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Only at Night	By : Tengu-chan Category: +G to L > Katekyo Hitman Reborn Views: 1064 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn or any of the characters, nor do I make money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Only at Night
- 1
Only at Night

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Sometimes in his sleep, his mind would play tricks on him. He would dream it had never happened, that she had never been chosen to be cursed and that there had been no reason to save her. It was bittersweet dreams, beautiful, bright and painful. But he could never regard them as anything but nightmares.

He would dream of the day he would finally manage to convince her to go out with him. The weather would be mild, early in the morning on a summer day. She would be in a tank top and sweatpants, just returned from her morning run, a cup of coffee in her hand and gazing at the sky as the last of the golden-edged clouds slowly faded. Back from his early training he would spot her from behind. He would notice how at ease she seemed. That the coffee was steaming and that the sun made the dew glisten around her feet and how some her hair stuck to her forehead, a sign of her relentless exercise. And he would find her beautiful. His heart would swell with happiness at the sight and he would call out her name as he approached. He would smile in his sleep as she turned, sunlight reflecting in the dark brown of her eye, a slightly curious expression on her face. He would grin and tell her that it was nothing, and she would huff, turning her head away, the light catching in her hair. He would wipe the sweat off his face and leave the towel hanging across his shoulder as they stood a moment in mutual silence, just watching the beauty of the bright morning unfold. Then he would smile, his hands in his pockets, and he’d ask her.

“Hey Lal…go out with me?”

“What..?”

She would turn towards him, wary and suspicious, an endearing blush dusting her cheeks. Even without taking his eyes of the sunrise he was able to sense her bewilderment; unsure if he was joking. He wouldn’t repeat the question; he knew she would lash out at him if he did. For a moment stretching into eternity, nothing would happen. Then she would turn away, her soft hair slipping forward and hiding her face partly. And he’d know she had agreed and that she was too embarrassed to speak her answer. His smile would be bright with joy as he turned away.

“Then I’m heading back, kora…”

“Asshole.”

“Thank you.”

He would smirk as he left; she always had been too cute.

This dream was the innocent one, yet it caused him so much pain. When he woke up afterwards, he would get out of bed and work out, fighting off the urge to go back to sleep. He could never willingly submit to such painful lies.

On other nights his mind would torture him relentlessly for hours on end and he would toss and turn in his bed, struggling against his sheets. He would dream of kissing her. Of capturing her soft lips midsentence, effectively muffling her protest. He dreamt of how he would run his hand through her hair, the silky locks slipping through his fingers. How he would embrace her, his heart beating loudly, begging that she wouldn’t push him away. How she would finally respond to his touch, her lean body leaning into his as she wrapped her arms around him, tipping her head to kiss him back. He dreamt how he would pick her up, drunk on love and lust, and for once she wouldn’t resist. He would carry her to a room and they would lie in the bed. Kissing her neck he would take in her scent, her moan sending shivers down his back. He would barely believe that it was really happening as he kissed her again and she would tangle her fingers in his hair, her body hot and soft against him. He would touch her warily, as if handling something immensely precious, irrationally afraid that she might break. Burning with excitement he would strip her of her clothes and she would work hectically to pull off his. He would kiss her bare skin wherever he could, his hands running down her body, her sweet moans would send thrills of arousal through his body till he was aching with need, his breathing ragged. She would move and he would tremble in awe of her beauty, kiss her roughly, his thoughts hazy with want. She would pull his hair and he couldn’t wait any longer. In a blur of passion they would drive each other to the utter edge of pleasure, barely conscious of their actions they would linger on the verge of ecstasy, holding each other tightly.

Then he would wake up, bathed in his own sweat and filled with an insatiable craving that rendered him restless. It was a need he couldn’t fulfill, an unimaginable pressure with no release. Sometimes he when he woke up, the reality of the dream hung on to him and for a while he would lie with a smile on his face, only realizing the truth as he sat up. Then the harsh reality of his useless body hit him.

He had thousands of nightmares like these. Picturesque sceneries, like showcase windows of all the things that could have happened, all the possibilities he had had, that left him with feelings of bitter regret. Sometimes he would dream of marrying her, of her in a pure white dress as she walked towards him, or of becoming a father, of beaming with happiness and pride as he embraced her and his firstborn child. In those dreams he was full of love and warmth, yet he still woke up crying. Because dreams were all they were. Nightmares of the things he could never obtain. He could never bid her a life with him; only in his dreams could he be the one to make her happy. He had chosen to save her, but the price of her happiness was to give up on being the one she found it with. Yet it was a choice he would make over and over again without a second thought. That’s why only at night, deeply entangled in his lingering dreams, would he allow himself any pity.

Only at night would he curse his fate.
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Only at Night