The fluorescent lights hummed quietly as I trudged into the precinct. I was early, earlier than usual. The streets outside were still dark, the city half-asleep. I didn't care. Sleep had been impossible the night before, tangled in images of the victims, the Smileball Killer, and Alex's bandaged hands. My body demanded rest; my mind refused.
I dropped my jacket on the back of my chair, rubbed my eyes, and slumped down behind my desk. The paperwork stared at me like a predator, files stacked haphazardly, the smell of stale coffee filling the air.
I didn't last long. My eyelids grew heavier than bricks, my head sagging forward onto the desk. One moment I was awake, the next — I was elsewhere.
I was walking down the hallway of the precinct, but it wasn't the precinct I knew. Everything was distorted — the walls leaned inward, the fluorescent lights flickered like broken stares. Shadows moved in corners, and whispers floated along the ceiling.
I saw them first: the other detectives. Harris, Jensen, Heller — and everyone else I knew. But they weren't themselves. Faces twisted, lips sneering, eyes sharpened with contempt.
"Look at him," Harris spat, voice dripping venom. "Does he think he's good at this?"
"Pathetic," Jensen added, stepping closer. His shadow loomed over me. "A joke of a detective."
I stumbled backward. "What… what are you talking about?" I croaked.
"They've been humoring you all this time," Heller said, shaking his head, a cruel grin cutting across his face. "You're a disaster. Every case, every report, you're always… failing."
I tried to speak, but my throat felt full of sand. My words refused to form. I looked around desperately, but everyone — the officers, the clerks, even witnesses in the corner — were staring, whispering, pointing.
"Leo, you're weak," a voice hissed from somewhere behind me. I spun around.
It was Alex.
His white hair fell loose, shadows cutting across his pale face. His eyes — crimson and unreadable — were cold, piercing. "You can't protect anyone. You're useless."
I froze. Pain lanced through my chest. I opened my mouth to speak, to protest, but his figure stepped back. He was not alone. All the people I trusted — my colleagues, my friends — they were avoiding me now. They shuffled past without acknowledgment, faces twisted in disgust, whispering insults I could barely hear.
"You're a burden."
"Why even try?"
"Everyone's better off without you here."
I turned in a panic. The hallway seemed endless, stretching like a black canyon. The floor warped beneath me, walls bending, faces morphing, voices piling one on top of the other.
Alex stepped forward again, hand raised as if to push me down. "You're nothing without me. You can't even think straight on your own. Stop pretending you're in control."
I screamed, a raw, hollow sound. But no one reacted — no one came to help. The air grew thick, hot, suffocating. Every insult, every sneer, every look of contempt pressed into my skull like a vice.
I tried to run. The hallway twisted around me. My legs felt leaden, my arms too heavy to lift. Every step forward felt like moving through molasses. And then I saw them — the victims.
Smiling yellow balls rolled across the floor, glinting, reflecting the flickering light. The bodies of the victims, grotesque, faces frozen in fear and pain, stared at me. Their mouths stretched impossibly wide, grinning. And yet… their eyes… their eyes were accusing. Me.
"Why can't you stop it?" whispered one voice.
"You're too weak," said another.
I backed up, my knees hitting the wall. "I… I'm trying!"
But they only laughed.
The walls closed in. The precinct — my home, my sanctuary, the one place I thought was safe — had become a chamber of judgment. The laughter grew louder, the whispers more venomous.
And Alex.
I turned toward him, desperation clawing at my chest. "Alex, please! Help me!"
But he only tilted his head, expression neutral but cruel. "You've failed. You always fail. Everyone sees it but you."
I fell to the floor, hands covering my ears. The laughter, the voices, the judgment — it was endless. Everything blurred.
And then… I woke.
I bolted upright. My desk was cold, my papers scattered, the hum of fluorescent lights dull and normal. My heart pounded, my shirt clinging to my chest with sweat.
The room was empty — everyone else had arrived late, leaving the office silent except for the occasional tap of a keyboard. I blinked rapidly, taking in the familiar surroundings, the hum of the air conditioning.
It had all been… a nightmare.
I exhaled slowly, trying to ground myself. My hands were clammy. My legs shook. I rubbed my face and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The fluorescent lights felt normal now, almost reassuring.
But the feeling lingered. The fear, the weight of judgment, the suffocating pressure of everyone staring at me — even Alex — remained in my chest.
I ran a hand over my eyes. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.
I forced myself to sit up and organize my desk. The files from yesterday still lay in neat piles. Lab results. Warehouse photos. Witness statements. Nothing had changed. Nothing was different — except me.
My pulse slowed slightly as I tried to shake off the nightmare, but the sense of inadequacy, of being judged, lingered. The dream had been vivid, precise, like it had been crafted to expose every fear I kept buried: my fear of failure, my fear of being alone, my fear of letting Alex down.
By mid-morning, the precinct had fully come alive. Phones rang, keys clattered, detectives moved through the office with purpose. I watched them carefully, half-expecting someone to mock me, laugh at me, or whisper about me. But no one did.
It was just… me, still raw from the dream.
Alex arrived around 9:00, moving quietly to his desk. He didn't acknowledge my gaze, didn't offer a word — just sat, organized his files, and worked. His presence should have been comforting, grounding. But my dream had left a shadow in my mind. Every movement he made, every glance he gave — I couldn't shake the image of him judging me.
I poured myself a cup of coffee, hands trembling slightly, and tried to focus on the case. But the files, the photos, the reports — they blurred in front of me. Every victim, every smile ball, every piece of evidence pressed against me, reminding me of yesterday's failures.
By noon, I realized I couldn't work like this. My hands shook as I held a pen. My mind replayed the dream over and over, every insult echoing louder than the last.
I stepped into the hallway for some air. The corridor was quiet, except for the distant hum of typing. I pressed my forehead against the cool wall, letting it anchor me.
"Leo?" a voice said.
I turned. Alex stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, expression neutral as always.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
I hesitated. Could I tell him about the dream? Could I admit that I'd woken up terrified, shaking, feeling like everyone hated me — even him?
"I… I'm fine," I said finally, voice tight.
He nodded once, eyes lingering on mine. "If you're not… tell me."
I shook my head, half-smiling, half-grimacing. "I don't think you want to hear it."
Alex only gave a faint shrug. "Try me."
I wanted to — to unburden myself, to admit every fear and shame the dream had thrown at me. But the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I nodded again and walked back to my desk, sitting down heavily.
He followed, silent. The air between us was calm but heavy.
The rest of the afternoon passed in tense, grinding focus. Files were reviewed, leads discussed, and I pushed myself to concentrate on the case rather than the lingering shadow of the nightmare.
But something in me had shifted. I felt exposed, raw, vulnerable. And though no one had actually judged me, the memory of the dream pressed down like a tangible weight.
Alex remained quiet throughout, observant as always. I caught him glancing at me occasionally, dark red eyes unreadable. There was concern there, I thought. Maybe. Or maybe my mind was tricking me again.
Either way, I was exhausted — emotionally, mentally. The city outside pressed against the windows with its usual heaviness. The Smileball Killer hadn't struck again today, but the case felt heavier than ever.
And though no one had insulted me in reality, I couldn't shake the feeling that the world, the case, and maybe even those closest to me were judging me.
The streets were quiet when we left the precinct. The city had finally slipped into the slow pulse of night, neon signs reflecting in puddles from the earlier rain. My chest still felt tight from the nightmare, every insult echoing, every glance from Alex in the office replayed in my mind.
"You okay?" Alex asked quietly as he slid into the passenger seat. His voice was calm, almost soothing, but I could hear the underlying concern.
I exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel. "I… I don't know. That dream… it felt too real."
He said nothing at first, just reached across to rest a hand lightly on my shoulder. Not pressing, not demanding — just a reminder that he was there.
"I felt like everyone… everyone was laughing at me. Judging me," I admitted, voice low. "Even you, Alex. You were… angry at me in the dream. You didn't care."
He shook his head slowly. "I wasn't there. Dreams aren't real, Leo. Don't let them convince you otherwise."
"I know," I muttered, but the words sounded hollow even to me. "It just… stuck with me. Every insult, every sneer… I couldn't move."
Alex was quiet for a long moment, then said, "You've been carrying too much. All of us are human, Leo, even you."
I glanced at him. His dark red eyes were calm, steady — the only thing in the world that felt certain tonight. I wanted to believe him. I needed to.
When we reached my apartment, the place felt too small, too empty. The single-bedroom unit smelled faintly of coffee and leftover take-out, the dull hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. I dropped my jacket on the chair and collapsed onto the couch.
Alex followed, quiet as always. He leaned against the doorway, observing me.
"You need to rest," he said simply.
"I don't even know how to sleep tonight," I muttered. "After that nightmare…"
He nodded, his usual stoic calm comforting. "Then let me stay. You won't be alone."
I hesitated. "You sure? I don't want to…"
"I'm sure," he interrupted softly. "You need me right now. That's enough."
I exhaled, letting the tension drain slightly. "Thanks," I admitted.
The couch was small for both of us, but Alex didn't hesitate. He moved beside me, careful, deliberate, letting me nestle against him. The night was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside.
"I…" I started, unsure if I should speak, "I felt so powerless in that dream. Everyone hated me, even you. I couldn't do anything right."
Alex didn't respond immediately. He simply wrapped an arm around me, steadying me. "It wasn't real," he said finally. "You're not powerless. You're brilliant, Leo. You always see the truth when no one else does."
I closed my eyes, letting his words settle. "It felt so real," I whispered. "I could feel it… everyone judging me, mocking me."
"I can't change dreams," he said softly, "but I can remind you of reality. You're not alone. Not now. Not ever."
His hand rested on my shoulder, firm and grounding. The warmth radiated through me, a shield against the nightmare still clinging to my mind.
"I… I don't know what I'd do without you," I admitted, voice barely audible.
"You'd survive," he murmured, "but maybe not as well. You need someone to anchor you sometimes. That's all."
I leaned into him further. "You always make everything feel… okay. Even when it's not."
"Good," he replied softly. "That's the point."
We stayed like that for hours. I drifted between half-sleep and awareness, each time waking to the quiet steadiness of Alex beside me. The nightmare never fully left, but his presence dulled its sharp edges.
At some point, I murmured, "I'm scared… of everything. The killer, the case… the darkness."
Alex tightened his hold just slightly. "Then stop being alone in it. You're not. I'm here. We face it together."
I exhaled slowly, feeling some of the tension in my chest finally loosen. "Together," I echoed.
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, I felt a small thread of peace. The darkness of the city, the weight of the case, the horrors we chased — all of it could wait for a little while.
Because right now, I was safe.
And Alex was here.