The voices were loud in his ear, calls for his expulsion mixing with demands of execution. Everything was overwhelming, leaving him rooted in place as people argued about his fate. There were too many noises, too much going on at once, it was all too much. He couldn’t move no matter how much he wanted to, stuck as if his feet had taken root like a tree, left at other people’s mercy. No matter how deep his breaths were, it felt like no oxygen entered his lungs, the feeling of an invisible hand wrapping around his throat to keep non-existent air trapped inside him. He couldn’t cry, even as his eyes stung with painful heat. It felt like his heart was beating in his throat, a tight knot in his stomach.  

 

When Ron woke up, it wasn’t with a yell, or a start. He didn’t make a sound.  

Instead, his eyes slipped open, and he stared out into the air of the dark room, up into the ceiling. His eyes stung and he wiped away tears clinging to his eyelashes.  

The cat was lying on top of him, a heavy lump on his chest. Every so often a snore would escape its tiny little nose. Before Kiku forced the cat onto him he hadn’t known that was a thing cats could do.  

Lifting the cat off his chest, he climbed to his feet, pulling on a cardigan to keep as much of the bed’s lingering warmth to himself as possible. He could hear Toto’s voice call out for him, more asleep than awake. “I’m just getting some water,” he responded to the murmurs, which made Toto settle again.  

 

The water nearly overflowed in the glass as he stared into the bottom of it. It had been a while since he last had a bad dream. He turned to look out the window, leaning against the counter. He could feel the cool material of it through his pyjamas, the cardigan not quite long enough to form a barrier against it.

At least it wasn’t a full-on night terror. He didn’t miss those.  

 

It was snowing outside, the flurry of chunky white snowflakes obscuring the neon lights. The occasional car illuminated the night with their headlights, the closest streetlamp that had flickered and died last night leaving the street a little bit darker than usual.  

 

The last time he’d had a night terror had been while he was hospitalised. It made sense, after all that Milo had put them through on that cruise. Him and Shachi had never been friends, but everything surrounding the cruise had messed with his head. If he’d been forced to kill Toto, he didn’t think just shutting himself inside his apartment would have been enough. If Milo had gotten his way, be it through killing Toto or Milo himself, he wasn’t sure if he could’ve gone on living.  

 

His fingertips lingered on top of the bandages around his neck.  

 

He’d been surprised when he woke up in the hospital. Frankly, he had expected to die. He knew you could survive having your throat cut, but out at sea he hadn’t seen his odds as very high. If it hadn’t been for Doctor Hirsch he would’ve been dead long before they reached shore.  

He had yet to really look at the scar in the mirror too closely. First, he had excused his hesitation to do so on it being too fresh, but that wasn’t all there was to it. He’d been unable to look away from the large scar left on him by the Moriarty family five years ago, lamenting the loss of his dreams and future. This time... he wasn’t really sure himself why he couldn’t bear to look at it, even months removed from the incident. He didn’t want to examine his feelings too closely, but now, in the middle of the winter night, he felt stuck in them.  

 

Putting the glass of water on the counter, he didn’t think about how he hadn’t had a single drop of it when he walked up to the widow, unwrapping the gauze around his neck. His fingers ran right beneath the scar.  

His reflection didn’t give as clear an image as a mirror would, but he could see it well enough for now.  

The surgeons had done as good a job as he could have hoped for. Even after surviving, he hadn’t been sure if he’d be able to get his voice back. He was lucky. His voice was a little bit different from before, and for quite a while he’d have to make sure not to strain it too much. ‘Don’t hit it on anything', the doctor had told him.  

He would do his best.  

 

Ron thought about the nightmare. In the dream, he hadn’t been able to make a sound, the memory of his last few months spent unable to speak carrying over into the dream. In reality, back then he’d been screaming and crying harder than he had in his life.  

But back then he hadn’t had Toto. Toto who made him feel sane, made him feel safe in a way he couldn’t feel on his own, especially not before. Before, he was plagued by night terrors almost every single night. Before, he was unable to even leave the building he lived in. Making sure he took care of his managerial duties which forced him to interact with others had been almost more than he could handle at the time.  

There was such a stark contrast to his life compared to earlier. Before Toto, and During Toto. He hoped there would never be an After.  

He covered his throat with his hand. He didn’t like the feeling of the damaged tissue against his palm. He watched the snow dance in the air outside. Maybe tomorrow he would drag Toto out to build a snowman. It had been many years since he last made one.  

 

After wrapping the bandages around his neck again, Ron wandered back to bed, the room dim, only lit by what little light the moon struggled to supply behind the snow.  

Toto was wrapped up in the blanket he had been gifted by his grandmother specifically to bring to Ron’s apartment after he complained about Ron hogging the blanket. The thick duvet almost swallowed him whole the way it cocooned him. It made Ron smile.  

Eyes heavy with sleep struggled open. “Are you okay, Ron? You were gone for a really long time.”  

Ron sat down on the futon, abandoning his own blanket for Toto’s arms when they were offered. They both knew he would’ve stolen the blanket come morning, but for now, it was fine. For a moment he considered stacking his own blanket on top of both of them, but Toto’s embrace was too warm, too comfortable.  

“Just a nightmare,” he admitted. “I’m fine now.”  

 

He felt Toto’s hand in his hair, brushing through the untamed curls. A kiss pressed to the crown of his head almost made him feel bashful.    

Toto was a blessing in his life.  

In a few days, they were leaving for the UK. He looked forward to showing Toto all the places he’d enjoyed in his youth.  

 

But for now, he was content to sleep in Toto’s arms for the rest of the night.  

Back to top