Before I made any moves, I considered my current position. Not that I was worried about Mr. Ryujin seeing me in pajamas, but those horns that had just formed on my head could attract unwanted attention. We had talked a few times since the Blood Moon, but he never spotted me or showed any signs of suspicion. But he has a dragon quirk; he has horns and a tail. Maybe he wouldn't be fearful of my condition?
I drew a deep breath as I stood up, my legs feeling like jelly underneath me. My boy habitually leaned forward, wanting to collapse to the ground and fall asleep, but I extended my arms in front of me, catching the wall before I hit the ground.
As I stepped out of the bathroom, I flinched the moment Shinso spotted me; he was leaning against the doorway. His eyes were narrowed in slight concern for my being.
"What happened in there?" He asked.
I looked towards Shinso, sighing softly as I replied, "I fell asleep." At this moment, the tips of my horns flickered with a faint crimson energy.
Shinso looked up, tilting his head slightly in curiosity upon catching sight of this. He took a slow step back, speaking with some hesitancy in his voice.
"They seem to ...glow or something?"
I nodded, pushing up the sleeves of my loose shirt. "They seem to react to some things."
The indigo-haired boy remained silent, his gaze fixed on my peculiar horns. After a few moments, he scratched the back of his neck and chuckled softly. "You poked me in the eye earlier."
"Damn, I did..." I recalled how the moment I descended back from my mindscape, my horns had poked Shinso in his left eye.
"Anyways..." I approached the coat rack by the door leading to the hallway, grabbing my black longcoat.
"...I'm gonna see if Mr. Ryujin's awake."
Shinso suddenly took an almost assertive step forward, his brows furrowing. "Why? It's late ...like, really late."
"Remember a few days ago when you tripped on your own laces in the middle of the night just outside his room? If I remember correctly, his lights were on."
"Doesn't Ayumi sleep in the same room as him?" Shinso crossed his arms.
"I heard she moved to a room down the hall."
As I put on the black coat, I ran a hand through my dark brown hair, the edges of my fingers grazing the somewhat rough texture of my horns. I pushed open the door leading to the hallway, both ends shrouded in the darkness, only penetrated by the crimson moon. Every door was shut—potentially locked as well.
I slid on a pair of stiff slippers and left the room, moving to close the door behind me. Before I heard the clicking sound, Shinso's foot stopped the door from closing entirely. I looked back at him, sighing.
"What?"
"Where are you going?..." A small voice asked from the room.
Damien stepped out into the hallway, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His small arms moved around my waist as he buried his head into my chest, huffing. A small flush coated my face as I stiffly moved my hand up and down his back, praying that eventually he'd fall asleep and Shinso could take him back to his bed.
"I'm just going to talk to Mr. Ryujin," I replied with a twitching smile.
The white-haired boy looked up at me with unfocused, large eyes. His matching white pupils flickered with something I couldn't recognize, but it felt like something familiar.
"Will you come back to bed after?"
"Don't worry, I will." Kneeling down to meet the boy at eye level, I pulled him into a small hug.
"Promise?" Damien's voice came out muffled in my pajama top.
Instead of audibly promising, my hand kept rubbing up and down his back. Eventually, Damien's small sounds stopped, and he fell asleep in my grasp.
"Damnit..." I chuckled breathlessly, turning back to Shinso, who was still standing in the doorway.
"Could you take him back to bed?"
...
As somewhat expected, Mr. Ryujin was awake. He was sprawled in a chair in the corner of his apartment, nose-deep in a romance novel. The moment I entered, he put the book down and smiled at me.
"Hey, kiddo ...why are you up so late?" His smile was contrasted by the slight worry in his voice.
At this moment, his eyes widened as he let out a low whistle, pointing to my head. "Where'd those babies come from?"
"The Blood Moon; they're now just appearing..." I huffed, plopping down onto his bed, sinking into the soft sheets.
"Something tells me you're not here to talk about horns, though," Mr. Ryujin arched an eyebrow almost playfully in my direction.
I rolled over, staring at the ceiling as I huffed. "It's about those weird dreams I keep having."
Mr. Ryujin's smile widened as he dove into his bag, which was leaning against his chair. After rummaging for a few moments, he took out a worn, spiral-bound black notebook with stains of water and ...other substances. It had been quite a while since I last saw it, looking even more like crap.
"You didn't think I'd keep this on hand?" Mr. Ryujin opened the notebook, tossing it in my direction. I flipped to the blood-stained pages, reading the contents again and again. Back then, the words felt more resentful. However, I now feel that they'd be more reflective of who I am.
"I had a dream about—" Before I could continue, Mr. Ryujin let out a low yawn.
Mr. Ryujin stood up, walking over to the kitchenette in the corner of his apartment. He rummaged through the overhead cabinets for a while before taking out a series of herbs and ingredients. He filled up a pot with water and put it over the stove to boil.
"This feels more like a tea-time typa' talk, y'feel me?" His azure tail flicked back and forth as he chuckled softly.
"I don't really ...drink tea." I thought back to my experience at Madame Fitzgerald's house, and I couldn't help but shiver.
After all, I had encountered a lobotomy victim.
Now that I thought about it, how was she holding up? I haven't heard much about Wilfred, Bertram, or Raymond in the time since the Tremebrus incident.
My train of thought was cut short when Mr. Ryujin approached the bed with two cups of black tea. "I always try stuff even if my body doesn't want it. It's how we grow as people—by embracing the unorthodox."
I looked at the two steaming cups of tea with leaves within them. The leaves were minty from what I could smell. I grabbed one of the cups, curling my pinkie around the protruding grip. Even if it was deathly late at night, a warm beverage didn't seem all that bad. With a slightly trembling grip, I brought the cup to my lips and sipped slowly.
Mr. Ryujin watched with a passive expression, folding his hands on the edge of his chair. The moment he saw my expression change, his face softened slightly.
"How was it?"
I finished sipping the tea, placing the teacup back onto the plate. I slid off of Mr. Ryujin's bed, landing on the floor in a slump. "Not half bad to be honest."
"Ahh... you were willing to dive into the unknown for a moment, many wouldn't do that." The man leaned back in his chair, poising his arms behind his head.
Hearing his words, I couldn't help but scoff. "I think everyone would be willing to try tea."
"This isn't about the tea, but the meaning behind drinking it."
Mr. Ryujin grabbed his own cup of tea, sipping it before speaking up in a low voice. "Like we were talking about a while ago, I believe dreams are a portal into subconscious desires, alternate possibilities. They're the deepest insight into a human's psychology."
I grabbed my teacup from the small plate, sipping it as I arched an eyebrow. "I somewhat understand that. But ...I've had dreams where I hurt people, I have dreams where I see confusing things—I see things, people, and spaces I don't recognize. Isn't it scientifically proven that you see in your dreams who you've seen in real life?"
"Science? You mean the most analytical way to understand why we're here? Sure, they can read and understand pretty brain waves and fancy sequences, but I look beyond screens and analyzers, looking deeper into the most intelligent creature on the planet."
"That's ...awfully profound for a school guidance counselor." I chuckled deprecatingly, slowly drinking my tea.
"Don't get me started on the stuff I've seen from students; they're half the reason I'm like this to begin with."
"Amyways, I had a dream a few minutes ago, where a boy without a face murdered his own bully in cold blood."
Hearing this, Mr. Ryujin paused mid-sip and set the cup down, pushing the plate away. His lips parted as he licked them.
"Hmm, something more psychological? Have you had similar dreams like that one before?"
"Yes, I have. Instead, the boy ...somewhat looked like me. He was writing down in his notebook, and the bully was pounding on the door, wanting to beat him up. Shortly after, they dropped dead outside after the boy wrote something down in his notebook. He then ...dragged the bully's corpse into a dumpster to hide it."
"Write that down," Mr. Ryujin's voice suddenly grew deadpan.
"Huh?"
Before I could ask a question, the dragon-like man dove into the nearest drawer, tossing me a feather quill and some ink. His expression remained serious as I wrote down all the details I could recall from my earlier dreams.
"And ...you said he didn't have a face in your most recent one?"
"Yes, he did," I answered, not looking up from the notebook.
"Draw him for me. After all, I like to read books with illustrations." Mr. Ryujin smiled as he stood up, walking over to me.
As I began to sketch the figure I had seen murder the bully, more and more vivid details came into mind. I refrained from drawing the last scene where the boy's face began to cave in—when he started screaming. That could potentially disturb Mr. Ryujin or make him feel sorry for me.
After a few minutes, I finished the sketch, tossing it to him. Mr. Ryujin took the notebook and looked through all the filled pages—even if there weren't that many. He remained silent, lubricating the edge of his finger with his saliva so that he could flip from page to page.
"Something tells me you've written like this before," He commented, his voice and tone giving the impression of genuine—almost proud realization.
"I have written in the past... b-but I never found my old works."
"Were they poems, memoirs, stories, an essay or two?" He arched an eyebrow, smirking.
Just then, a strange image flashed through my mind. Another black notebook in pristine condition. On the cover were words inscribed in white marker and barely legible handwriting: "Isaac's Great Adventure."
"Yeah... I did write a story once, a book about ...me, maybe? All I know is that the main character possessed the same name as me."
"Ahh, self-insert fantasy, classic. Don't feel ashamed, kid. We've all done it before." Mr. Ryujin closed the notebook, setting it on the bed.
"Remember what it was called?"
"I-Isaac's Great Adventure..." I repeated the name from my mind out loud, my face flushing slightly from embarrassment.
Judging by the way Mr. Ryujin chuckled, he struggled to hide his amusement. His tail slowly wagged back and forth as he leaned back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
"What was it about?"
The question echoed in the room longer than it should have. I felt even more embarrassed as I responded with a slight tremble in my voice.
"Well...he was taken to a fantasy world like this. He also had friends and everything he wanted."
I scratched the back of my neck as I kept speaking. "Sure, the writing was probably the worst thing you'll ever read, but ...I think I was happy writing it."
After a few moments of tense, boiling silence, Mr. Ryujin sighed softly and chuckled to himself. "What if I told you that we can make the second draft together?"
"Huh?" I was taken aback by the peculiar proposition.
The man with dragon horns leaned up from his bed, his gaze meeting mine. "This notebook you have, it's its own story in a way. Over the past month we've been here, and before, you've grown and changed exponentially. You're sharper, less of a coward—"
"Hey!" I crossed my arms over my chest, scoffing.
Mr. Ryujin only laughed and kept speaking. "You're more assertive than before, you're better with people. Overall, I'd say you and everyone else can write the new Isaac's Great Adventure. You can write your own destiny..."
He leaned in close, taking my hand. "We can all get back home with your help."
"R-really now..." Feeling overwhelmed by this unique viewpoint, I scooted back and yawned. I turned to the crimson moon outside and rolled my eyes.
"I'm tired, how about you?"
"Yep," Mr. Ryujin was already by his closet, rummaging for something more comfortable to put on. I now just realized he was still wearing his daily attire.
"By the way, when I read through your book, a name popped up. Who's Silas?"