Despite the glorious distraction, Calypso slept badly the rest of the night. She wrestled with bad dreams for the better part of it, and he wrestled with her, beside her. It was a tiring thing to see such a prideful person waste her anger on dreams, but having experienced the same things over and over again ever since the regression, he understood how terrible a nightmare could be. So he did what he could—he stayed.

His hands held hers—it felt good to hold onto things, he decided. When there were more nightmares. When there were none.

Her cries that tore through the air sounded like a broken howl. Sometimes, her voice caught and got stuck in her throat. She hyperventilated, unable to let it out, stuck in her dream. Sometimes her eyes weren't even closed. She looked at him, unable to see him. Sometimes she called his name and other ones. Mean ones. Not so mean ones.

Him.

Her mother.

Her father.

Her brother.

Her uncle.

Constantine.

Phoebe.

Even Electra.

The name that she wasn't supposed to know in this timeline—it solidified that Calypso also remembered the past timeline.

Then Calypso also said something about a baby.

And Kim Taeyang.

Who is Kim Taeyang?

The name sounded very foreign, yet strangely it gave him a strange feeling, like...

Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to think about it. His focus right now was to help Calypso get through her nightmare—just like what she always did for him whenever he was battling his own.

He called her back to reality. He stayed up until she could sleep again.

He thought about it as he held her small frame, which seemed to get even smaller day by day. How hurt Calypso must have been... She never did tell him what exactly it was that haunted her. Told him to stop asking, so he did. There must be a reason for it, but fuck. He hated whatever it was that was hurting her. He hated it so much. Especially because he knew that he was one of those reasons. He hated himself for it, for hurting her.

Still, he wished for Calypso not to hate him.

Please don't hate me too much.

Because, more than you hated me, I probably hated myself more.

Oh, but this is just pure selfishness, right?

With Phoebe... he had done the noble thing–or at least he had tried. The memory of that day flashed in his head. Constantine held a blade against Phoebe's neck and how even though he had hesitated for a moment, he knew deep down that he wouldn't put down his sword and give up the empire for her; he would have let her die if it came down to it, and the only reason he had surrendered was because the bastard started threatening him with Calypso's safety. That was why he felt guilty and had tried to save her from being wrongly accused by the court.

But with Calypso, he never wanted to do the noble thing. He loved this vulnerability, this rawness where he could just be himself. Not an emperor, but Arsen.

He wanted to take care of her. He wanted her to let him. He wondered when he became so selfish.

Or was love actually the creeping, screeching monster?

Did that mean he never loved Phoebe if he was able to let her go so easily? If it was already painful enough, he knew the other option was worse.

Selflessness could be selfish, too.

He gritted his teeth in self-hatred.

Yes, it was actually my greed when I said that it was all for her.

But would I really be happy if I just gave up my greed earlier?

He wondered if he was the most terrible person in the world—if the parasite that lived inside him for years finally won. If all he ever looked for the people he loved was how well they could love him back.

This thing called love, was it always conditional like this? Wasn't love itself enough when we were kids?

The us that dreamt of a future together is no more. We're the ones who tore this castle down. We said we'd give our all, but look, we destroyed it with our own hands. They say there are no winners or losers in this game, but... I am always the loser.

He couldn't look at a mirror without getting enraged.

People said life was a struggle between resistance and submission. He said it was a struggle against loneliness.

It made him wonder if people have a limited portion of love in their quota and if somehow that was filled too much too soon, it only meant despair for the rest of their lives. Maybe because he had been loved the wrong way all this time that he could never put it right.

Maybe he was trying too desperately to fill his deserted quota. He looked for love, the personal kind—the kind that was specific only because you choose it to be. Maybe that was not healthy. Maybe that was what precisely made it impossible for him to find healthy love. Maybe he did make Calypso feel trapped.

He pulled himself into a sitting position as he gazed down at Calypso's sleeping form. Her face was contorted with stress even when she was asleep. A nervous look still lingered on her face as she murmured to herself in her state of unconsciousness.

He didn't know why he never really paid attention to her appearance before. Probably because they grew up together and have known each other since they were a kid? But at that moment, he couldn't help but think that she looked beautiful... as if she was wearing her sorrow like poetry; haunted but beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful.

Her grievances laid across her sharp-lined visage carelessly—her defense lowered in her sleep. Not relaxed, but innocent still. She looked younger—her age for once. Like someone who shouldn't carry the weight of an empire on her tiny shoulders. Like someone who shouldn't be with him.

She didn't deserve it—regardless of how beautiful he found it on her. She didn't deserve all these worries at such a young age.

His hand reached out, gently stroking between the stressed brows to ease the tension on her forehead. As if he didn't have enough of it himself, he wished he could shoulder some of hers, too.

"Was it selfish of me?" He sounded too much like a young, confused boy; ashamed of his own self-seeking. "To make you keep such a promise to an undeserving person like me?"

Yes, it was, somewhere in the back of his head, a voice replied.

She had already done so much on her part, and yet all he did was ask for more and more and more. For a promise to never escape this prison they were in just because he didn't want to be left alone.

No wonder no one loves you. He felt as if his own self sneered at him with a disgusted look.

He stroked her hair softly, thumb still rubbing circles on her forehead that was now relaxing slightly. Her face which was once distorted with nerves was now languid. Her features weren't angelic by any means. Her eyes were sharp and terrifyingly intense and the way her facial muscles contorted when she smiled could only be called chilling. Yet at that moment, he felt like she gave out an aura that was as bright as the star.

But... stars burnt out. The fuel that made them shimmer and shine also made them spend. The devotion Calypso Berenice gave for her duties must chafe away her own self-preservation. A star took a billion years to perish; how much longer did she have? How was that compromised if she hovered around the likes of him?

"It's okay even if you break your promise," he said, in spite of knowing she couldn't hear him. "I'm fine with it." The words were whispered against her forehead, pressed in the form of a kiss atop her crown.

If you can't hold on, it's okay to let go. You're already more than enough to be loved.

It was then that he felt her body move just slightly, her eyes were fluttering open, and Arsen almost jumped out of the bed out of embarrassment.

Did she hear what I said?

"Aren't you going to sleep?" Calypso hummed sleepily.

"I—I..." Arsen found it hard to even utter a single word.

She reached out her hand and tugged his sleeve lightly.

"Sleep! There will be a meeting with the committee tomorrow morning." Her voice sounded like a command even in her sleepy state. "We have to go... together," she said as if it was an afterthought before closing her eyes again.

Together.

That word rang in his head as he stared at her; his heart was hammering like a fragile bird.

It took him a few more seconds to get himself together. By then, he just shook his head and smiled helplessly at her poor attempt at pretending that she didn't hear what he just said; appreciated it, too.

He laid himself beside her and slipped under the comfort of the blanket. She grabbed his arm and pulled, and before he knew it, they were under the blanket together as she snuggled cozily on his chest. He buried his face in her hair. She smelled like old books and expensive lotion.

He still wondered if what they did was a toxic thing. If it was wrong to deceive themselves with this false tranquility—but well, they were toxic people anyway. They were the farthest thing from goodness or healthy or anything.

Bad things... No, broken things. Though it might be possible to mend, you can't expect them to work properly, right?

So yes, it might be silly, it might be juvenile or borderline pointless, because nothing had really changed except their sleeping arrangements. 

They still had nightmares. They still carried a choking emptiness because they could never put the blame on someone else and be a child for once. 

And Arsen realized now the helplessness of caring—how it gave you an illusion of the right you have over the thing you—you love, because he couldn't save her from this hell—couldn't really carry her anger, only mirrored it in his own way.

But at least they could pretend it was enough.

***

Author's Note:

Hello guys, I'm finally back from death. Hahaha... I know it's been a long time since I last updated, but real life stuff happened, so yeah...

Anyway, this chapter is just a continuation of the previous chapter so it's a bit short, but I promise the next one will be longer. Last but not least, I hope you enjoy it! Vote and comment are always welcome.