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ADRIEN DID NOT OFTEN DREAM, BUT WHEN HE DID IT FELT LIKE HE WERE LIVING ANOTHER'S LIFE. Individually, they weren't all that different. He was always looking out upon the ocean, its vast expanse reaching out onto the horizon, an uncomfortableness resting on his collar bones that did not take a physical shape. He could never move. His feet were anchored to the stone, legs paralysed by a force that was binding like chains. Adrien did not fight it. There was no reason for why he should. He didn't fear dreams.
And, yet, he had no say in the way his body reacted to certain voices. How his shoulders shook with trembles and his arms held still and tense at his sides. If he couldn't understand the old speech, the presence he bore witness to would have been the worst of it. That would have been what turned those dreams into nightmares. But he could⸺still he was not sure how⸺and the gruff voice that spoke at his shoulder, musty breath hitting the back of his neck where his clothing dipped low, was enough to wake him in a cold sweat.
He was certain, however, in the fact that he was not himself. If he were then he would have been able to recognize faces, connect voices with names. But there was nothing familiar about the coastline nor the ships that sailed in the distance, growing smaller by the minute. Adrien was used to feeling like an outsider in his own skin⸺an imposter wearing his face and using his voice⸺but he'd never felt more at home in his body than when he was dreaming inside another's. He never felt safer than when those arms would wind around his own, lifting the appendages that wouldn't move on their own, and holding him tightly. The squeeze on his wrists. The weight of the head that fell on his left shoulder, hair tickling his upper spine. The lips that kissed the side of his neck, the feeling making him want to tip his head back and relish in it. Except he couldn't.
The knowledge that Adrien didn't know this person never seemed to hit until he was stirring awake, his mind muddled by images that clouded his thoughts and stirred something in the pit of his stomach. He supposed he liked those dreams. They were strange, but they sparked something in him that made him feel alive. When it was anyone else it was nauseating in a way that Adrien couldn't seem to grasp. Where it was confusing, but he could never seem to make sense of it. And it made him sick⸺sick to the point that he would wake with tears streaming down his face and he'd curl over the side of his bed and dry heave until his lungs couldn't take the strain for much longer. And afterwards he felt violated.
His dreams would always come back to that gentle embrace, and he would always dread the moment that feeling slipped between his fingers. The safety. The adoration.
Adrien felt it stealing away from him again, the view of his hands being gently cradled by palms that were bigger than his own melting into the morning light. It poured through the sheer fabric of the curtains that were drawn but did nothing to darken the room. Adrien felt it from behind his eyelids, the scorching light that invaded his bedroom, but he didn't move. He kept his eyes closed, trying to relive those last few moments. Those moments that lessened the weight around his neck, that made him feel alive.
