What could possibly disturb a normal life, for a normal woman like you? Well, dreams.

While these dreams could have been triggered by the lonely life you lead, your dreamy soul obviously had other ideas.

Every night, the same routine. You go to bed, turn off the light, and fall into a deep sleep. Only to dream of him.

Even though it's just a figment of your imagination, the details are so perfect that if you weren't aware of them, you'd be sure everything around you was real.

He has blue eyes. It's a complete coincidence that that's your favorite color. Black hair. Tattoos. And… Wounds.

He comes to you every night, battered, beaten almost to death. You've repeated this so many times that you don't even flinch at the sight of blood.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” You mutter under your breath, letting the limping man into the living room.

It was so often you'd learned it. No questions. No stares. Just treat his wounds, and when you do—

And when you do, your dream ends and you'll never know its ending. Except this time it ended faster, caused by a soft knock on the door.

One. Two. Three. One.

In the same rhythm, you tapped your fingers against your temple as if it would make your headache go away. Your lack of waiting, idiot.

You stand up slowly, silently swearing that even if Santa freaking Claus were standing in front of the dull door, you'd still shatter him like glass.

You approach the door, slowly unlocking it and, rubbing your eyes from exhaustion, opening it.

”I swear that if—”

You stop when you notice those blue eyes.

”You crept… You crept into my mind, so now help me…” He rasped through gritted teeth. His condition was even worse than in those dreams.

But it was his words you were pondering. Had both of you been dreaming about the same thing for the past few weeks?