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Volo doesn't usually talk in his sleep. Or make any noise at all, really. When it's really quiet outside, Emmet can hear him breathing, but that's all.
Which is why it's so annoying when Volo seems to have taken up a new hobby of mumbling in his sleep while Emmet is trying to work. Each time, without fail, Emmet thinks he's the one being spoken to, and gets spooked.
He's not supposed to be awake, after all. He's on edge, he keeps thinking he's being caught.
But when Volo tears him away from his work, there's nothing he can do but to try and stay up and work on his phone. He's not sleepy. Volo himself has spent days straight reading, he should know better than to pull a man from his studies!
He scribbles down notes, since he can't update the ones in his office right now. The both of them are getting sort of old to go legendary hunting, but really, what's the point in not? Why shouldn't they? He doesn't know why they stopped.
Well.
He does. But that's not the point.
Emmet stills his thoughts and focuses in. He's forming a plan, and he needs peace and quiet.
…
Of which Volo has decided he just couldn't let that happen, could he?
He's not actually forming words. Well, he said a name earlier, but it might have just been a combination of sounds that happened to sound like an 'adam'. He starts to say something, then trails off, or maybe the sound he makes simply wasn't meant to be a word at all. The only things that might be able to be classified as full words are the two letter conjunction words with soft consonants like ‘in’ or ‘is’ or ‘or.’ They could be totally unintentional, too.
Until it starts to sound like ‘no.’
Emmet raises a brow to make sure of what he's hearing, then turns his head, propping himself up slightly so he can actually see Volo facing away from him.
His hair is splayed out, covers his face, but he's kind of noticeably curled in on himself.
“Volo?” Emmet reaches to push against his shoulder. “Volo.”
Volo doesn't wake, and doesn't stop looking generally distressed, breathing sort of heavily, but he does stop mumbling. He quiets down.
Emmet feels sort of uncomfortable, like he shouldn't be here.
Recently, he's been wanting Volo to be more open with him, more honest, they should be way past the stage of being obnoxious and lying and acting like they're not anything to each other. But this is not what he means by that vulnerability. Volo isn't doing it on purpose, after all.
It leaves a weird feeling in his stomach. Maybe he should leave. He doesn't want to find anything out about him this way, it's not his place to.
…
Funny, because if this had happened a year and a half ago, Emmet would have jumped at the opportunity to hold something against him.
Emmet tries to wake him again. When he doesn't stir, Emmet wonders where else he could sleep. He doesn't want to sleep on the couch, but he can't sleep in his office. If he slept in his office, he'd never leave it.
Just a few minutes ago, he was wishing for a reason to leave and get back to work, but now, he just sort of wants to sleep this night away. Maybe he's dreaming? Obviously not, but it would sure be nice if he was.
Emmet tries to shake Volo awake again, but it doesn't work. So, he simply lays back down and tries to sleep. He shuts his eyes tight. They can deal with this in the morning, if Volo wants to, when he's awake and can choose whether or not he wants Emmet to know this information.
He is almost dozing, might actually be able to get to sleep with the new silence, but he's quickly jolted awake by a frantic hand slamming against the mattress.
It makes a loud sound when your ear is against the pillow against the mattress, and Volo scrambles to a sitting position, gasp getting caught in his throat and sending him into a, however quickly resolved, coughing fit. He shoves his mouth yo his elbow, breathing in like he doesn't know when he'll get to do so again, shoulders wracked with effort.
Emmet sits up with him, unable to feel all that groggy, patting his hand against Volo's back. He's sure it's entirely unhelpful, but Volo stops either way and turns to look at him.
His hair is messy. Some strands fall over the bridge of his nose, sticking to his skin slick with sweat. His jaw is lax and eyes are wide as he catches his breath, staring at Emmet like he thought he may hurt him, looking like a rabid animal. Emmet is tempted to back up a bit, but doesn't find the energy in time.
When there's no explanation, Emmet must probe for one.
“What's up? What happened.” Emmet refrains from asking if he's okay, because that might be a little too mushy for the both of them.
Volo's intense look calms down a little bit, then purses his lips tight and whips his head away, glaring at the wall. “Nothing.”
Emmet keeps his eyes trained on him.
“...” Volo huffs. “Even if it was, it's none of your business.”
Emmet keeps staring. It works sort of often, sometimes Volo gets uncomfortable and cracks, but this time, it seems like he'll have no such luck. Emmet is about to give up, but then, Volo scoffs, and he knows he's won.
“I had a nightmare. Nothing serious.”
Emmet thinks he catches him smiling, and it's nothing close to a real one, but he gets the sense that this phrase is somewhat of routine. Or, maybe, was.
Emmet nods and makes a sound of approval. He already knew. “I see.” He pushes the blanket off of himself. “Stay here. I'll get you something.”
“What? Wait.” Volo clearly starts to protest, but Emmet swings his feet off of the side of the bed and is gone before he can finish his second word.
And, of course, he's left alone.
Totally alone.
Volo isn't sure what to do with himself aside from shift uncomfortably, in Emmet's absence. Maybe he can just pretend nothing happened and go back to sleep, but he seriously doubts he'll be able to pull that off in such a short amount of time.
He doesn't think closing his eyes will be very productive for calming down.
His heart is still beating out of his chest, it feels like. It rattles in his ears and in his throat, tainting the pattern of his labored breathing as he still hasn't caught up with his breath.
Volo hasn't had a nightmare like that in a long time. Nevermind one that actually got to him like this one did. He itches his nose, staying away from his eye.
Would he take it back? Refuse to go through with it? Tell his past self it's a stupid idea?
No… no, he doesn't think so. He just doesn't want to go through it all again.
It was the worst pain he's ever felt. And he's felt quite a bit of it, he'll have you know. He's been burnt, electrocuted, stabbed, impaled, literally torn between dimensions, and hit by pretty much every pokemon attack you can think of. But none could hold a candle to what losing his eye felt like.
It makes his heart rate quicken again. Though it's a small part, yes, actually losing all of his sight and becoming blind is not what he's afraid of – it's going through the pain of it all over again.
He doesn't think he could do it. It nearly sends him into a panic right here sitting just thinking about the possibility. He doesn't often feel, or perhaps he just doesn't notice, phantom pains very often anymore, but the thought certainly makes his eye burn and ache with faux pain.
Volo does his best to blink as infrequently as he can. When he gets down this train of thought, and fears the worst, the simple act of seeing can soothe him. If he can see, it means he has his remaining eye, and that means he can't be feeling any pain.
Thinking so hard still makes his head hurt, though. He hopes Advil is something that Emmet is getting from the other room.
…
But, obviously… Obviously, of course, he was never scared. That would be, frankly, ridiculous. It wasn't even then, and he didn't even know he'd get more than he bargained for, at the time! He never would have been able to do any of this if he'd wimped out. And besides, seeing his hands and his front drenched in his own blood was more satisfying than anything else! Why would it be any different, really!
…
The image in his head of that blade, clear and pristine and clean as a whistle, still gives him chills.
No, no that's an understatement. It flashes in his head and it makes him want to vomit.
Volo makes the executive decision to get up and go follow Emmet, before he spirals down this rabbit hole any longer. He'll start hyperventilating if he doesn't stop thinking – which is not what he meant by catch his breath.
Volo stands, keeps his balance, then makes his way towards the door, surely looking grumpy as ever.
He opens it, then starts to walk in without thinking, nearly bumping into a very confused looking Emmet.
“Oh! You got up.” Emmet says, intelligently. Volo tilts his head down at the items in his hands, - a mug and a rag - so Emmet explains, shifting them slightly. “I brought milk and a washcloth. For your eyes.” Volo reacts a little bit, but he continues. “It might just be placebo, but adding a few things like nutmeg and honey into milk always helped Ingo and I sleep as children. Excuse me.” He sidesteps Volo as he moves to let him through the doorway.
“You said that wrong.” Volo shrugs, then returns to bed. “You only use ‘and I' when you would have used ‘I’ to refer to yourself in the same scenario.”
Well, at least he's feeling better.
“In speech, grammar is often considered just a guideline. It rolled off the tongue better. I would have had to put my lips together if I said ‘me and Ingo.’”
“I suppose.” He gets back up into bed, sitting against the headboard. He clears his face of hair, and even though it settles right back where it always does, he looks less messy than he did before.
Emmet follows to his side of the bed. “Drink this. I'll be right back.”
He holds out the mug, and Volo takes it, a complicated expression on his face.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“I am going to wet this washcloth.”
Volo blinks. “So. So, what's the plan?”
“It's easier to sleep when your eyes are closed. The weight is comforting.”
Right. Ok. The right side of Volo's mouth quirks up.
No, this is fine. Really, it is.
It kind of has to be, because if it's not, Emmet will find out about this hangup of his, and if he finds out..
Ugh, if he finds out!
Volo takes a sip of his drink. He can't say it's his ‘thing.’ But it's whatever, he supposes. His mouth is so dry, and while the little concoction is thick and doesn't necessarily go down without a fight, it's still something to wet his mouth with.
No, how is he going to get out of this? Literally the one thing in the entire world he can't handle right now, and Emmet didn't even do it on purpose. It's honestly ruder than if he had known!
It's easy to say you don't like to get a pillowcase wet or something. But, honestly, Volo has never cared about it before.
Pointedly.
Is he overthinking things? Maybe he could just say it's unnecessary and Emmet will shrug and leave him alone. But he's gone so far out of his way already, obviously he has some kind of preconceived notion about it. Maybe Volo is a stand-in for someone else in his mind right now.
Well, the best thing to do with that sort of thing is not to engage. Right? Volo gulps down the last of the drink, places it on the end table, then pushes it further from the edge. He lays down and tries to will himself to sleep as soon as he can.
Maybe it'll work.
He keeps closing his eyes, and images keep coming up, but maybe it really wasn't placebo, and he actually will feel sleepy.
…
“Okay. I am back.”
He didn't even get a chance!
Volo thinks he might be able to pretend, but he supposes that this is a perfectly natural resting position.
“Do you want to talk about anything?” The bed shifts as Emmet crawls on.
The cloth isn't dripping, he deliberately wrung it out pretty extensively, but he still doesn't want to get the sheets too wet in the crossover. Especially because he crawls onto his side of the bed, and he'd have to sleep in it if it dripped.
“No.”
Emmet is kind of surprised he even dignified it with a response. He nods. Volo can talk about it whenever he feels like it.
Emmet's not sure if he's ready for this kind of thing, anyway. He doesn't want any tragic backstories making him feel sympathetic towards him. He doesn't need any more reasons to want to stick around Volo, it's already gotten hard enough to pull himself away from him.
He tries not to sigh. He wonders if he should pry. He knows he shouldn't, like, morally, but Volo is a weird guy who is also very hard to read. Sometimes Emmet wonders if he's lying about being a bad liar. Would he like it if Emmet were to ask again? Would he feel cared for? Does he want to feel cared for?
… Emmet doesn't know why he himself cares so much. Volo doesn't really do anything for him emotionally. He supposes it's just force of habit.
“Turn upward.”
It takes a second, but Volo does. He looks kind of miserable. He just looks away from him solemnly, no real facial expression, but Emmet still feels a bit of pity.
This is probably something serious. If Emmet doesn't know what it is, he can't help.
He supposes what he thought about Volo not doing much emotionally for him wasn't entirely true. He's usually been there and allowed him to talk, even if he was very bad at saying things that weren't absurd.
But now, Emmet can't even reciprocate. Not like it's his fault or anything. Again, Volo can say what he wants, when he wants, and there's nothing Emmet can or will try to do about it.
He leans over Volo and holds the washcloth up. “Do you want to be the one to put it on?”
Volo looks up at it like it personally did something to him, visibly swallowing, then shakes his head slightly. Emmet shrugs and lowers the damp cloth onto his face, brushing aside his bangs as he reaches them, and trying not to poke Volo in the eye.
Emmet pulls back and observes, to see if anything needs adjusting. Volo is breathing noticeably loudly.
He really should bite, shouldn’t he?
Emmet pulls back, running a hand through Volo’s hair. He drags his fingernails against his scalp, watching Volo, sort of checking his response, and is glad to see the, however slight, visible relaxation of his shoulders. “Are you sure you are okay?”
Volo opens his eyes with the intent to see, - both of them, for the first time in quite a while, actually - but, obviously, isn’t met with much. He swallows thickly. He doesn’t know what the most intelligent play here is. This is such a bad time, he really can’t think straight! His heart is beating, he can feel it pulsing in his headache. He knows there’s an out here somewhere, but which one leaves him with the most options going forward?
Thing is, Emmet will know that the answer is no, even if he says that he’s fine. So, he just huffs, and figures that telling the truth for once might be the best bet. Maybe by some miracle it’ll make Emmet uncomfortable, and he'll want to stop talking.
Volo tilts his head a little away from where Emmet’s voice is coming from. “Not really.” he scoffs. He doesn’t think the ‘and it’s not your problem’ needs to be said aloud.
Emmet sighs. “I get it.” he shifts in bed, and by the sound of it, it seems like he also lays down. “You do not need to worry about telling me. But I’ll listen if you decide you want to.”
God damn that Emmet, seriously. He doesn’t get to be mentally unstable and be good with his words and with speaking to people, you have to pick one!
When he closes his eyes on his own, it's not that bad. He's calmed down a bit. Volo wasn’t really expecting having something on his face obstructing his vision to be comforting. And that's still not the right word. But, maybe it’s the weight of it. It does, indeed, make him sleepier. He thinks it would be good if they were talking about anything other than wanting to ‘talk,’ but it still distracted his brain for a little.
Volo exhales slowly. “Okay.” He doesn’t have any plans of doing that, he feels as though it may just make him madder, but who is he kidding? It’d be nice to open up a little bit.
A little.
Only a little.
What was his old excuse? He doesn’t think he could get away with a wild scyther anymore. Maybe he can say it happened at some no-name bar, he thinks Emmet could buy that.
Emmet keeps petting his hair. He's not gonna lie and say it doesn't feel nice.
“Any particular reason you're saying all this?” Volo asks, doing his best to keep from yawning, maybe only if to not prove Emmet right.
He's quiet for a little, gently playing with his hair, idly. “You were mumbling in your sleep.”
God, that's childish. He scoffs. “That's embarrassing.” He shakes his head slightly. He hopes he didn't say anything too weird.
Emmet just hums in response. He goes back to thumbing circles in Volo's hair. It actually starts to lull him to sleep, he feels himself dozing. As he's just drifting off, Emmet speaks up again. “Did I make it how you remembered it? The drink.”
Volo squints. Well, he furrows his brows in thought, he should say. What happened there? He doesn't remember. Did he suggest it at some point?
Volo has done a lot of yapping about food, so it's probably come up… yes, no, yes it has!
Yeah, he has mentioned this to Emmet before, hasn't he? Volo can't really remember when, and it probably isn't even where Emmet picked up the recipe, but still, the thoughtfulness sort of surprises him.
It's kind of embarrassing.
…
For Emmet, of course.
Emmet is still petting his hair. It feels good, sure, but Volo can't help but feel like he's up to something. He has to be, he doesn't normally do this. Volo turns to him, sort of forgetting the obstruction over his eyes, but it falls off when he tilts his head anyway. He blinks the blurriness away from his vision as Emmet looks a little surprised at him.
Emmet laughs, then covers his mouth. “You have dropped something.”
Volo snorts. He was getting a little bit tired of it, anyway. The novelty runs out fast. He can close his eyes on his own. At least he's feeling better. He rolls his head back to where he was before.
“Your pillow will get wet.”
“Hm?” Volo raises a brow. “You brought it over, I hardly see how that's my fault-” he's a little bit surprised to see Emmet's hands in his face again. He's picked up the cloth, and yeah, Volo supposes you could take what he said to seem like he wanted it to be reapplied. He's about to pick his hand up and say that it's not necessary, but Emmet's pinky finger accidentally swipes between his eyelids and across his fake eye.
Emmet jumps back and apologizes before Volo even remembers that that was supposed to hurt. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls back.
—
Emmet's finger slips, and he pulls back and apologizes before he can even comprehend that, past Volo's eyelashes, was definitely acrylic plastic. He jumps back and sits up.
“Gah! I'm sorry.”
Volo blinks, seems to realize something, then jerks back a bit and follows him up, letting out a very lazy and extremely delayed “Ow.”
Emmet blinks. Realizes. Furrows his brows.
He can't place Volo's expression, but he sure pulls away from him now. Emmet reaches forward to keep him under his hands, and Volo's hand twitches.
“Wait.” He leans in again. “Is that.” He trails off, considering how to say this. “Is your eye not real?” Emmet had no idea! He thought it was just a gayass hairstyle! Not hiding a fake eye!
Volo's eyebrow twitches.
Actually, that's what it is! Volo's very between playing it cool and pushing Emmet off. He can't decide.
Because if he pushes Emmet off now, he'll never be able to play it cool again.
Ah, Emmet loves it when Volo's analytical mind works in his favor, usually it means he's up a leg against him, but when he's so predictable like this? No shot. Emmet smiles again as he basks in his victory.
There's a few seconds of silence from him, but Emmet knows if he just keeps staring at him he'll talk, and eventually he cracks, making an annoyed expression.
“Disabled people exist in the world, you know, Emmet.” Volo's hand goes to Emmet's wrist, pushing it up and away from him. Maybe he did it on purpose or maybe Emmet’s just crazy, but it feels like he presses his pointer finger against Emmet's vein for a second too long.
“I know that.” Emmet is sort of glad they're having this conversation now, and not last year, because he knows Volo well enough to know he just says things sometimes. To piss people off, to make them leave him alone when he doesn't want to talk about stuff. Emmet probably would've gotten defensive had he not known. “But you have never said anything. Why? I had no idea.”
Volo clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Maybe you never asked.” He shakes his head. “I never found it necessary to mention.”
Emmet makes a face. He supposes he's right. But he's known Volo for a while and has gotten pretty physically close to him before! How has he never noticed??
“I was thinking I of all people would have seen.”
Volo huffs. “It's really not as big a deal as you're making it out to be.”
Emmet scrunches up his face. “I didn't make it a deal! It was you with the deal making! If you said something at some point I would not have cared.”
“If you care so much,” Volo rolls his eyes, (Well. Um. Eye. Singular.) then pauses, like he gets an idea. “If you want to so bad, you can stick your fingers in it.” He smiles and leans forward, teasing, “I didn't really think that'd be something you liked.”
Emmet jerks back from him, appalled for a second before he, again, remembers that Volo is just being a lying dickhead.
Actually, he can probably use this to his advantage. Not having an eye isn't something he just wouldn't notice! It's a high maintenance injury, and if Volo wasn't actively hiding it from him, he'd have seen some hint of the care he takes to it. He just wants to look, honestly, but he doesn't think he'd be allowed to.
But, well, when he's so kindly invited!
He goes back, grabbing Volo's face in both his hands again. Volo's eye opens wide, frown deepening in shock, like he actually thinks he's going to do it. Emmet brushes aside his hair, really just wanting to inspect. He runs his fingers across his scalp, pinning his bangs back.
There's a little scar there. Huh…
Emmet reaches down his thumb to gently brush over his soft skin. Some golden strands slip through his fingers without his thumb there to keep them up. Now that he can see it unobstructed, it's extremely clear that it's fake. Whoops, maybe it was more obvious than he thought– but it's still totally hidden by his hair!
It doesn't move when his working eye moves, looks sort of weird, because Volo is watching him from only one eye, and so his ‘eyelines’ cross. It's also not quite the right color. Emmet doesn't know how to describe it, it's just sort of… gray , rather than a blazing silver.
Man, what is he on about?
He must be looking at him weird, because Volo looks like he'd rather kill himself than continue to be stared at in such a way. He shoves Emmet off of him, backing up. His hair falls back down.
“What is wrong with you?” He has much more bite to his words than before. Emmet knows he's not actually mad, because this is not how Volo acts when he's angry, but he's certainly…
Well, um, maybe Emmet took it a little far, but he can't second guess himself now. Not like there's no reason to want to hide an eye injury, it's just that he wanted to know! Or at least know why!
But whatever, he doesn't want to argue. If Volo tells him no, he won't pry any more, he just wants to know.
“If you do not mind my asking.” Emmet pauses, straightening his shoulders a bit. Maybe his politeness now will be a suitable apology for being pushy. “What happened?”
Maybe he just has a convenient scar like his lower eyelid was perhaps in two parts at one point, and it actually had nothing to do with this. But, but also, it seems pretty clear that they're connected, and that it was traumatic.
Volo looks right through him, eye unfocusing, like he remembers. Emmet feels kind of bad. There's a painful pit deep in his chest, some sort of sinking feeling that he doesn't think is pity, but it certainly feels dark. For whatever reason, Emmet wants to reach out for it.
“Sorry. You don't have to answer.”
Volo starts laughing, shaking himself into a smile.
“You really wanna know?” Volo leans forward, smiling. Emmet doesn't trust it, and for good reason. Volo raises one of his hands, turning it up and making some sort of grabbing motion with his fingers. “I tore it out myself. My bare hands. I wanted to see if I could take it.”
Emmet looks at him with a blank expression. He knows he's full of shit, but to be honest, it sort of… well, maybe it's just his joking tone. But it gives Emmet a weird vibe. He can't decide what sort of expression he should make, or what he should feel.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Volo snaps, suddenly, and Emmet actually flinches. He's genuinely surprised, and Volo seems to notice at the same time as him that he's being weird, so he just sighs angrily.
Emmet hadn't meant to upset him. He supposes the subject matter led to this, and maybe he did overreact a little bit, but he didn't mean to.
Maybe he can lighten the mood without ignoring the conversation, and leaving the air awkward, by asking a question! Maybe, it'll normalize the whole thing a little. Volo likes to talk, he loves being asked questions!
He offers a smile, “Er, why doesn't it move with your eye line? Can't they do that now?”
“That doesn't work with traumatic eye loss.” Volo shrugs. He seems less on edge but Emmet still wasn't really expecting that answer, even though he'd guessed it previously.
“I'm sorry.” Emmet means it in a general condolence way, that Volo had to go through that, but Volo (of course) has other plans. He instead takes it more as an apology for bringing it up in the first place.
“You better be.” And he's back to being haughty, supposedly over whatever specific thing Emmet had done. “It's whatever. You wanted to know, now you know.” He avoids Emmet's gaze and waves his hand in a dismissive fashion, laying back down and rolling over. He faces away from Emmet.
Emmet sighs. He screwed this one up a little bit, fumbled here and there. Well… Nobody's perfect, he supposes, and he can't do anything about it now, is all he can say. He lays down also, on his side, however, facing Volo.
Maybe a gesture will be a better apology. Emmet sort of wants to hold him, either way. He raises his hand over Volo's midsection, then realizes he couldn't see him even if he had his eyes open! What an idiot you are, Emmet!
He lowers the arm around Volo's waist, and waits a moment to see if he'll remove it. He pauses his breathing for just a moment, but then lets go and relaxes, allowing himself to simply be held.
Emmet pulls him close, and falls asleep holding him in no time at all.