Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with Tenku no Escaflowne Copyright 1996-2000

Insomnia is a rather lonesome sleeping disorder. You sometimes find yourself staring at the ceiling for hours, at first wishing that sleep would come, then drifting on to the grimmest of thoughts. Those are the ones too quiet to be heard during the day, like the creaks and groans of shifting joints in the walls, cooling from the afternoon's heat. Others go wandering, strolling hallways and streets in the dark hours, not looking for anyone, but wishing desperately for some company to ward away the morbid thoughts of things darker than the night.

In the close living conditions of an air-ship, luck more easily finds two rovers in each other's company. Drifting silently through the dimly lit halls of brushed steal, stepping softly for fear of breaking the supernatural silence, with the sound of blood rushing past their ears the loudest disturbance, they meet.

They're ever reluctant to admit their unrest, but can not decline any company that presents itself. Even locked within an impenetrable steal box, irrational fear still runs high in the night. An insomniac hates to be alone.

Midnight conversation goes best with wine. Talk at this hour is subdued and slow, addressing only the most hidden and secret aspects of life. One often finds themself talking about death or suffering but rarely directly. Folken found himself talking about 'his cats', as Dilandau called them.

You speak differently at night and act differently. You wear a different mask. Dilandau was disconcertingly calm and contemplative. His eyes weren't so wide and filled with flame as during the day; they were tranquil and cool, like rubies. He spoke in a softer voice and gazed thoughtfully into his wineglass for long periods of time.

'They're in love with you,' Dilandau glanced up, studying Folken for reaction.

'They think they are,' Folken answered with no display of thought.

'You're saying they're not? Don't you think it's a bit arrogant to assume you would know better than them?' Dilandau raised an eyebrow.

Folken returned his gaze, saying after a moment, 'They're grateful to me for saving them. They feel in my debt.'

Dilandau nodded, looking back into his glass at the rich colored liquid so closely matching his eyes. 'You can deny that they love you, but not that they like you. They practically worship you. You saved their lives, you gave them new lives here, yet you take no pleasure from their company. You don't seem to take pleasure in anything. You seem sad all the time, but as though you think you ought to be. What are you punishing yourself for?'

Folken sat silently for what seemed like a long time. 'I ran away from my duty. I betrayed my country and my family. I abandoned my brother and mother when they needed me most,' he wondered why he would tell this to Dilandau, other than that the end of conversation was a terrifying prospect in the wee hours.

'And you've been paying it back to the world in general since,' Dilandau nodded again. 'How long ago was that?'

'Ten years.'

Dilandau stood from his seat and walked around to Folken's side of the small table in his room, 'Still paying for it...' he brushed his hand, bare of the usual rough, leather gloves, across Folken's face. 'But I suppose we're all in debt for something and that we'll never be able to pay back,' he sighed, startling Folken by then straddling his lap and wrapping his arms round Folken's shoulders.

'Dilandau-'

'I'm not indebted to you. I don't owe you anything. You've given me nothing but kind words. I'm not obliged to you at all. Would you believe my infatuation to be genuine?' Dilandau half whispered into Folken's neck.

Infatuation. Five syllables. Dilandau even put on a different vocabulary for him. In daylight hours he swore continuously and never let such sophistication show through. Folken idly wondered how much of Dilandau's vocabulary had been picked up listening to him.

'I'd wonder at the change of attitude. You seem rather to resent me most of the time,' Folken thought briefly that he should remove Dilandau, but couldn't muster the incentive. 'I'd also point out that there's a full decade between us.'

'I fail to see that I should be old enough to die for my country but not to be with who I want. The law sees me as an adult, can't you?' Dilandau nuzzled Folken's neck lightly, 'As for attitude, everyone has so many masks that they wear. Nobody ever acts like who they really are. You can only see a glimpse of a person when they're profoundly drunk or talking in their sleep.'

'And what are you like then?' Folken asked, vaguely bothered that he wasn't discouraging Dilandau's display of affection, but still unwilling to risk the loss of his company.

'...I cry,' Dilandau answered somewhat reluctantly. 'I don't get drunk any more. I use just enough to numb my mind.' Dilandau leaned away to look at Folken's face again, 'You said a while ago, a month or about, you were criticizing me for drinking excessively, you said drinking was just an escape from reality. That's exactly what it is.' He leaned back into Folken, wrapping his arms tighter, 'I forget I'm trapped for a little while. Everyone has their way to escape temporarily. You have yours, I have mine, they have theirs.'

'What's my escape, Dilandau?' Folken turned his head slightly to look sideways at Dilandau's silver head.

Dilandau paused a long moment, pressing his cheek closer to Folken's and seeming to debate not the answer so much as whether to say it, '...Delusion.'

Folken was quiet for a while as well, more curious than offended, though certainly quite offended. Finally he asked, his voice low and unreadable, right next to Dilandau's ear, 'And what am I deluded about?'

Again Dilandau knew the answer but didn't really want to say. Folken wondered whether it was for fear of offending him or of being sent back out into a lonely insomnia night. 'War will never beget peace,' he said, leaning away, carefully watching Folken's eyes.

A desperate longing shown in Dilandau's eyes, completing the seductive picture. His body language was enticing, his manner wistful and his words held a sophistication well beyond his years. The reluctant thought that he had never found anything so alluring crept to the front of Folken's mind. 'That's a rather hypocritic thing to say, isn't it?' he breathed, combing a hand through Dilandau's hair and feeling him shiver with pleasure.

Dilandau closed his eyes and tilted his head toward Folken's palm. 'Yes,' he whispered, 'but I don't pretend to believe in this war.'

His eyes were half-open and longing, slightly worried, trying to guess Folken's reaction. His face was almost too close to focus on, still tilted, his lips parted slightly but reluctantly unsure.

Folken closed the distance, bringing their mouths together and drawing his arm and the machine that passed for one around Dilandau's waist. Dilandau melted lustily into the embrace, his breath quickening. The kiss seemed to last for a long time but, when broken, was over all too soon.

Folken kept his eyes closed, trying to calm the beating of his heart as Dilandau lightly kissed his neck and buried his face against Folken's shoulder, sighing. Folken ran his hand across Dilandau's back to clasp over his left shoulder, catching against the clips that normally held his pretentious shoulder guards to the coat.

'Why are you here if you don't believe in it?' Folken mumbled, his cheek resting against the downy white hair above Dilandau's ear.

'I was an orphan,' Dilandau drew his face back a fraction to speak clearly. 'Orphans go to the military. I have eight more years' indenturement before I've paid back the debt of my upbringing.'

Indenturement. Where had he acquired such a vast vocabulary?

'I'm sorry,' Folken pulled his arms tighter, kissing Dilandau's earlobe.

'Don't be,' Dilandau whispered, his legs tightening about Folken's hips. 'It's not your fault and you can't do anything about it.'

'I want to.'

Dilandau drew his face back and initiated another kiss. 'Thank you,' he said when it had ended. There was another long silence as Dilandau pressed his face back against Folken's neck, his breath slightly shuddering as though he might cry. It was a comfortable silence, heavy with a sweet, shared melancholy.

'Can-' Folken had never heard Dilandau stammer before, 'Can I stay here?' It was nearing the time when Dilandau would usually wander back to his own quarters and attempt a few hours sleep before morning was fully upon him, Folken realized, looking across the room to a small wall-mounted clock near the door. 'I don't mean-' Dilandau blushed prettily and was a child again. Guilt churned in Folken's stomach. 'Unless you want to... I just want... to be near you a while longer...' before he had to change masks again, to be the killer he was supposed to be.

Ten years. Folken's mind writhed in self-disgust. Part of his mind recoiled, declaring Dilandau little more than a child. Some pinprick of logic reminded him that at fifteen he'd been sent to kill a dragon and be made responsible for the livelihood of a nation. Childhood was a luxury reserved for very few.

Still he knew he'd made a mistake, letting things go this far. Reason told him he was wishing the past conversation had never happened. Reason told him to end the indiscretion now and stop encouraging Dilandau. Reason told him to turn Dilandau out and never let this happen again. 'Yes,' he whispered against all reason.

It was the first time in months either of them had slept soundly through what was left of the night.