"I am... Julian Von Astrea."

With that, his head lolled to the side, and he fell back into a deep, motionless sleep.

Alaric sat back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stared at the sleeping form; nothing had prepared him for this.

The name was correct, the face and voice were the same, but it was a personality that did not belong to the Julian he knew.

He remained awake for the rest of the night, his hand resting on his sword, watching to see if the man would return, but he never came back, and just like that, the first light of dawn seeped through the balcony, and then Julian bolted out of sleep. His chest tight, his body breaking out in cold sweat, and his head ringing.

Alaric watched the whole thing, startled, and his heart was shaking. Was this a result of the sedative? He was breaking out in cold sweat and looked like he was suffocating.

"Lucien— I... I can’t breathe." He heaved heavily.

Alaric’s heart, already battered by the midnight encounter, shattered at the sound of Julian’s genuine, desperate plea. This was the man he knew—the one who struggled, the one who reached for him, the one whose soul felt like a living, breathing part of his own.

"I’m here. I’m right here," Alaric rasped, his voice thick with a mix of relief and terror. He hauled Julian’s trembling frame against his chest, one arm wrapping around his waist while the other hand pressed firmly against his back, trying to anchor him. "Breathe with me, Julian. Slowly."

Julian’s lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass. The ’Waking Madness’ was a dissonance that made the very air he was breathing and the space his soul was existing feel wrong. He clutched at Alaric’s shoulders, his nails digging into the Duke’s skin as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come.

"I can’t... the air... Lucien, help me," Julian choked out, his vision blurring, like he was getting choked out with a hand squeezing his heart.

Alaric pulled Julian back just enough to look him in the eyes, searching for something. Anything. Julian’s eyes were wide, panicked, and filled with a raw, human suffering that no imposter could fake.

"You’re okay. You’re in my arms," Alaric said, his voice dropping into that low tone, as if speaking too loudly would startle Julian more than he already was. "Match my breath."

But it was too much. Julian’s lungs felt like they had collapsed under the weight of an invisible ocean.

His mouth stayed open in a silent, desperate oval, his eyes blown wide and glassy with silent tears as he looked right through Alaric. The more he panicked, the tighter his throat became, and the tighter he gripped Alaric’s shirt, until he could feel the bones in his fingers begin to crack.

Seeing the sheer terror and the physical struggle for life, Alaric didn’t wait for another second. He leaned in, his large hands cupping Julian’s face, and pressed his lips firmly against Julian’s. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but a desperate anchor. It was an act of sharing breath, a physical bridge built to force Julian back into the present. He breathed for him, steady and slow, letting his own warmth seep into Julian’s trembling frame.

Slowly, the frantic thrumming in Julian’s chest began to stutter and slow. Julian’s fingers, which had been clawing at Alaric’s shirt, went limp, and he finally let out a long, broken sob into the Duke’s mouth.

Even as Julian had steadied, the Duke did not pull away right away; he held Julian, kissed him, and felt Julian kiss back. He slid his limp hands up and held the Duke’s forearm with his trembling hands.

He was scared and terrified, but thanks to the Duke, he had anchored himself back to reality.

Alaric finally pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against Julian’s, their breaths finally mingling in a shared, shaky rhythm. He didn’t let go of Julian’s face, his thumbs tracing the damp skin under his eyes.

"That’s it," Alaric whispered, his voice thick with a relief that bordered on agony. "Just like that. Stay with me, Julian."

Julian slumped forward, his forehead hitting Alaric’s shoulder. He was heaving, his body slick with cold sweat, but the air was finally reaching his lungs.

"Lucien..." Julian’s voice was paper-thin and exhausted. "I... I thought I was dying."

Alaric squeezed his eyes shut, his arms tightening around Julian until they were practically one shadow against the dawn light. He thought of the man from a few hours ago—the one with the cold, mocking grin who called himself Julian von Astrea. The contrast was unsettling. This Julian was fragile, honest, and clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a world of smoke.

But then, how does he explain what he saw? He didn’t hallucinate it, did he?

"I won’t let you die," Alaric vowed, though his mind was a storm of suspicion he couldn’t voice. "I won’t let anything take you."

Julian held the Duke. How does he explain this situation to the Duke? How does he even explain it to himself?

Just as he was thinking of this, the duke asked,

"Is this a condition you’re aware of?" Julian’s eyes widened, and he looked up at the Duke. "This doesn’t seem to be new to you. Have you..." His expression contorted with a mix of agony and guilt. "You always suffered like this?"

Julian looked at the expression on his lover’s face, how he looked like he was the one getting beaten up with a madness like this. Something in Julian shifted, warm and subtly relieved.

"Is this a condition you’re aware of?" Alaric asked, his voice strained. Julian’s eyes widened, looking up into a face that seemed to be weathering the storm right alongside him. "This doesn’t seem to be new to you. Have you..." Alaric’s face contorted, a mix of guilt and raw pain flashing in his blue eyes. "Have you always suffered like this?"

Seeing that expression, seeing Alaric look as though he were the one being beaten down by a phantom madness, something in Julian shifted. The fear of this madness that had been his constant companion for months began to melt, replaced by a warmth so sudden it brought fresh tears to his eyes. For the first time, the burden wasn’t just his to carry.

"Yes," the answer slipped from Julian’s lips like a confession to a lethal crime. "I’ve always suffered like this."