𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒

021. shout out to my ex ♡

PARIS AND XANDRA SKIDDED TO A STOP, staring into a dark abyss before them. They were in a cracked, dark part of the city. In the real world, it was a homeless shelter. In Mirage, it was the largest black hole in New York. 

Xandra tugged them both to the edge, the wind whistling around them as if the hole wanted to suck them in. Illias, his face scratched from the concrete and loose rubble, wobbled slightly on his feet. Xandra shoved him upright. 

Paris brought his lightsabers up to Illias' throat, pinning him on either side. 

"Move and I'll kill you," Paris said pleasantly. 

Illias glared at him. 

Xandra pulled a metal chair with a screech, tossing it dangerously close to the edge. "Sit," she told Illias.

Illias grinned. "If I move, I'll get killed," he said lightly. 

Paris pressed the burning heat of his sabers to Illias' neck, the skin reddening and bubbling where the electric light touched his skin. 

"Sit." Paris growled, shadows growing along his face. 

Illias slowly, smirkingly, sat. 

Xandra pulled her belt from her waist, looping it around Illias' hands and the back of the chair, securing it with a vicious yank. 

"I'm gonna give him a haircut," Paris stuck his tongue between his teeth, maneuvering the tip of his blade so it sliced off a few wet strands that sliced across Illias' forehead. He grit his teeth, resisting the urge to flinch. 

"Watch him closely," Xandra warned, flexing her legs. "If he tries anything, push him into the pit." 

"As you wish." 

"Stop quoting things at me!" 

He started singing. "Is it too late now to say sorry--" 

Xandra zipped off in a blur, leaving a curl of smoke in her wake. 

"Some things never change," Illias said thoughtfully, tied to the chair. 

"Shut it, Cross," Paris snapped. "Who asked you, Cross? Who do you think you are, Cross?" 

Illias shut his eyes, pained. "Just push me in the pit already." 

NAOKI JOLTED UP IN A COLD SWEAT, PANTING. The window outside was shadowed with crumbling buildings, overgrown with moss and ivy. Wrecked cars cluttered the streets like a child's leftover playthings. The clouds grew heavy and black over the patchwork sky. 

She was back. 

Her apartment was a mosh of bright yellows and blues and greens that looked abhorrent and strange against the backdrop of the apocalypse outside. She knew she was wasting time by slinking around the place, touching the vases and paintings on the wall, stroking the duvet of her parents' bed, but she couldn't help it. As if her fingertips could prove to her what was real, and what was fake. These sheets were new, the kitchen countertop had been replaced, the fridge was recently cleaned, the rug had been washed. 

But everything was a dream. Dreams within dreams. Naoki touched her forehead. Dreams were the problem with all of this, weren't they? Naoki's dreams for control. Illias' dreams for possession, of a new world, of a relationship. Paris' dreams for friendship. Xandra's dreams for freedom. Dexter's dreams for self-confidence. Theo's dreams for a family. 

Mirage had become a place of dreams gone wrong. Who knew when that had began, but Naoki was certain it had been her fault. 

She slid on simple jeans, a black tank top and soft, chunky sweater. Her combat gear was on the table, placed there by her parents, but it felt wrong. Unforgiving, plastic, inhuman.