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Despite it being the longest night of the year, the day which all but begged one to worship the night, and with it, Sleep Himself, II only felt cold contempt and gripping dread for what was to come as the manor was slowly but surely overtaken by muted, orange light.
As much as he was scared and felt familiar hate bubbling in his chest, he loathed not being able to know how Vessel felt more. They shared all but their minds with one other. That privilege belonged to Sleep. And Vessel never could talk much about the nights of the solstice.
II could recall the first winter he spent in the then intimidating-looking house that creaked with unfamiliar groans and left him wondering if he was in the right place. As if he could have knocked on the wrong door, he scolded himself one gloomy afternoon, as he took the stairs to his room, tea and book in hand. The mug was Vessel’s, as well as the book; he lent them to II, or as he worded, he shared them with him now. What once had been his, not in the sense that he owned it, rather that he only had the all-permeating loneliness to accompany him in the manor, was now theirs, or II’s own, if he liked. Vessel said he didn’t mind. There was something about the way he let II choose his own possessions, things to fill the shelves of his room with, things Vessel would have to ask to borrow, that made something tug in II’s chest. He suspected it had to do with the once achingly lonely me, which had now started to become a tentative us.
Reaching the first floor, he was lost in contemplating the meaning of mine and yours, when the door to Vessel’s room swung open, or, more appropriately, was torn open, and the man, who was usually at least somewhat put-together, in a quietly restless sort of way, appeared in the most disheveled state II had ever seen him.
The first things that caught II’s attention were the eyes, which were now fixed on him, all six’s pupils blown wide. Vessel’s body had a tremor to it that made it seem like he was struggling for control, chest heaving like he was trying, and failing, to catch his breath. Somehow, even his posture seemed off, the usual slight slouch absent, taken over by something more stiff, almost unnatural. Vessel’s fingers, which were prone to moving and anxiously picking at skin, were half-heartedly clawing at the air.
As if to heighten the invisible tension of the moment, it felt like the shadows in the corridor were murmuring, softly pulsing around them, gathering around Vessel, urging him to move. It wasn’t the first time Sleep’s presence made II uneasy but he had not yet felt it quite so strongly and seen it affect Vessel in such a strange way.
II was frozen in confusion as they kept staring at each other and opened his mouth, hoping that he could produce a question that would show his concern and prompt an answer that would feed his curiosity. Before he could have done that, Vessel crossed the distance between them with an odd, hurried stride and started down the stairs without any acknowledgment, pushing II to the side in the process. Completely stunned, II’s grip loosened on his mug for a moment and some of his tea spilled onto the floor and the cover of his book.
He was quick to turn around and call out the man’s name but found that he could not see him, instead, he heard the front door be swung open with clumsy carelessness. II rushed downstairs, cheeks heating up in puzzled annoyance, and could just catch as Vessel ran outside, still only in his sweatpants and shirt, barefoot. His gait got even stranger and II could have sworn he heard soft grunts from the man, even from the growing distance between them. Vessel’s back was bent and in the next moment, he stumbled but pushed himself off the ground with his hands as he quickly approached the edge of the thick forest surrounding the manor.
II hurriedly put his things down and made his way outside, calling the other’s name but it had no effect. Vessel didn’t look back but kept running, stopping once to snap his head to the side with a suddenness that made II wince, then disappeared into the icy darkness. His trail crackled with energy, raw and untamed. A thought flickered in II’s mind about following him but disappeared as soon as it came.
Restlessness crawled up II’s spine as he rushed back to the porch, then inside, where warm light shone and pushed oppressive shadows away. There was a pang of guilt in his chest about how quick he was to shut the door to keep the cold outside but the action trapped his frustration, which was steadily overtaken by intense worry, inside with him.
II had become used to the timidity of Sleep’s First, to the quiet smiles and waves of fingers, the few words, the contemplative tilts of his head, the way he held his arms bent close to his torso, painting a delightfully human picture of someone who had sworn his life to serving a god, yet carried himself without any artificial grace. Vessel, under all the changes to accommodate being the mouthpiece of an ancient being, remained undeniably human, undoubtedly himself, unable to shed his fragile humanity. A vessel could be filled and emptied time and time again until its contents became mere shadows of what they once were but its shape, its essence could not be dictated by anything other than plain human nature.
II was slowly getting used to Sleep’s presence which felt like it could choke the oxygen out of a room if the whim struck Him. He didn’t miss the way Vessel was unable to suppress a wince or how his brows furrowed upon unexpected appearances of their deity. It wasn’t fear, more like informed caution, or at least, that was how II preferred to think about it. Vessel definitely couldn’t have found it in himself to call it fear, he suspected.
At that moment, though, II was having a hard time trying to find an explanation for the strange way Vessel carried himself and acted just then, but then again, he had not lived in the manor for more than a few months and had no way of knowing if what he just witnessed was a casual occurrence or not.
Sleep was a demanding god, even if Vessel was reluctant to agree with II’s early observation, upon being told what Vessel’s worship consisted of. It wasn’t that II wasn’t a willing vessel but he was still settling in and getting used to his new normal. Although, he wasn’t sure if what was expected of the other man could be called normal.
Obedience, with no room left for questions. When Sleep spoke to Vessel, it was closer to a command than a request. At times, His words weren’t at all respectful, certainly not kind by human standards.
Subservience, in mind and body. II hadn’t missed the uneven marks that mottled Vessel’s arms, nor his constant worry over his adequacy, his conviction about the supposed fact that there was no room for mistakes from him, that he was always less as he tried desperately to be anything but useless.
Diligence, or as II saw it, the god’s complete ignorance of the fact that His First, however strong and capable, was, if not wholly, at least partly, human still. II had seen Vessel receive the rare praise from Him, cold and curt at best, when he treated his needs as the lowest of priorities.
Sleep found it easy to blur lines and transgress limits, He experienced reality differently than them, after all, and struggled to acknowledge that His vessels could not always bend to how He saw fit.
Yet, He was not all demands and carelessness, or at least, Vessel was quick to assure II of that, back in the beginning, squinting and looking towards the ceiling as if the attic would collapse down on him for almost forgetting his god’s due praise.
Trying to get his thoughts in order, II stood with his palm on the door and felt his skin tingle. It was dark outside; sunlight having given way to overpowering darkness.
He sat, fidgeting on the couch, looked outside repeatedly, paced in front of the window, and went out to the porch, weakly calling Vessel’s name, even as he sensed, somewhere deep, that it was useless. The man disappeared in quite a hurry but II couldn’t wrap his head around that, the way it made worry burrow in his chest, while he sensed, with no little unease, that what happened might not have been that unexpected for the other man. He tried approaching the edge of the forest, the weak beam of his flashlight flickering as he heard faint echoes of sounds he wasn’t sure were made by animals or not but ultimately deemed it wiser to stay in the house and wait.
It was to be a long night, one of the longest II had ever experienced.
A show of power, Vessel had called it that first time. First time II had seen it, that is. It wasn’t the first time it happened.
As the first rays of the Sun struggled to provide morsels of warmth to chilled stillness, Vessel came to, shivering violently. His heartbeat quickened and despite every fiber of his being protesting against it, he turned onto his side, curling up into a fetal position. Slowly gaining awareness of his surroundings, a jolt shot through him and he clawed at wet grass to drag himself to where trees gave way to a view of the manor. His skin was numb to sensations from the cold ground, sharp branches pricked him, and whatever it was that coated his skin cracked as his muscles strained.
He had just begun to pull himself up the stairs to the porch when the door swung open and strong arms hurried to pull him inside. As if the danger was outside the house, Vessel thought, dazed. His ears were buzzing too much to pick up how the startled call of his name was replaced with low cursing, then shaky words of assurance.
Later, wrapped up in layers of blankets, too many to count, he described it as an urge, a feral thing that possessed him, Sleep’s way of celebrating the longest night of the year.
It starts at sundown and ends at sunup each year on the day of the winter solstice.
After II’s shocked curses, Vessel averted his gaze and admitted he couldn't figure out how to approach the topic and had hoped he wouldn’t encounter II. After all, how could he warn the other man that he might run off into the woods, spend hours doing gods know what, then wake up in the water of the close-to-freezing creek, or clutching the mangled carcass of a hare, like he did the year before? In each instance, though, he ended up covered in bruises and cuts, in blood, both his and unknown, with his clothes torn, if he wore much, to begin with. There was no explanation that would make it sound any less disturbing.
He was the half-awake spectator to Sleep’s overtaking of his body, a fact he stated with such ease, it made II’s voice break with incredulity. Vessel was quiet to admit that he hoped, each year, that it would be more subdued, but- he cut himself off. His task wasn’t to speak idle wishes about a once-a-year event. He was Sleep’s first vessel, after all, and his duty was to serve Him, in any way that was required of him.
He didn’t tell II many details, admitted that he would rather not, anyway, and the tamer memories he had, the bits and pieces he could recall, were enough for a rough picture to take shape in II’s mind about what the other endured during the longest night of each year.
Sleep raged in Vessel’s body and used it to His own amusement without much regard to his well-being; a spoilt child in the form, or lack thereof, of a god testing out the limits of the human body. He liked hunting for whatever form of life He could get Vessel to find, reveled in the way His vessel's body moved and reacted to sensations, how his mind focused on his task, how it returned to base instincts, the closest to animalistic it could get.
It was like an experiment to Him.
The year after, II had washed, or rather soaked, thick mud off His First, combed twigs and leaves out of his hair as the man shivered, sitting in lukewarm water.
Vessel couldn’t find words. He opened and closed his mouth, then swallowed hard around soundless gagging, the action causing fresh, hot tears to streak his chilled but red-flushed cheeks, clear drops meeting unclean skin, then murky water.
Apparently, Sleep realized He could play around in Vessel’s mind just as easily as his body.
As II bitterly noted, it left more vivid images behind, as if the god couldn’t spare the thought to help His First’s mind cloud the memories of what happened. He didn’t question why the mud caked onto the man’s arms was stained red, he simply rubbed at the skin with a cloth as gently as he could and hoped that the reminder stubbornly stuck under the man’s fingernails would not weigh too heavily on his mind.
When Vessel was wrapped in towels, sitting on the edge of the tub while II drained and rinsed it, the weak silence was suddenly, but not unexpectedly, broken by retching, then the thud of Vessel’s knees hitting the tile. He wheezed for air while II squeezed his eyes shut, cringing at the sound of the man trying to purge his body of barely-there tastes that flared up in his memory.
II both did and didn’t want to know how it came to be that what remained of Vessel’s shirt was some torn pieces hanging from his collar. The legs of his pants were equally torn, boxers peeking out when he returned, exposed skin covered in goosebumps which in turn were covered by wounds and dirt. Vessel’s soles, as circulation returned sense to them, ached, his whole body struggling to return from numbness, only to be met with another form of it.
A sense of no sensations followed by flashes of images, scents, and feelings. It didn’t take long before Vessel’s mind shut off from the overwhelm, and even after a few weeks of normalcy, it was hard for him to stay present without constantly distracting himself to keep his mind from wandering back to places he would rather have forgotten.
Then there was the year II had learned that Sleep would always have his way, no matter the cost to the one He depended on more than He would ever admit. He had locked the doors and hid the keys, set on keeping His First inside and as safe as possible. Soon, it became clear that there were worse things than a sprained ankle, torn fingernails, or a gash covered in discolored mud.
With a steady count of seconds in his head, II eyed the stairs leading to the first floor and flinched, this time not from the door being ripped open, but the sound of pained sobs coming from the upstairs room.
Later, II learned about the hesitant bargain Vessel gathered all his courage to even initiate to strike: he could escape the danger of being hurt physically by letting Sleep manifest pain in his mind, so long as the deity agreed to let him remain inside the house.
New, different horizons opened up to Sleep and He didn’t hesitate to find satisfaction in the different forms of it in His vessel’s body. It started with a headache, as Vessel recalled, then came the sensation of not being able to move his limbs, stuck in heavy paralysis while his mind slipped from his own weak hold and opened up to accommodate his eager god.
In a way, it was better than having to watch Vessel bolt out the door at sundown and get lost in the woods, only to collapse on the porch, all bloody and numb, shaking from exhaustion. At the same time, II asked himself if it really was better. Was there a better or worse at all, when it came to demands from an ancient being who would never truly comprehend human limits? The concept of limits only appeared to Him as points of no return, after all, and His vessel had successfully recovered each year and continued attending to his duties with the utmost devoted care. He had faith that Vessel could more than bear such responsibilities, he had proven himself capable time and time again.
Even if they were to call it less dangerous, II saw it as even more invasive than before and not any less taxing on Vessel.
Behind the door to his bedroom of simple comforts, II found Vessel lying on his back, gulping for air, eyes wide and blinking rapidly as tears clouded his vision. His chest heaved under an invisible weight and II could pick up quiet murmurs filled with pleading terror, making His First look almost like a frightened child, bedbound and helpless.
Minutes crawled to pass and even under II’s careful touch on his arm, Vessel’s muscles strained, the man barely lucid but still aware enough to recognize him, conscious enough to squeeze his eyes shut, wishing, somewhere between wanting it to end and to be given the grace of not being seen through it all, that he could be strong enough to be what Sleep wished him to be, to be able to take on all that He had to give.
To be given the honor of being filled to the brim for the solstice, to be able to experience His essence, a fraction of it, small enough not to destroy him completely but big enough that the veil between their minds was frail, and there he was, ungrateful, weak, thinking about himself. During the night He was strongest. Wasn’t power what they set out to gain Him? Didn’t Vessel give up his identity, his agency willingly? Then why did he suddenly try and cling to that flimsy bundle, afraid of losing control entirely? Wasn’t this the most intimate merge possible, the way in which they could become one, become Him, pure divinity in the mortal, the closest His presence could get to their realm? Vessel was merely a concept, a conduit, a playground of the tiniest scale and he was serving his purpose, to be filled and emptied over and over again. Vessels were only useful so long as they could hold their contents, after all.
Unnaturally robotic movements landed Vessel curled up on his side, palms pressed to his stomach, tears of past memory and present agony steadily soaking his bedsheets. II recognized the scene he only knew from Vessel’s reluctant recount of his early days, as a mimic of the indeterminate period spent praying and begging through pain and delirium, His First’s initiation into the fold. Sleep was apparently savoring the memory of intense experiences, sorting through them for delicacies, an eldritch being of refined taste picking and choosing feeble human emotions to feed on.
II could only watch the man endure it, knowing, despite his naïve hope, that his attempts at comfort were useless in the depths of the other’s suffering. He listened to labored breaths, to muttered requests, to promises of striving to be enough, and, the one that made the distance between god and man even more apparent, to a simple, final, sobbed-out plea of ‘Please, don’t hurt me’, before Vessel’s demeanor changed as Sleep picked out a different source of pain in his mind to play around with.
In a way, Sleep was not only feeding on His First but in an insignificant manner, on His Second, too, lapping up his anger, helplessness, and worry, as he kept watch through the darkness.
Mercy appeared in the form of dawn, weak, but slowly gaining power, starting to push shadows away that seemed to cling to every surface, until they couldn’t remain anymore.
Now, He rests, as Vessel put it one year, eyes glassy, trying to grasp the simple relief of it being over with shaking hands and a fragile mind.
In the present, or as much as he was there in thought, II made his way upstairs to seek the company of his other, trying to steer his thoughts from remembering part years and thinking in hypotheticals. He vowed to himself that he wouldn’t, seeing that the twisted celebration was unavoidable but the other part of him didn’t even dare to imagine what it must have been like for Vessel years ago, before his arrival. As much as it was hard to approach the topic without arousing Vessel’s anxiety and guilt, II had always wanted to hear his thoughts, his possible wishes when it came to preparing for the longest night of the year. He wanted to make it as easy as he could, even if they had no control over the happenings of the night, he liked to pretend they did, at least in bits and pieces that they could hold onto to carry them through the darkness. II voiced it for him, when Vessel found it hard to put it into words, the complicated simplicity of his hope making it feel even more naïve.
Vessel wanted to be held, if being kept safe wasn’t possible.
II prayed, not to Sleep, but to any power out there that possibly favored them, that this year wouldn’t weigh too heavily on his love. He knew it was a futile wish, even as he held Vessel’s head in his lap and spoke his name, tracing the lines of his face in a private ritual that tried desperately to be a blessing, human as it was.
He could feel when the horizon had swallowed the Sun without looking at the clock beside him, felt it in the tensing of his muscles, in the way the breath was punched out of His First as their god gained ground.
The man in his lap was simultaneously his love, the man who for so long had been guiding him, and a stranger bearing his likeness, someone who deserved all the pain that was to follow, some imagining, a shadow figure from another realm perhaps, anyone but his precious love, the man who knew suffering all too well, even without this yearly offering to a god who claimed him as His.
The intricacies of pain had always fascinated Sleep. The bodies and minds of His vessels carried so many memories, faint aches that were no longer present, and even after maturing and enduring different versions of it, they still remained so sensitive to it. If He brought forth an image in His vessel’s mind, He could reap the emotions connected to it, pick through them, poke around for more. If He targeted an organ and pushed it to the side, twisted it, Vessel would react without any harm ever touching his body. It never failed to amuse Him how reactive humans were.
II tensed his jaw, watching as Vessel writhed, the terrible thought flashing to his mind that Sleep might not realize just where the exact physical limits of the human body were. He had kept Vessel just on the brink of safety each year thus far but there was no surety when it came to His whims while He amused Himself.
Vessel was barely aware of his eyes rolling back, too dazed by pain flaring under his ribs. If he learned anything over the years, it was that Sleep didn’t waste a second during His grotesque feast. He felt something move inside him, a pull on an organ, a slight tug, and his whole abdomen exploded with pain, vision whiting out, ears ringing. Memories entered his mind in quick succession, too hazy to be recognized, a whirlwind of emotions following, all of it becoming an overpowering blur, a cascade of heaviness targeting him, somehow both in slow motion and in rapid strikes. The sensation wasn’t one a human was ever supposed to experience but he wasn’t entirely human anymore. It was both his saving grace and his undoing.
Sleep was harvesting his emotions, going for the jugular, the strongest sensations, the maximum amount of pain He could cause without actually breaking him. The barrier between their minds was the thinnest on nights like this, so Vessel had the chance to be close to his god, could feel his own agony echoing in his mind, mixed with Sleep’s pleasure, akin to the thrill of a curious child exercising their perceived superiority over a being smaller than them, finding it easy, as if the man in His hold was an interesting experiment. Nothing more than a bug for dissection.
There was an audible crack and Vessel’s jaw dropped, while II squeezed his eyes shut and stifled a sob behind his palm, holding himself back from retching. Something was off, through the blinding pain, but Vessel had no spare energy to locate what it was, his limbs searing spears of pain, making everything dull and almost pleasantly fuzzy. II stared in horror at the bones in his other’s hand snapping, his delicate fingers becoming crooked and swollen until he couldn’t bear seeing them and blinked upward, welcoming the blur of tears that clouded his vision. More cracks came and Vessel groaned noncommittally but even that felt like an overreaction to the non-pain that had overtaken his body. The ceiling was a startling white with flashes of red and the grinding and grating sounds had an odd rhythm, pulses of shock accompanying them.
II saw throbbing and unnatural movement under his other’s skin, bones poking just under it, threatening to break onto the surface. There were reds, purples, yellows, blacks, and blues as Vessel’s bare torso formed a bizarre canvas, an expression of the art of human suffering under the intangible hands of the divine. Through it all, he still breathed, although in short, labored pants and II hoped beyond hope that he would forget, that they both would. He himself was barely present, mind getting stuck in cold numbness, becoming sluggish as he blinked at his love’s face, not trusting his trembling hands to do anything but bring more pain to him.
Time blurred hours into days and mere seconds as the dark of darkness tipped over into the struggle against light. II stared out the window, eyes fixed on the top of the trees outside, mind roaming far away until it shook him into consciousness, startling him into painful anticipation. He managed to cup Vessel’s cheek, a gesture that most likely didn’t reach him, a plea, a promise of ‘Hold on, just a little longer’.
The Sun, their celestial savior, theirs in unpunished blasphemy, had slowly pushed the night away, causing Sleep to reluctantly leave His vessel after repairing his form, leaving it as He found it, in a morbidly mortal sense. He didn’t think to put him to sleep, to make him forget. What was there to forget? His vessel had been filled once more and survived, his body had regained its former state and it didn’t possess the ability to remember. Vessel had served his purpose, proved a worthy follower and could bask in that feeling while He withdrew for some time.
He wasn’t there to see Vessel lie on his bed, left to deal with the effects of what he had just gone through. Even if He were watching them, He wouldn’t be able to notice that Vessel was barely present, had been wrung dry in a way that was almost impossible to come back from. Maybe it was impossible, II thought, as he lay half on top of his other, giving and getting contact like they would cease to exist without it. Sleep wasn’t there to see II sob into Vessel’s chest while the man blinked at the ceiling, devoured by numbness.
It was the shared burden of the two of them that Vessel was beyond terrified to try and produce a sound, in case his vocal cords would snap, or that he wasn’t entirely sure if he had any bones left intact. He wasn’t feeling anything at all and the barely aware part of his mind wondered if Sleep forgot to repair him, if He left some parts of his body broken beyond measure. Perhaps his nerves were permanently fried, his ability to feel gone after having been sewn up like a ragdoll for the umpteenth time.
II’s voice, hoarse from crying, coaxed him closer to the surface, something real that spurred him to move his gaze to the face leaning over his. It was only for II to hear when His, no, his First could eventually produce the ghost of a sound, the smallest of whispers, barely a breath.
‘Two?’
Sleep wouldn’t hear the broken sigh that followed, either. Not a sigh of relief but one containing the uncontainable, Vessel’s body trying to give up despite knowing well that it couldn’t.
II held his face and mirrored his numbness, both their faces set into drained nonchalance, in cruel symmetry, as he leaned down to kiss the man’s forehead and whisper to him before he got started on their bittersweet aftercare routine.
The god kept breaking the vessel He owed His ability to perform His show of power to without a care but II was right there to pick up the pieces and would keep doing so as long as the universe let him.
At least, He left him with no broken bones, even though Vessel moved as if they could shatter at any moment, the memories of cracks and pops haunting him, the thought of just how easily his deity had picked him apart, broken him like no one was meant to be broken, then repaired him like nothing had happened.
A familiar weight in his hand and Vessel was led towards warmth, a wall of scents, before there came a question and careful hands removing clothes from his body that he knew were there but could not feel. Distantly, he knew he was sat in a bubble bath with a close to overwhelming scent and that II was massaging fresh-smelling products into his hair to fill his senses with home, safe, clean but it was as if he could only know this and not feel, see it from the outside, instead of being present in the moment. Gentle touches were trying to remind him that it was over, that he did well, was so strong, could rest now, could let himself be taken care of, as if it was a choice with how he was barely aware of himself enough not to slip into the tub. II kept a hand on his shoulder to keep his head above water, to keep him from slipping, from floating away, from becoming lost to his mind entirely.
Coaxing him back would take a long time and it seemed, although II hoped he was wrong, that it was longer and more difficult with each passing year, felt like some parts of Vessel were starting to become permanently lost like some of the light had gone out from his eyes, had disappeared with no chance of ever being restored.
For the moment, though, II only concentrated on reminding Vessel’s senses of their human thresholds and preparing for the sleepless, numb restlessness that would follow, as if their god withdrew and took their ability to sleep with Him.
The first time, II pretended not to hear sniffles and muffled sobs or how quickly Vessel gave up on sleeping. The next year, he stayed with the man, pressed his back against the other’s as he drifted off to light and disturbed sleep, providing a point of contact that was grounding but not overwhelming. He was there when Vessel jerked awake and coughed up bile beside his bed, shaking and hiccupping apologies to him between gasped breaths. The year after, he had Vessel’s head in his lap and petted his hair as the man was finally able to cry, producing a whole of two tears, mind overcrowded with dredged-up memories, body aching despite never having made it outside.
This time, II shook and held his trembling partner who kept gulping around the beginnings of words and filled their silence for the two of them to keep himself from thinking too much about how Vessel was becoming number and number with each passing year and how they were steadily losing themselves to something that had once presented itself as a lifeline.