meticulous brave-boy tone of his. He waited for an answer, from outside their bedroom.

Nightmare sighed. In part, out of relief. Had it been any of his other subordinates, they would've simply barged into the room or committed the inexplicable action of knocking and entering, rather than politely waiting outside. Something Nightmare was sure he'd told them was idiotic countless times, yet to no avail.

"What?" Nightmare started, in a somewhat foul mood. He did not expect them to be back so soon.

He turned to get up, the bed creaking as he moved out of its comfort and into his slippers. Then, sensing Ink's questioning eyes on him, he swiftly raised a finger to his mouth: a sign to stay put.

"We've arrived from our mission." Cross must have heard Nightmare approach the door, given his attempt to clear his throat soon after. Nightmare simply rested a hand over the doorknob, not yet turning it. "Would you like me to debrief you on what happened?" Cross asked, all too mechanically.

This was clearly a routine for them, although maybe not usually done with a door in between.

"That won't be necessary." Nightmare answered, to which Cross made a sound of acknowledgement. He did not, however, move from his spot, lingering for some yet uncovered reason, which made Nightmare all the more sour. "Is there something else that needs my attention?" He asked, albeit sounding more like a warning: to spit it out or leave.

"...Would you like to eat with us? We brought some stuff from Grillby's." Ah. Simple affairs.

"I shall not." Nightmare turned around, eye closed in certainty. "Rest and eat in the dining room with the others. You've done enough for now." Assuming the conversation over, he walked over to his lover, ready to enjoy the rest of the morning with him, only to find two wallowing hungry eyes staring right back at him. Nightmare chuckled, more out of habit than anything, before quickly covering it with a cough. "On second thought, bring me something to the door. Leave it outside and I'll fetch it later. Do not disturb me afterwards. I want to be alone for today. Make sure the others know this too."

"Yes, boss." Cross obeyed, promptly leaving the premises to follow his orders. His shoes echoed through the relatively well-furnished halls, soon announcing his descend through the flight of stairs that separated most bedrooms from the common areas—as he waited for the sound to grow distant, Ink reminisced on all the pieces of decor he'd been impressed to see when visiting the place for the first time.

He giggled, drawing his partner's attention.

"Oh?" Nightmare started, a skewed smile growing again in his face as he walked back to bed. "Mind sharing the source of your amusement?" He posed.

"Hmm... Should I? Don't think it'll be that funny to you." Ink teased, opening his arms just as Nightmare crawled close enough to call it a form of cuddling—although he still refuses to acknowledge his tendency to do so. "You might even get offended by it."

"Speak, my love. You've got me curious now."

"Alright, alright." Ink smiled, looking fondly at Nightmare's bright cyan eye—a colour he found himself painting with far more often than ever in these past few months. "Remember the first time I convinced you to let me into your base?" He started, finding a place for his hands in Nightmare's neck just as the latter shifted a little more, to just the right spot that would allow the both of them extra closeness and comfort.

"How couldn't I? You were ridiculously overwhelmed inside the castle." Nightmare remarked. Truth be told, they were both very different back then, but Nightmare can't really say he doesn't miss the sight of his lover squirming, confused and struggling to remember which hall led where, even if he found pleasures in different circumstances now.

"Pft. Yeah, well, not my fault, is it?" Ink blushed, embarrassed at the memory. "Plus, I know the whole layout by heart now! It's still a massive place though... How do you even—" He began on a tangent, to which Nightmare replied with an amused look. "Ah. Right." He let out a laugh again. "I was just thinking how weird it was to see all the art and stuff you had hanging on the walls."

"Weird? Were they not to your taste?" He furrows, looking into Ink's eyes for any sign of truth in his worries.

"No, it's not that." Ink smiled, resting his forehead against Nightmare's before continuing. Nightmare pressed his only eye shut at the feeling, letting himself relax against Ink. "I just didn't take you for someone who liked art. Back then, you were all sorts of mysteries to me." Ink laughed again, all the more embarrassed at his own confessions. "Sure, I knew part of your backstory, but you didn't really seem like much of an... you didn't seem to enjoy anything other than destruction or negativity? Not like I cared enough to learn about you back then anyway."

"Well," Nightmare began, the intention behind his interruption lost in its own action. "I must confess that you did have a part in my growing interest for art, but I also did always enjoy paintings." He posed, leaning away to think better on the subject, leaving Ink to mourn the cold breeze that replaced his embrace. "To some degree. I mostly enjoyed the classical artworks. Not that I hold anything against modern art, but it doesn't quite... grab me the same way most older works did."

"Who knew you were such an art connoisseur?" Ink joked, kissing Nightmare's frown away before looking over his shoulder, towards one of the biggest masterpieces hung on the bedroom walls. "I wonder what you'd think of my sketches." He half-murmured, lost in thought. Then, only after coming in contact with Nightmare's wide-eyed stare did Ink realise his mistake. "Oh, I'm not really—"

"Offering, yes. I figured as much." Nightmare rolled his eye with no real bite to it, a little smile lured into his face as he tried to piece together the mystery that Ink always showed himself to be. "You can keep your notebooks a private affair, paramour. I do not care." He teased. "It did, however, come as a surprise to me that you thought of showing them to me for even a moment. You tend to be... very secretive about them. Next you'll say I'm allowed in the doodle-sphere or something preposterous like that."

"I'd n—" A knock. Then, as if unsure of what to do, two tentative steps back from the door, followed by a somewhat more hurried scattering away.

"Must be the food." Nightmare mused, slowly getting up and away from Ink. "Stay put, I will get it for us."

"Pft, alright." He replied, shifting on the bed with a coy smile on his face. "I could get used to this."

"Oh, I'm sure you could." The other teased, turning the doorknob and snatching the food from the floor before closing the door behind him and smiling. "Shall we have breakfast then?"

Chapter Text

The usual pungent, citrus-like smell of paint filled the room. Nightmare sat in his bergère, a tentacle mindlessly reaching for his kettle, looking to pour its content into the imported china he'd been drinking from. His mind and hands were occupied with a book while Ink, cross-legged on the floor, engaged in what seemed to be a mysterious new art project.

The moment Ink had showed up in their bedroom, they'd spent hours commenting on any and all things. And, be it grand-scale discoveries, little intriguing details, or basic daily affairs that Ink found himself spluttering in the midst of his excitement, Nightmare would offer his own thoughts along with questions to them, trying to expand on the topics and, ultimately, satisfy his own curiosity. Yet, most of the time, his attentiveness seemed to catch the other by surprise, like Ink still didn't expect Nightmare to take part of his ramblings, regardless of how often he's done it.

Either way, it had been a rather tiring yet relatively fulfilling day for both of them. Moreover, after his original spur of energy, Ink seemed perfectly happy with spending the next few moments simply near Nightmare in comforting silence, so they decided to let the lack of words talk for itself and take pleasure each in their own hobbies.

"Would it be too cliché if we matched clothes a little?" Ink suddenly asked, wide-eyed and fixed on his painting, making swift strokes against his canvas—his focus never leaving whatever he was working on, regardless of how often his eyes changed from pink to green to all sorts of other colours. In truth, they had a way of drawing Nightmare's attention to them, like a moth to a flame. Nightmare was drawn, solely by how beautiful they were.

As banal and underwhelming as it might sound, it was true. They were eyes that spoke of so much, yet left equal mystery. Whenever Nightmare caught a glimpse of them, their intricacies, he'd be left in a state of awe.

Admittedly, that is precisely why he took a little longer to answer the query, albeit Ink did not seem to react to his unresponsiveness at all.

"Matching clothes?" Nightmare repeated, putting thought into the idea after coming back to himself. "It depends, really." He smiled, a soft blush creeping in at the mere idea of having something that, although subtle, could link the two of them in more ways than ever before. It'd speak of their closeness, an offer that truly enticed him, even with the knowledge of how dangerous it might be if they were to be discovered over it.

Nightmare rose from his seat. He walked towards his companion, trying to take a peak at what he might be painting, having now grown interested. To his, somewhat expected, displeasure though, Ink immediately covered it up, almost throwing the brush at the wall with how brusque his reaction came to be at the mere sight of Nightmare's approaching shadow.

A moment of stillness. Then, Ink blinked, once, before looking at Nightmare with a pout like no other. "Evil creature!" He accused, holding his canvas strongly against his chest, uncaring for the possible stains it might create in his clothes. If anything, he'd rather remake his entire outfit (and canvas) than have Nightmare get a glimpse of his work by pure luck.

The other scoffed, all the more amused now. "Why, how nasty." He lowered himself, sat next to Ink, and let a hand travel towards him as he smiled from ear to ear, his tentacles finding their rightful place in his companion's waist. "Am I not allowed to ask what it is you're so enthralled in, my love?"

"Yeah, but you're not supposed to look at it...!" Ink sulked just as Nightmare leaned towards him. What's more is that, despite his frowning, Ink still pressed back against him, sighing theatrically before turning his head just slightly to look at Nightmare's gleeful, clearly pleased, expression—meant purely to rile him up. "You're lucky I let you off with an insult after that one." Ink bantered, making his usual scary face before closing his eyes and inevitably kissing Nightmare, his hands finding their rightful place in the other's neck.

He squeezed his hands against fabric, mindlessly crumpling it in the midst of their intimate act. In truth, the longer they kissed the more Ink hoped Nightmare would forget about—

The canvas fell to the ground, a resounding thump following it closely and unconventionally loud. To Ink's dismay, it fell facing up.

Although somewhat smudged, simple cyan sketches of little outfits were unmistakably drawn on it, each with different details and of countless styles, but fundamentally all made with Nightmare in mind, if the tentacle-having model was of any indication. Ink's face heated at the sight of Nightmare's grin. 

"Oh?" Nightmare reached for the canvas when Ink suddenly obscured his vision, covering his eye with his palms, as if to try and remedy what had already been done—as if making Nightmare incapable of seeing it again would equal to him having never seen it. "Ink." Nightmare warned, albeit his tone held mirth. "Might you allow me to witness what you've created, my dear?" Formal to a fault, yet similar to a jester. It drew a nervous laugh from Ink.

"And if I say no?" The other quipped back, pulling a face even as he still covered Nightmare's eye. "Would you kill me for it?"

"Perhaps." Nightmare drawled out, his hands—negativity-covered, yet soft and careful—reaching towards Ink's. "Although, I have other... plans in mind." He finished, immediately pulling Ink's hands away from his face, now free to look at his lover again, before dipping him further against the floor in a surprise attack, and inescapably chuckling at the expression this brought on. As a matter of fact, he managed to startle Ink so good that it provoked exclamation marks to pop up in his eyes. "Now, mind telling me why you were so keen on hiding this little treasure from me?" A tentacle held up the canvas, framing it in a way that allowed Ink to see both his art and his companion in their utmost glory, even as he now lay with his back to the ground. "It seems I fit its target audience quite well—"

"Psh, yeah, right!" Ink interrupted with an impulsively cocky yet unsure scoff, eyes drifting towards the room in search of somewhere comfortable to sit on that wasn't Nightmare's questioning look. He felt warm, his cheeks adorned with a prominent rainbow as he tried to dig himself out of this hole. "Come on, there's plenty of moon-themed octopus-sanses out there, Nighty."

"Is there now?" Nightmare scoffed back, albeit with no bite behind the act, promptly leaning into Ink's personal space again—their faces growing mere inches apart from each other. "Well, I'd love to meet the lucky fellow then. Tell me, which timeline must I visit to have you entirely to myself now?"

Ink giggled, cutting the space between them to plant a small kiss near Nightmare's mouth. "Not telling! You'll have to learn how to share me with others."

"That, I shall not." He faux-pouted, pulling both himself and Ink upright, one hand resting on the other's waist and the other palm down against the ground behind them, before leaving a trail of kisses up his lover's neck. "Now, while I do not normally insist on the subject of your art, for I know how uncomfortable showing it makes you, I must confess you've got me awfully curious here, paramour. Why the sudden interest in making clothes for me, hm?"

"Ah..." Ink, caught up in the question, rested his forehead in Nightmare's shoulder, trying to figure out how to explain it all without drastically embarrassing himself. "Man, I don't know. I kinda just felt like it?" He admitted after some time. "I always loved making outfits, so it's not a new discovery or anything like that, but normally it's just a me-thing? Now you're here though, and—let's face it—you're kinda... the perfect model?" Ink laughed, soon followed by Nightmare. "I know how it sounds but it's not like that." A pause. "Maybe. The point is—"

"I think I understand. How about the 'matching clothes' you mentioned before? What did you have in mind for them?" Nightmare asks, his gaze deliberately avoiding the canvas in his tentacles, steadfastly focused on Ink, as if still trying to respect his boundaries the best he could, even in this scenario.

"Nothing much, really..." Ink smiles, still sat in Nightmare's lap, hands comfortably playing with the latter's jacket. "I thought of using little crescent moons and vials in the design, or maybe just colour coordinating some parts of the outfit? It'd be difficult to pull without looking suspicious though, and I really like your usual colour palette. The vials especially might be too hard to explain, now that I think of it, and— Oh! I still need to take your measures! But you're pretty similar to Swap, right? Build-wise." He rambled, his excitement lengthened by each and every single word of his. "Still, I don't think there's an easy way to make us match without raising anyone's alarm? Unless we make it really tiny and place it somewhere hard to spot. Most of the clothes I drew aren't that great either."

"How about your scarf and my hood then?" Nightmare posed. "Or maybe a new accessory instead of the actual clothing?" He smiled, more out of habit than anything, fond of the way Ink's eyes would always widen to their full extent before gradually drifting off whenever he fell deep in thought, a sign that he was taking his suggestions seriously, if anything. "Alternatively, we can always make matching clothes and simply wear them inside the castle. No need to have them be discrete if they're only worn behind closed doors, don't you think?"

"You know what, I like all of those." He giggled, eagerly pulling away from his partner before looking him in the eye and confessing. "How many is too many outfits though? 'Cause now I really want to make some new clothes for you."

"Go wild, my love. I'm expecting a full new wardrobe." Nightmare encouraged, attentively letting go of Ink's waist and canvas before turning his attention back to his now more-than-cold teacup and long-forgotten book. "Will you need to take my measures after all?"

"Nope! I'm good!" Ink answered, already half-way out of the conversation and into sketching some of his newfound ideas. "You can go back to reading! This will take me a bit."

Thus, Nightmare was left with a plethora of new turtleneck shirts, hooded jackets, pants, accessories and pyjama sets, all fashionably detailed with hand-drawn moons under small sploshes of ink, clever mixes of their colour schemes, and zippers in the shape of miniature vials.

Chapter Text

Ink knew Nightmare was near. Of course he knew. It wasn't as if Nightmare was trying to be discrete about it.

If anything, Ink felt his cheeky gaze drill into his back, like a dagger thrust with utmost precision, not even thirty minutes into the past two hours in which Nightmare sat, staring at him from the limbs of a tree.

It wasn't hard to grasp his presence, as Ink grew accustomed to it like a fish to water—Nightmare liked to stare at him a little too much, always sizing him as a prize he was certain he had won, travelling down his spine with sight alone, or fixated in his eyes for hours on end… It put Ink both on edge and at home. It was an exhilarating sensation, of both alarm and growing comfort.

Nightmare couldn't help himself either—simply found lurking around him too entertaining. Ink's daily affairs and scattered jumps were a show he'd pay to witness every day if given the chance, but, even in distance, it would cause too much concern if done often, so he had to practice... restraint. For the most part.

Today was just a special treat, he thought. And one he was sure to enjoy to its fullest. It was but a moment to truly experience his lover's life without being directly involved in it.

What first started as a one-sided stalking, however, soon turned into a game between them, as Ink started to leave hints about his next location for Nightmare to pick up on, being subtle enough not to alarm any of the Stars and making each tip harder to understand than the last—as if he were challenging his partner, telling him to keep up.

Regardless, if his brother's indiscreet nervous glances meant anything, Dream had noticed him too.

He most likely didn't understand what caused Nightmare's appearance in these AUs, much less why his presence was always a step or two behind them yet never threatened to attack, but alas, Nightmare was too preoccupied enjoying himself to do anything about it, and Dream seemed plenty overwhelmed helping people to really act on his worries as well.

If anything, he seemed to understand that Ink knew, and therefore expected him to do something if worse came to worst.

Nightmare could laugh at that—Ink seemed more than pleased with his stalking. He was instigating it, after all.

And it's not like Nightmare didn't know Dream could sense him, but he also wasn't one to feel guilty about his decision to take part in his paramour's day, especially not when he was warmly welcomed like so.

He was glad to be acknowledged by his companion as it made his usually solo pastime into a little gamble between the two of them, a fight to watch and keep up with Ink's schedule while the latter tried to find him, scanning the new scenery every time, with his colourful eyes and confident smile.

Minutes turned to hours, and hours turned to more, until—at about the sixth new location, and seventh consecutive hour of stalking—Dream and Swap each departed to different areas, promising to come back in a while with reports on what the place looked like overall, thus leaving Ink to his own volition.

A volition, mind you, which Ink immediately carried out. In a question of seconds, he dissolved into a dark cloud of ink that swirled in place, circling patterns in the snow below.

"Oh?" A low chuckle inevitably escaped Nightmare after he watched Ink dissipate completely, leaving nothing behind. Then, there was silence, broken only by the calming rustle of the tree leaves nearby. His face stretched into an uncontrollable grin, born from equal parts amusement and thrill.

He waited, studying his surroundings in hopes of finding his lover's silhouette, albeit finding mirth in how they, so suddenly, switched roles in this game of theirs—only to have Ink suddenly reappear right to his side, sat on the same branch as him with a smug expression adorning his face.

"So…" Ink laughed, each of his following words an attempt to tease. "Who are we watching today, hm?" He rested his hand against Nightmare's clothed arm, pressing softly against it.

Nightmare looked towards his lover, weirdly unrestrained, then laughed, and pressed back against Ink's own hand, leaving almost no distance between them, feeling his warmth seep in before answering with the same grossly honeyed tone. "Jealous?" He jested.

Even now, he could not stop looking at the way Ink's eyes shifted—their inexplicable golden glow now more attractive than ever, mixing into a hue of pink and orange as Nightmare spoke. "Surely you must know you're the only one for me, paramour?"

"Pft." Ink turned his face away, rolling his eyes before giving Nightmare a gentle jab on his stomach. "You're a freak, you know that?" He covered his mouth, giggles threatening to fall at the weirdness of it all. He felt giddy—giddier than usual—perhaps due to how long it had been since they'd last done anything like this outside the castle, perhaps the rush of it all got to him as well.

"Why, I believe you endorsed this 'freakishness' of mine, didn't you?" Nightmare said, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper which Ink soon recognised as one of the many hints he had left behind for Nightmare to follow. "You treacherous creature..." He leaned in. "My brother would be shocked to see you in this light, I'm sure. What would he—"

"Alright, alright." Ink covered Nightmare's mouth with his hand, eyes travelling involuntarily towards the other's before blushing. "Ever heard about being original, Nighty? You always bring up the Stars when it comes to stuff like this. It's becoming repetitive—" Ink suddenly pulled away, looking at his hand in shock, embarrassed more than anything. "Did you just lick me??"

"How is that for originality, my love?" Nightmare poked fun at him, shaking with laughter at the wild expression left on Ink. "Still, I didn't expect you to give me such beautiful reaction to that… I might have to 'up my game' as you so often say, and do things like this more often."

"What—! You…!" Redeemed speechless, Ink wiped his hand on his own clothes before pulling Nightmare for a kiss and smirking. "Payback."

"Sweet revenge, indeed." Nightmare taunted, tongue sticking out for a moment before his eye unavoidably shifted from Ink's mouth to his eyes. "Now, are you ready to leave for our date night, or must I stalk you for a few more hours before you're satisfied…?"

"…Date night?" Ink's head tilted to the side, betraying his honest confusion.

Ah.

"I see." Nightmare snickered. "So, you had forgotten, after all." He pulled a bit at the other's scarf, which promptly led Ink to search for any reminder of the aforementioned event. "Did you not note it down? I'd assume it was important enough to deserve a place on your scarf but, alas, I guess I am merely trivial to you..."

"Shush, you know that's not the truth." Ink laughed, eyes fixated on every note he had left on his scarf as of late, trying to find the right one in the midst of his usual chaotic writing. "…Dream's… Nope, not that one... Not this one either…" Eventually, his eyes brightened up. "Ah-ha! Found it!"

Inside his scarf, in a rushed letter that spoke of past excitement, read the note 'fun night out - meet @ FellAU#6284 - timeline G-21A' followed by an even messier heart drawing and several exclamation points that were meant to attract his attention, albeit having failed tremendously at it.

"Now then, shall we?" Nightmare offered his hand up to the other, standing on two feet atop the branch.

"Not yet." Ink smiled. "I still need to make sure Dream and Swap see me before leaving, or they might think you did something." He looked down at the ground, searching for any sign of his friends' return. "You're really bad at being discreet, Nighty. Even Swap could sense you nearby." A pause, and then. "Not that he's inadequate, he's just—"

"Yes, I understood your point." Nightmare chuckled, pleased with Ink's usual side-tracked ramblings. "But, I was not trying to stay hidden." He confessed, drawing the other's attention right back up to him. "It's far more entertaining to watch you when I know you're looking for me, love."

"Freak."

"Yours truly." He laughed for what felt like the millionth time today, tentacles moving to hold Ink steady as he leaned back down to kiss him once more—the pungent taste of Ink's excitement lingering in Nightmare's mouth. "Is that not why I am your favourite, paramour?"

Ink blushed, recalling his embarrassing confession a few months back, made by a sleepy-Ink who held an admission of bias like never before—scary, yet wildly affectionate, as Ink was never one to play favourites. "You never play fair, do you?" He pouted, turning away to hinder Nightmare's view of his rainbow-filled expression and, consequently, missing out on Nightmare's own cyan-hued flush.

"And neither do you." Nightmare answered, pulling Ink up to his feet before sighing. "Now, I believe they're coming this way so you better go back down soon. Meet with me after. Don't keep me waiting longer than needed, my love."

Having said his part and bidden Ink a proper farewell, Nightmare withdrew from the AU, leaving behind only a reminder of his warmth as Ink dropped back down from the tree.

Eventually, Ink met up with the Stars and heard their reports on the area, now finding himself more enthusiastic than ever, wishing to wrap things up and 'go home' fast—although this desire of his was one born from the wrong motifs—as the prospect of enjoying a careless night with Nightmare was simply too alluring to him.

Chapter Text

Truth be told, filing paperwork was not the most pleasant of activities. Signature after signature, agreements had to be signed, and Nightmare, being the only one with the power to do so in the castle, could speak from experience when it's said that the processing and handling of these documents was a test of determination, if nothing else.

It was an arduous, tedious process, worsened by the fact that Ink—his usual distraction from all things bureaucratic—could not meet him today, for avoiding each other was now a crucial step in keeping their relationship secret.

Their actions too audacious these past two weeks, full of escapades and close-calls, forced them to steer clear of each other in a desperate attempt to dissipate any suspicions their friends might have started to foster in their minds.

Having grown used to his lover's company and endless ramblings, preparing this endless pile of documents on his own felt too strenuous a task now, so Nightmare—together with his cup of freshly-made oolong tea—moved from their usual spot at his master bedroom to a desk in the main lounge, allowing him to have his subordinates' loudly useless dialogue fill the room and make his work, admittedly, somewhat more manageable.

Although they were obviously significantly less enjoyable to listen to than Ink, they would make do to counter the loud silence of his bedroom.

"You can definitely tell a lot about a person by how they fuck." Killer's voice suddenly felt louder in the confines of the room. It was like everything, side conversations and discussions alike, had been coincidentally killed with the flip of a switch, just in time for him to speak directly into the quietude. His words were brought straight into the spotlight, rather than swallowed in the cacophony of sounds that once filled the space, like Killer most likely intended.

"You an expert now?" Fell—who was spending his time in the castle for no apparent reason other than boredom and having been the one previously talking with Killer—chuckled, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"I thought you were ace." Cross, though less vocal, also spoke his confusion into the room. His eyes travelled to the side, towards Nightmare who, weirdly enough, seemed completely unfazed by it all. It wasn't as if he'd usually regard them with much courtesy or respect, so the chances of him simply not having paid attention to their chat were quite high, but Cross still found the conversation quite unnerving to have near their boss—unsure of how he'd react.

"I am." Killer smiled wider, the uneasy curves of the gesture a foreboding sign of doom, as he shifted to a more comfortable position in his seat. Then, sticking out an arm with his palm open in the air, he began explaining. "I’m just saying: If they take their time, they’re patient. If they bite, they’re playful. If they—"

"Pin your wrists down, they like control." Nightmare nodded in agreement, a flash of pink-shaded, half-lidded, victorious eyes clouding his mind.

"…" To say that silence was silenced would be an understatement.

If before this, the room was dreadfully listening to Killer's preposterous thesis and wondering what he was on about, well, now all their heads had darted directly towards the octopus whose love life they had formerly assumed to be lacklustre.

Nightmare, realising his unwanted confession, stopped writing for a moment to look up at his subordinates. "Right." He rolled his eye—tried to play it cool, as Ink might call it. "That sounded worse than intended."

"Did it? Because it sounded like experience to me." Killer joked, ultimately trying to dig for information. "Got some skeletons in your closet, boss?"

"None you should pry about." Nightmare pointed, staring the other skeleton dead in his eyes as a warning.

Things came to another silence which stretched for long, bordering on heavy and stuffy as the entire castle held its breath. They waited so long Nightmare himself frowned, wondering if he should say something else, perhaps more threateningly, or maybe offhandedly tell them to continue talking, yet Fell broke first, likely hoping to bring back the mood and forget what happened just as much as anyone else.

"…Eh, me personally?" He started, a smile creeping in. "I like my flings like I like my fights: fast, messy, and breathless."

"Nah, isn't the real fun in dragging it out?" Killer followed, laughing at Cross' exasperated facial expressions.

"Ugh, you guys are disgusting." He murmured, turning away to hide his reddening face.

"What? Not a fan of the nice-and-slow?" Killer teased him, leaning forward in the sofa.

"Just… shut up, will you?" Being the newest member of the Bad Sanses, Cross seemed to still not be quite used to Killer's constant jesting. If anything, he was growing more and more uncomfortable with their choice of conversation which, again, only served to motivate Killer into pressing some more buttons.

"No can do, pretty boy. Actually, since you're—" The conversation grew long and repetitive. Nightmare could no longer keep interest in it.

If anything, this was but another perfect example of precisely why he found Ink superior to his subordinates. Nothing Ink could ever say would grow boring this fast, no matter what. If he were to speak of shapes in the sky for hours on end, Nightmare would never find himself willingly dozing off like this.

Much to his pleasure, Ink's entire existence was too entertaining to disregard so harshly.

Either way, given that his work was close to a finish, Nightmare fast decided it'd be best to put all his attention on the last few documents, attempting to complete them in an instant and be free of the bothersome task at last.

During the process, however, he was bitterly reminded that there was no point in rushing, seeing as he could not meet Ink afterwards, nor contact him in any way.

They were separated for a reason.

A heavy sigh escaped him.

It was as if he didn't know what to do with himself whenever they were apart now. His usual pastimes had all become bleak, interest only surging in the rare moments he found an unread book in the middle of his personal library, or a rather captivating piece of art to acquire for his castle, but even then, pages and paintings could only suffice for so long.

Eventually, Nightmare would be back to longing for his paramour, to staring blankly at his ceiling while trying to figure out what he did in these free hours before meeting Ink, apart from causing negativity in the multiverse, of course.

So, Nightmare, quietly and carefully, grabbed the little vial of paint he had rightfully kept on his person at all times, safe and sound in his pants' left pocket. It was something precious, entrusted to him by Ink himself—posed as an useful resource for emergencies—in case things went south and they were in need of each other.

Nightmare did not plan to use it now, of course. It was meant to be broken in crisis and crisis only, which he planned to honour with all his soul, but he did hope to feel it on his hand—to make use of its warmth against his boredom, to think of breaking it simply to sate his needs, to reminisce…

The vial was heavy with symbolism—an object of their love, proof of their trust.

As stricken with denial Nightmare could be at times, he himself could still admit that it meant far more than most things in the multiverse ever did to him, which, mind you, still scared and confused his soul, but not more than a world without Ink did.

He was perfectly aware of his infatuation with Ink. He was smitten, indubitably weak against him when it came to his emotions. Nightmare was a romantic after all, but it was not something he wanted to explore—not now, not ever. He knew he'd learn too much about himself too quickly. Perhaps he'd realise something that would turn everything he understood into things he didn't.

Regardless, he was already far too aware of how much he'd changed these past few months to simply accept another abrupt lesson from life like this, so he chose not to think of it.

As he pondered and fought against his pondering in this moment of inner unrest, an absolute fright ran through his body, alarm-filled chills travelling down his spine at the sensation of his lover's own vial of negativity breaking somewhere in the Anti-Void.

Caught up in the frenzy of the situation, Nightmare half-impulsively stood from his chair—the jarring scrape of wood against wood, followed by the near tumble of the object (which he deftly prevented with a tentacle) pulling everyone's attention towards him.

"…Boss?" Cross moved away from the wall he was previously leaned on, widened eyes back in alert at the suddenness of Nightmare's actions. "Everything alright?"

Nightmare stilled, realising his whereabouts. "Thought I felt someone..." He frowned, making up the excuse right on the spot in which he stood before looking out the window, in hopes to sell them the act.

"An enemy?" Cross questioned, already sold—invested even—to the point where he picked up his weapon from the ground in which it was anchored and readily held it in his hands. His eyes spoke of severity; of his decision to take Nightmare's words as neither bluff nor prank, but instead a serious notice of caution.

"Yes. Secure the area outside the castle—" He stopped, faux-considering his choice. "No, it'll be faster if I do it myself. Stand on guard." He reached over to pick up his jacket, the one he so carelessly draped on the back of his bergère, then walked towards the door. "If someone besides me enters this place, you have permission to attack, but do not kill them. Interrogate. Use the dungeons if you must."

Once the conversation was deemed over with, Nightmare left the room, and soon enough, the lack of walls, of colour, of life signalled his arrival at the Anti-Void.

It was always a disconcerting sight—especially on days where he had become awfully accustomed to the gloomier interior of his abode—given how the white nothingness seemed to viciously attack his senses like a flash-bang every time. It oppressed him in a way never-before felt anywhere else, made him wish to turn back and never linger again.

In spite of that, he had come here with a purpose, and purpose which, to his much gleeful surprise, made itself heard instantly.

"Nightmare?" Ink's more-than-missed laugh echoed all over the void. His dilated eyes fixated on the octopus while his now detached hands dangled precariously from somewhere up in the space, wrists tangled and tied by Error's string. "What are you doing here?" He asked.

Having quickly scanned their surroundings and deduced to be completely alone with Ink, Nightmare answered honestly—a soft smile creeping in at about the same pace as his confusion. "You called." Then, with the intent to guide Ink through his explanation, he pointed at his own undamaged vial of paint.

"Oh, it must have broken during the fight." He noted, looking down at his, indeed, negativity-stained pocket, still uncaring about his severed limbs hanging about. "You know how things get with Error—He throws me around a lot." Ink waved his hand-less arms around as he spoke.

Then, there was silence.

"…Now that I think about it, I bet this hurts." His eyes wandered back to where his wrists originally connected, to the bones in his forearms. "Like, a lot." He half-mumbled, thinking about something to himself. His surroundings started to weigh him down, the emptiness bitter in his tongue.

Breathing weirdly slowed and practised, he grew motionless by the second—like an uncomfortably stiff statue that wanted to leave but could not move.

"As usual, you manage to bewilder me." Nightmare teased, voice purposefully louder to reach his lover's cotton-filled ears. "Truly exceptional, guardian. How about a kiss for old times' sake, hm?" Nightmare lowered himself, draping his jacket over Ink's head in hopes to cover some of the white in his peripheral, before picking him up by his waist, the other's legs soon resting on both sides of his abdomen as he pulled him closer.

"…Not even gonna lend me a hand first?" Ink shyly joked, wanting to cover the panicked rainbow spreading in his face. "You really are heartless."

"Hush." Nightmare shifted his arms slightly, attempting to scare Ink into thinking he was about to be dropped, before chuckling at the immediate yelp the action brought out of his lover. "You plagued my mind like a parasite all day, you treacherous creature. Such dedication to making me your slave—I must learn how you do it… But alas, it is useless." He half-confessed, drinking in Ink's dramatically betrayed expression. "If anything, you belong to me, remember?"

"Psh, yeah, right." Ink played with Nightmare's turtleneck the best he could, as a subtle attempt to keep himself distracted from the void they continued to be in, although he was still impaired by his lack of hands. "As if I'd ever belong to you." Almost immediately, Ink kissed him, contradicting himself and melting into Nightmare's warmth, followed by a soft yet sarcastic huff that came from his sudden realisation. "You were thinking of me all day? Aw, Nighty, you're such a weirdo…!"

"My…" Nightmare drew a tentacle underneath Ink's chin, forcing his face to focus on his own, painted with a wicked smirk. "What a mean mouth you've got today." He promptly put Ink down on both feet close beside him, then tore the strings that held his lover's hands away from him. "Now then, let's get you fixed up, shall we?" Grabbing Ink's left arm, Nightmare began trying to place Ink's hand back in place like one would do with an articulated doll, albeit with more care, and sneaking some extra fond touches to his forearm in the process.

"Thanks." Ink bitterly chuckled, appreciative of Nightmare's help just as much he found it odd and misplaced. "Ah, remember how we were taking that break to avoid looking suspicious?" Nightmare nodded in agreement, moving onto Ink's right arm soon enough. "Well, I went out today to hang out with the Stars—" His mind wandered off. "Ccino said hi, by the way! He offered to give me something to bring to you, but it's not like I could do it immediately. It'd get cold, or soggy, so…"

"We'll visit him tonight then. It'll be good to have a proper date after all this time." Having finished his work, he crossed his arms, fondly looking at the image of Ink with his jacket—he wasn't wearing it, per say, but having it over his head was already a precious sight. Nightmare smiled, already assuming their break from each other over, before gently redirecting Ink. "You went with the Stars to Ccino, yes?" 

"Yeah, and I think I might've made things even more… I mean, weirder?" Ink's hands tapped along an imaginary beat the second they were returned to him, as if he had been waiting all this time to finally be able to do so. "Dream was speaking about his childhood, then Swap asked about what you were like when you were a child, which brought on a lot of little memories for him? That was fine and all—I learned lots about you, so it was fun—but then Dream half-wondered out loud if you still mumbled in your sleep, and…"

"Let me guess... You answered without thinking?" Nightmare filled in the gaps, his smile having now grown twice in size at the irony of it all.

"Yeah?" Ink chuckled, unsure of why the other seemed to be close to laughing now.

"Why... Seems like our days bore similar fruits then." Nightmare jested, turning to detail his own chain of events with his subordinates, from the very moment he sat down at the desk to the very second he left in a hurry to help Ink.

Their plan to stay away from one another had backfired so terribly, but so terribly indeed, that it only made their friends even more curious about them, albeit in widely different ways. All left to do was pray that both sides of the story would not talk to each other about these things, or start to corroborate their evidence with one another.

Chapter Text

Whether they had nothing else to take care of and were struck with an all-consuming desire to be together, or they had planned to see each other weeks in advance and grown impatient over time, Ink and Nightmare always made the most out of their slow date-days—as well as a right mess out of their bed in following nights—by laying together, stretched out thin over ruined sheets and thrown-about pillows.

It was a ritual of theirs, born from a selfish hunger for affection and their obsession with one another.

Their longing for connection was so intense that they'd almost always devour each other the second they'd meet, so they took it upon themselves to rest together more often. During it, their words few, but desperate and warm, consisted mainly of whispered jokes and soft threats—with a precariousness in their syllables and a careless joy in their sound.

It was… nice.

Tonight, Ink took it upon himself to lay on top of Nightmare—tracing his lover's chest with his index finger while his feet absentmindedly kicked in the air—with a feline ease to his movements.

Nightmare, too, accepted Ink's presence over him, admiring his ever changing expressions for hours. So many shades and shapes had popped about during their time together, endearing and enchanting in the same way a mystery could be.

He felt himself hypnotised, like he couldn't stop looking at Ink even if he tried.

"Your eyes are so telling." He spoke softly, with the sort of gentle yet daring tone he seemed to be a master in—the kind that would stir interest in Ink for how weirdly honest it could be—for how out-of-this-world it could sound. "They speak to me." He admitted.

"Poetic." Ink shifted slightly, in equal parts suspicion and knowing confidence. "What do they tell you then, hm?" He began, his hand never stopping against Nightmare's chest. "Big secrets? My weaknesses?" He paused—mostly for dramatic purposes, which he knew Nightmare was a sucker for. "The way to the doodle-sphere?"

"No, nothing of the sort." Nightmare laughed, the sound echoing through the walls. Then, following Ink's own theatricals, he waited a beat longer before grabbing his lover's waist to pull him closer and whisper. "But they did tell me a way to your heart." He drank in the other's expression—the face he pulled that seemed to call Nightmare unbelievable before even uttering a word—the kind that Nightmare was always striving to get out of him. "And I'm sure those eyes of yours would help me find a way to break you too, if I so desired." He offhandedly threw in.

Ink scoffed. "Planning to manipulate me then?" He smirked, pushing himself away from Nightmare to tease him. "Read me like a book, then throw me away?" He kept his forearms firm against the bed to keep the distance, even as Nightmare's tentacles wrapped themselves around him to try and pull him closer again. "How cliché of you."

"Please." Nightmare taunted, silently growing upset at the empty space between them. "Throwing you out would be a waste."

"I agree." At last, Ink went back down—satisfied with his teasing—and started drawing small hearts over Nightmare's chest with his index finger all over again. "Not like I'd ever let you do anything like that anyway." He kept going, his words a challenge more than anything. "I mean, come on, do you really think I'm that naive? I don't fall for tricks so easily."

"You say that, but I can be quite convincing." Nightmare objected, his hand now moving towards the back of Ink's neck, where it soon comfortably laid.

"Ah, of course, your eternal charm." He giggled, resting his forehead against Nightmare. "How could I forget how handsome you are."

"Smart too." Nightmare laughed, feeling oddly mirthful. After another moment of silent contemplation, he decided to tease Ink a big longer, moving himself up against the bed's frame to have Ink sitting on his lap rather than laying on top of him. "You're in quite a gratuitous mood, aren't you? Showering me in praise so dutifully..."

"Pft, shut up." Ink tries to pull him away, clearly entertained.

"Oh, they turned yellow." His eyes never wavered from Ink's own, now inspecting the golden stars—like they whispered secrets to him, like he were a desperate graduate trying to memorise everything they meant. "How endearing—you find me funny too." He concluded, maddeningly provocative. Not at all innocent.

"Stop that, you freak."

"How could I?" Nightmare's expression turned soft, as if he had been doing nothing wrong all this time, before shifting to lay back down with Ink again. "They're right here, wide open for me." The connotations did not go unnoticed.

Ink, embarrassingly, did not know what to say back to keep the conversation going.

"Although, I must confess, some colours I still don't know so well." Nightmare seemed to notice, offering him yet another comment with a smirk on his face.

"Which ones?"

"Purple might be the oddest." Nightmare thought. "I can't quite grasp what it symbolises. That, and…" He trailed off.

"Hm?"

"Have they ever turned white?"

"Oh." The room stilled. Ink's shoulder rose on instinct and his feet stopped kicking in the air—eyes now red and purple, yet blank. "Probably." He half-whispered. Nightmare's brows furrowed at the quiet sound.

"You seem tense." He drew a hand from Ink's shoulder to his hand, pressing it twice for comfort, before deciding to keep teasing and make no case of the emotions simmering underneath. "Scared I'll use them against you after all?"

Ink's eyes travelled to his face, back in awareness—alive. "As if." He laughed, still quieter than usual. "Worst case scenario, I know Dream and Swap have my back. You'll never win that easily, Nighty."

"Ah. Yes." It was the other's turn to sour now. "My brother." His tone was dead. "So, he knows."

"Swap too." Ink added, unknowingly throwing wood into the fire. "What, jelly? I bet you're dying to know what white means now."

"…I suppose I do despise how close you are to them."

"Wait, you're admitting it?" Ink laughed in disbelief the very second Nightmare tried to look away, a scorn growing in his heated face. "What's with you today?"

Nightmare rolled his eyes before pointedly looking away. "I'm sure you already know that it sours my day to see you be so… physical with others all the time." He grunted. "Not like anyone will believe you, if you try to tell them."

"Goofy." Ink's arms found their place behind Nightmare's neck, pulling him closer and forcing him to look at him again. "It's so out of character for you to be so honest. I did that, didn't I?" His smile is one of victory—one his lover finds pleasure in, even though the current topic that brought it is awful. "Also, don't make it sound… Wait, is this because you saw me hugging Swap earlier today?"

Nightmare's breath hitched. "…You know—"

"—So, it is because of that!" Ink convincingly interrupted, finding his reactions adorable.

"No, you're just not giving me what I deserve!" Nightmare tried to cover up, similar to a child caught doing something they shouldn't. "It's infuriating…" He sulked.

"Oh, really?" Ink asked, drawing the other's attention again before sticking out his tongue to tease him. "So, what do you deserve, Mr. Evil Guy?"

At that, Nightmare actually laughed. He laughed because there was no other person in the whole multiverse who'd even dare to talk that way about him, much less do so in front of him. But Ink would—he could. Because Nightmare himself wanted him to—found it much more amusing that way.

"Keep that tongue out and I might just bite it." He threatened, his tentacles tightening against Ink's waist just enough to draw out a soft sound from the other.

"And if I said I like that?"

"I'd make sure you regret your weird affection towards me." He leaned in for a kiss, melting into the warmth. They shared a vision of what to do in these moments—their movements synchronised to a fault—and this time wasn't any different, but Nightmare pulled back unexpectedly before Ink got a chance to deepen the kiss. "Is my jacket bothering you? You keep fidgeting with it."

"Nah." Ink huffed out, glad to see it wasn't anything serious. "I was just thinking of what I'd look like with it." He continued, the soft smile from before back in its rightful place. "…Can I try it on?" Ink tried, studying Nightmare's expressions to see how much more convincing he'd need to get done. "You can wear my clothes too, if you'd like." Not enough. "Even the scarf." Still not quite there. "I'd like to see myself dressed head to toe in your clothes..."

"I suppose I can grant you that wish." Nightmare admitted, all too fast to sound casual.

No sooner was the idea agreed than it was acted upon.

"You know I can feel you staring, right?" In the midst of undressing, Ink pointed out, having now lifted his shirt over his neck and tilted his head back ever so slightly—chin resting comfortably on his left shoulder as the fabric hung loosely around his arms.

Behind him, Nightmare, who sat comfortably in his oversized bed, chuckled. His hands tapped rhythmically against Ink's vials, which were previously left by his side as a precaution—too scared they might break if he had them on his person as he took off his clothes.

"Does it bother you?" Nightmare's gaze remained sharp, similar to a hawk stalking its prey as he surveyed Ink's spine. His cyan eye followed the pattern that laid on his lover's back with an intensity that spoke of avid attempts to burn the sight into memory.

Much like Ink's eyes, his back was a presence that drew Nightmare in regardless of how often he'd been granted a view of it. The black and white scribbled drove him up the wall like nothing else—they were everything Nightmare had ever hoped to see.

"You suggested this." A pleased smile fell right in place as he spoke, clearly still in a teasing mood.

Ink fondly rolled his eyes. "Why do you even like it so much? Doesn't it look off?" He asked, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

"Not in the slightest." Nightmare sighed. "It's compelling. Odd, in the same way you tend to be, sure, but it's not ugly." He paused, trying to figure out what else was missing in his admission. "It's… it's you." He smiled.

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"I meant it as one." That much Nightmare knew for sure.

Whether Ink would look good in his clothes, ever tell him what the colour white meant in his eyes, or if he himself would ever stop feeling jealous over trivial things like friendly hugs between the Star Sanses, Nightmare couldn't say the same.

Chapter Text

Ink's head popped from the semi-open double doors, his colourful eyes tracing the throne room in which Nightmare diligently worked prior to this. "Are we alone?" He half-whispered—perhaps louder than he should've given he still wasn't quite accustomed to this whole 'being discreet' thing, but Nightmare nodded anyway.

If Ink were to put effort into contextualizing his current situation, he'd most likely explain that, not long after their first few dates had turned into a couple too many to consider anything short of a proper romance arc, Ink had decided to sneak around the castle during busy hours to bother Nightmare—affectionately, of course—from time to time.

Surprisingly, Nightmare took this unilateral decision of his in stride—seemed to actually enjoy entertaining him most evenings—which, mind you, went against the whole initial purpose of Ink's visits. He had half-hoped Nightmare would show some evilness, some toxicity, anything to him. Really, anything would've done it. Even a little bit of disdain would've made it far more interesting to watch. Still, nothing of the sort happened. So, Ink kept visiting as much as he could.

The walls of the throne room, devoid of any of the usual decor, seemed to become narrower as Ink made his way in. He wondered if the space was meant to feel oppressive with its emptiness—or if Nightmare just didn't use it that often to be bothered making it pretty.

Everything else in the castle was far grander than it needed be—a cliché that served Nightmare well, if Ink were to say so himself. Regardless, it did make deducing whether he was free to roam around the place without butting into anyone or not unnecessarily hard.

"What are you doing anyways?" He pulled his best teasing tone, leaning forward while standing in front of Nightmare to try and catch a glimpse of the papers that had him oh, so focused. "Looks like a lot."

"Reviewing the collected safety taxes." Nightmare curtly answered, flipping to another page.

"Psh, of course… You'll bore the audience to death, 'Mare." His eyes widened. "Ooh, can I call you 'Mare?"

"You may call me whatever you desire, paramour." Nightmare put on a thickly honeyed tone, clearly intent on drawing a reaction for Ink, who—much to his own chagrin—did visibly cringe a little. That is, before covering it up with a snicker.

"Didn't know I was your mistress. Should I be worried?" He teased back, tilting his head slightly to appear coy in the process.

Nightmare put down the paperwork on his lap, eyes slowly directing him to focus on Ink's own as he spoke. "Suits you, does it not?" His hand trailed up slowly, meeting the other's chin. "Always scurrying around the place, hiding in corners whenever someone walks in..."

"Well." He stopped himself. "Fair." Nightmare couldn't help but enjoy the sight of the rainbow on the other's expression the same way Ink seemed to enjoy his cyan. "Sure hope I'm not about to anger someone's wife though." Ink added after that awkward moment of silence and prolonged eye contact.

"Please. As if anyone else but you and your poor taste would want to be with someone like me." Nightmare retreated into his own personal space, deeming his last provocation enough toying with Ink, for now at least.

"Hey!" Ink retorted without second thought before stopping to actually process Nightmare's words. "Wait, what is that supposed to mean?" His eyes turned a purple-yellow.

"Tell me, is it the danger that does it for you? Or the tragedy of it? Why stick around me, Guardian? No one would seek to be with the embodiment of negativity for long." Nightmare quieted down for a second. "Not unless they're mad." He resumed.

"First of, you're not tragic. That would make it easier." Ink laughed all too lightly. "Stars knows I'm trying to make it easy." He mindlessly confessed, half-hoping Nightmare wouldn't search for any hidden meaning in his words, albeit that was already a lost battle. "Second of, we have a deal, so… Pretty damn good reason to stick around. But also, you love that I don't flinch around you. You love that I tease you back. Right?"

Ink had always been confident that, were he to interrupt a creator's script, he would never allow things to grow boring because of his interference. He refused to muddy other's creativity, respected them too much for it. So, now—

"I do not." Nightmare scoffed. "You're just foolish. Or fascinating. I haven’t decided yet." 

"See? You're fun." Now, it was unmistakable that hanging with Nightmare had become far too selfish of Ink. Whatever he could do in these scenarios would never be anywhere near as entertaining as what Nightmare's character could've been if Ink had simply, not done anything. It irked him to know that.

Nightmare did not seem to share the sentiment, or maybe he just didn't care about those trivialities, if the way he spoke after Ink's expression soured was any sign to go by. "Well, while you're regularly an irritating puzzle to me, I can tell something is bothering you." He sighed, darting his gaze back to the paperwork at hand—as if hoping to spare Ink from another one of his pointed looks. "I may not feel it, but I can very well see it."

"Caught me." Ink tried to laugh it off and make light of the situation. "It's nothing interesting, no need to mention it." Instead of the usual change of topic this response would provide him, Ink was met with silence. An excruciating silence that made him fold embarrassingly quicker than he'd like to admit. "Just a slump. But that's boring stuff. How about we explore your internal conflict instead? Orrr, we find a nice AU for you to have a dramatic monologue about your motives and goals?" A popular AU like Underswap would be the perfect environment to properly explore Nightmare's character, if Ink had any say in it. "Ooh, actually, tell me about those safety taxes of yours…! They might not all know about that yet."

Nightmare moved his hand, promptly tapping his own lap twice, as if to signal Ink to sit. "I'll oblige you. Not that you deserve it."

Whether it was the ambient or Nightmare's own actions, Ink suddenly imagined himself as a jester—what with how weirdly alert he felt near Nightmare, like a king ordered something preposterous of him, yet he was forced to follow orders anyway. He sat on Nightmare's lap with little to no ceremony and, as compensation, got to finally view the room in its entirety—including the door he left wide open.

The idea of getting found like this did wonders to the butterflies in his stomach, alright. Ink half debated how many readers would enjoy seeing him be caught in this setting, and if it was worth the consequences after all.

A few minutes of internal debate passed before Ink realised that he had missed Nightmare's whole explanation of what safety taxes consisted of—how they were meant to be financial support to the Bad Guys under the guise of protecting the AUs that paid them; how he was basically exploiting those who feared them, and making bank out of it— "You're still not going to preach heroism at me? Maybe something where I die in the end, so everyone else can be happy?" Nightmare joked, bringing Ink's attention back to him, right as his hand rested on the other's legs.

"I'm not here to change you, Night." Ink felt himself be weirdly honest for some reason. Perhaps being so close to Nightmare really did do something to his brain. "If anything, I like the 'mean' you. It's… nice." The skeleton stopped, thinking his words over. "It's weird, because I never— I mean, you're a character. It's not—" Once more, he failed to put it into words. "I'm not used to—" Every time he thought he had an idea on how to explain himself, he ended up trailing off instead. It was growing rapidly frustrating.

"Did I make you care?" Nightmare pulled the other in, yet again, by his chin, just so they could look at one another. To be unloved is to remain unchanged, that was something Nightmare had read a few weeks back. Now, he couldn't help but agree.

"…You might have." Ink smiled awkwardly. "So, what are you gonna do about it?" To know that you are cared for is a beautiful thing; to know that people mutually change simply because they love one another—

Nightmare truly is a hopeless romantic.

"Keep ruining you, I suppose."