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Nightmare’s sleep was never peaceful.
As the guardian of negative emotions, his dreams were forever filled with human screams, weeping, and wails of despair. Those dark emotions surged like a tangible tide deep within his consciousness, dragging him down into abyss after abyss. He was used to it—truly. Over the centuries, he had long since learned how to maintain a state of semi-conscious drifting amidst the vortex of nightmares.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, the dreamscape was exceptionally quiet—eerily so. There were no screams, no weeping; there was only a warm, golden glow—reminiscent of... the color of Dream himself.
Nightmare frowned slightly in his sleep. He did not trust this tranquility, just as he did not trust Dream to truly let him go.
Yet, his body betrayed his vigilance. The exhaustion from days of flight finally broke through the dam; he sank into a deep slumber he hadn't known in ages—a pure, undisturbed sleep free from nightmares. His breathing grew long and steady, his chest rising and falling gently, and the brow that was usually tightly furrowed finally relaxed.
He needed the rest desperately. As an "Enemy of the World" hunted by Justice Reigns, he had been on the run for over a decade. More than ten years without a full night's sleep, without a hot meal, without feeling a shred of warmth.
And now, lying in a guest room—or rather, a prison cell—within Dream’s castle, he finally allowed himself to let his guard down.
What he didn't know was that the door was silently opening.
Dream stood in the doorway, his golden wings shimmering softly in the moonlight. Those wings were the proof of his betrayal, the reward for consuming the Golden Apple. Every feather was blindingly pure, standing in stark contrast to the curse that clung to Nightmare.
He gazed at the figure sleeping on the bed, his expression complex.
Nightmare’s sleeping posture was ungainly; his limbs were sprawled out like an overturned octopus. His purple cloak had long since been ruined during his flight, leaving him clad only in a thin undergarment; the collar hung askew, revealing his pale collarbone. He looked far more haggard than Dream remembered; faint dark circles shadowed his eye sockets, and his lips were cracked and dry.
Dream walked quietly to the bedside and knelt, bringing his gaze level with the bed.
"Nightmare," he whispered.
There was no response—only the sound of steady breathing.
Dream reached out, his fingertips hovering just above Nightmare’s cheek; he hesitated for a moment before making light contact. The skin was cold and dry—a stark contrast to the brother he remembered, who had once been so full of life and ceaseless chatter.
"You’ve lost weight," Dream murmured, his voice holding a softness even he hadn't realized was there.
But the next instant, his gaze hardened.
This was his brother, his twin, his other half. Yet also his enemy—the target of the Justice Reigns organization he had founded, and the sacrificial offering through which he proved the concept of "Justice" to the world.
Dream stood and began to unfasten his robes. The golden fabric slid to the floor, revealing a lean, powerful physique. The Golden Apple had granted him not only wings but a perfect, almost divine body; every muscle was sharply defined, and his skin shimmered with a pearlescent luster in the moonlight.
And Nightmare... Nightmare had nothing. No wings, no tentacles—only the curse of negative emotions gnawing at him day and night. He was the one who had been abandoned, the one betrayed, the one destined to die in solitude.
Dream pulled back the covers and carefully lay down beside Nightmare. The bed creaked softly, but Nightmare was sleeping too deeply to notice.
Dream lay on his side, watching Nightmare’s sleeping face. In the moonlight, that face looked almost as young and carefree as it had a century ago.
Dream’s hand began to move. He first rested it gently against Nightmare’s waist, feeling the body heat radiating through the thin fabric. Then, with deft fingers, he undid the fastenings of Nightmare’s undergarment.
Nightmare stirred in his sleep, murmuring a vague, incoherent word: "Dream..."
Dream froze. But Nightmare merely turned over, lying face-up, and continued his deep slumber. His under-robe hung open, revealing a pale chest and abdomen. Several fresh wounds marred his skin—marks left by Justice Reigns’ pursuers during their flight.
Dream’s gaze darkened. He leaned down, pressing his lips gently against the nearest wound.
It was a sword gash stretching from rib to abdomen; though scabbed over, it remained a shocking sight. Dream’s tongue traced the raised scar, tasting the faint tang of blood and the bitterness of medicinal herbs.
Nightmare furrowed his brows in his sleep but did not wake.
Dream’s hand moved lower. He undid Nightmare’s sash, then the drawstring of his trousers. The sleep pants slid loosely down past his hips, revealing black undergarments.
Dream paused to observe Nightmare’s reaction. His breathing remained steady; his eyelashes cast delicate shadows in the moonlight, and his lips were slightly parted, making him look utterly defenseless.
This vulnerability sent a strange, sharp pang through Dream. His brother—the Nightmare who was always bristling with hostility, always opposing him, always arming himself with biting words—lay before him now, so fragile.
It reminded him of himself a century ago. When they were children, he would sneak into Nightmare’s bed during thunderstorms, curling up in his embrace to seek comfort.
Dream hooked his fingers into the waistband of the undergarments and pulled them down, slowly but firmly.
Nightmare’s lower body was exposed to the air; he flinched instinctively and drew his legs slightly together, yet he did not wake. His sex lay quiet amidst the dark pubic hair, appearing pale and vulnerable in the moonlight.
Dream took a deep breath, feeling desire stirring within him. He gently parted Nightmare’s legs, knelt between them, and leaned down, pressing his lips against the skin of Nightmare’s inner thigh.
The skin was cool and smooth; Dream’s breath, washing over it, caused a faint shiver to run through the other’s body. Nightmare let out a soft murmur in his sleep and rubbed his legs together unconsciously, yet he offered no resistance.
The tip of Dream’s tongue traced a path up the inner thigh, drawing ever closer to that intimate core. He could smell Nightmare—not the putrid stench of negative emotions, but his natural scent: a blend of herbs, sweat, and an indefinable aroma that was uniquely Nightmare’s own.
When Dream’s lips finally closed around Nightmare’s cock, the other arched his back in his sleep.
"Mmm..." Nightmare let out a hazy moan; his brows furrowed again, and his hands instinctively clenched the bedsheets.
Dream paused, waiting for him to drift back into deep slumber. Then, he gently curled his tongue around the soft member, enveloping it in the warmth and moisture of his mouth, and began to suck slowly.
Nightmare’s breathing quickened, and a faint flush rose to his cheeks. His body was reacting instinctively, even while his consciousness remained asleep. The cock began to stir within Dream’s mouth, growing hard and searingly hot.
Dream felt a strange sense of satisfaction. His brother still responded to him, even in his sleep. This realization aroused him further; he increased the intensity of his suction, his tongue moving deftly—sometimes licking the sensitive opening at the tip, other times sliding down the shaft to taste the base.
Nightmare’s moans grew clearer, carrying the hazy, husky quality of sleep. His hips began to thrust slightly, chasing the pleasure Dream’s mouth provided, while his legs spread wide, laying himself completely open.
Dream freed one hand, moistened his fingers, and reached toward Nightmare’s rear.
That tight opening remained guarded even in sleep; Dream’s fingers hovered at the entrance, pressing gently and feeling the contraction of the muscle ring. He waited patiently—continuing to pleasure Nightmare’s front with his mouth—until the other had fully relaxed.
Then, he slowly slid a finger inside. "Ah..." Nightmare let out a sharp cry, his body suddenly tensing as his hands gripped Dream's shoulders—he was still asleep, believing this to be merely part of the dream.
Dream paused, using his fingers to gently massage the tight interior, feeling the warm intestinal walls wrap around them. He located the sensitive spot and pressed lightly.
Nightmare’s body shuddered violently, his moans rising in pitch and breaking apart. His hips began to instinctively chase Dream’s fingers; that primal craving caused his rational mind to crumble even within the dream.
Dream added a second finger, beginning to slowly stretch the opening. His movements were incredibly gentle, for fear of waking the sleeper. Every thrust was accompanied by caresses to Nightmare’s member, ensuring he remained immersed in pleasure rather than pain.
"Dream..." Nightmare murmured in his sleep, his voice tinged with a sob. "Dream..."
Dream’s heart clenched. Even in his sleep, it was Dream’s name that Nightmare called out. Not hatred, not a curse—just his name.
He leaned down and whispered into Nightmare’s ear, "I’m here, Nightmare. I’ve always been here."
Then, he withdrew his fingers and aligned his own member with the thoroughly lubricated entrance.
The entry was slow and difficult. Nightmare’s body remained tense in his sleep, forcing Dream to soothe him while slowly pushing forward. He could feel the heat inside Nightmare; that warm, tight embrace nearly made him lose control, yet he forced himself to remain patient, claiming the space inch by inch.
"It hurts..." Nightmare whimpered in his sleep, tears slipping from the corners of his tightly closed eyes.
Dream stopped moving and leaned down to kiss away the tears. He spread his wings, enveloping them both in a golden glow like a warm cocoon. His fingers continued to caress Nightmare’s front until he relaxed once more.
Then, he began to move slowly.
At first, the thrusts were shallow, ensuring Nightmare felt no pain. But soon, that sensation of being tightly enveloped caused Dream to lose his composure. He quickened his pace, thrusting deep with every movement and striking the most sensitive spot within Nightmare.
Nightmare’s moans grew continuous and high-pitched; his body instinctively rose to meet Dream’s movements, his hips arching upward and his legs wrapping around Dream’s waist. He believed he was merely having an erotic dream—a forbidden yet beautiful dream about his brother.
And Dream was making that dream a reality.
Golden magical fluid spilled from their point of union, shimmering faintly in the moonlight. Dream’s wings fluttered violently, sending feathers drifting down to blanket Nightmare’s pale body. As the feathers touched Nightmare’s skin, they brought a warm, tingling sensation that heightened his body's sensitivity.
"Dream... Dream..." Nightmare murmured the name repeatedly in his sleep, his voice filled with a softness and reliance Dream had never heard before.
Dream leaned down, pressing his lips against Nightmare’s to stifle the moans with a deep kiss. His tongue slipped into Nightmare’s mouth, tangling with the other’s languid tongue and mingling their breaths. He tasted Nightmare—a flavor both bitter and sweet, just like the man himself.
The rhythm intensified. Dream supported Nightmare’s waist with one hand while continuing to stroke his member with the other, ensuring he would reach climax. He could feel the changes within Nightmare; the intestinal walls began to contract violently, signaling the imminent release.
"Relax," Dream whispered into Nightmare’s ear. "Let me guide you."
Then, he thrust hard against that sensitive spot.
Nightmare’s body arched sharply, a silent scream escaping his throat; then, scalding fluid spurted onto Dream’s palm and splashed across their joined abdomens. His body shuddered violently—like a fish cast onto the shore—spasming helplessly in the wake of his climax.
Dream thrust a few more times before reaching his own peak. He let out a low growl as he drove his searing seed deep into Nightmare, feeling the warm, tight walls greedily swallow it all.
He held the position, buried deep within Nightmare, feeling the other’s tremors and ragged gasps. Then, he slowly withdrew; golden fluid trickled out, leaving suggestive stains upon the sheets.
Dream did not leave immediately. He carefully cleaned Nightmare’s body, using magic to erase the traces before dressing him again. His movements were incredibly gentle, as if handling a fragile, precious treasure.
Finally, he lay back down beside Nightmare and pulled him into his embrace. His wings draped over them both, shielding them from the chill of the night air.
In his sleep, Nightmare nuzzled against Dream’s chest, finding a comfortable spot before drifting back into slumber. A flush from their climax still lingered on his face; his lips were slightly parted, and his breathing was steady and deep.
Dream gazed at him, his expression complex.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "but I can't lose you. Even if it means keeping you imprisoned by my side—even if it means I can only truly have you in the darkness."
He planted a soft kiss on Nightmare’s forehead, then closed his eyes.
When the first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, Nightmare opened his eyes.
He felt a strange sort of exhaustion, yet also an indescribable sense of fulfillment. His body felt light, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. He stretched, then froze.
Dream was sleeping right beside him, his golden wings folded to partially envelop him.
Nightmare blinked, trying to recall the events of the previous night. But he remembered only a deep sleep and a strange dream—a warm, blush-inducing dream about Dream.
He looked down at his body; his clothes were neat, and nothing seemed amiss. Aside from that odd fatigue and... a certain indefinable satisfaction, there was no sign that anything had actually happened. "Stir up trouble and leave, flirt and run—thick-skinned and thick-hearted people live the longest." Nightmare silently recited this to himself, but immediately shook his head. Dream wasn't that kind of person;
He believe that everything was a case of "all or nothing"—either don't do it at all, or go all the way.
But looking at the situation now, Dream was fast asleep, breathing steadily; there was absolutely no sign that he had "gone all the way" the previous night.
Nightmare decided to attribute that strange dream to pent-up physical urges. He got out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Dream, and walked over to the window.
Outside lay Dream’s garden; golden flowers bloomed in the sunlight, and butterflies fluttered among the blossoms. Everything was so beautiful and peaceful—a stark contrast to the curse that plagued Nightmare.
"Good morning." Dream’s voice came from behind him, carrying the raspiness of someone who had just woken up.
Nightmare turned to see Dream sitting up, his golden wings unfurling in the morning light like a sacred painting. His eyes were gentle and a smile played on his lips; he looked exactly like the kind brother he had been a century ago.
"Good morning," Nightmare heard himself say. "I’m hungry."
Dream smiled, a smile that left Nightmare momentarily dazed. For an instant, he almost forgot the betrayal and hatred between them; he almost forgot that Dream was the founder of Justice Reigns while he was merely hunted prey.
"I’ll have breakfast prepared," Dream said, standing up as his golden robes slid over his body. "What would you like?"
"Anything is fine," Nightmare said with a casual wave of his hand, then added, "I’m hungry enough to eat a horse."
Dream raised an eyebrow. "You still have quite an appetite."
"After being on the run for so long," Nightmare shrugged, "I’d almost forgotten what food tastes like."
A shadow passed over Dream’s eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He rang a bell to order breakfast, then walked over to stand beside Nightmare at the window.
"Did you sleep well last night?" Dream asked calmly.
Nightmare paused for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. No nightmares—it was strange."
"Perhaps the environment here helped you relax," Dream said, his wings fluttering gently to create a warm breeze. "You’re welcome to stay a few more days."
Nightmare turned his head to look at Dream’s profile. That face remained handsome, almost divine; his golden eyes reflected the garden outside the window, appearing sincere and harmless.
But Nightmare knew this was merely a facade. Dream was the guardian of positive emotions, the betrayer who had devoured the golden apple, and the founder of Justice Reigns. He hunted Nightmare down to make the world "better," viewing Nightmare as nothing more than a blemish on his grand design.
"Why?" Nightmare asked, his voice low. "Why keep me here? Shouldn't you be handing me over to Justice Reigns?"
Dream turned his head, his golden eyes locking onto Nightmare’s. There were emotions in that gaze that Nightmare couldn't decipher—guilt, pain, obsession, and something else, something burning and intense that filled him with dread.
"Because," Dream said slowly, "I want to give us a happy ending."
Nightmare was stunned.
Breakfast arrived just then. A maid entered with a tray, arranging a lavish spread on the table. Nightmare noticed the way she looked at him—not with fear or disgust, but with a strange sort of pity.
He didn't dwell on it. The aroma of the food made him forget all his questions; he lunged for the table and began to devour the meal ravenously.
Dream sat opposite him, elegantly cutting into his own modest breakfast, occasionally glancing up at Nightmare with a tenderness that bordered on doting affection.
Sunlight streamed through the window, bathing them both in a golden glow. Were it not for the history of betrayal and hatred between them, they would have looked like nothing more than ordinary brothers enjoying an ordinary breakfast.
But Nightmare knew this peace was fleeting. Dream wouldn't be kind to him without reason; there had to be an ulterior motive behind such gentleness.
Yet, amidst the morning light, the aroma of the food, and Dream’s tender gaze, he allowed himself to forget it all for a moment.
He allowed himself to believe that perhaps a happy ending for them really did exist.
Even though he knew it was nothing but a dream.
A golden, warm dream woven for him by Dream. What he did not know, however, was that whenever night fell and he drifted into slumber within Dream’s embrace, that dream would become reality. Dream would once again invade his body, possessing him in the darkness, only to erase every trace before he woke.
This was Dream’s cage—a cage of gold and warmth, built upon lies.
And Nightmare was slowly succumbing to it.