• Based off of this piece of work.
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    _______He’d been having these dreams for some time now, and each night they began and ended the same way. There, his student would stand, in a vast, unending white space. He seemed so patient, so overjoyed to see his professor. It was something the man has gotten used to, but never grew tired of. The professor would make his way over to his student, trying to contain his eagerness (never prevailing), and he would be greeted with his student’s warm, loving arms.

    _______“Professor!,” he’d exclaim, his smile never faltering. His professor would return his welcoming arms as they embraced, burying each other’s faces in the other’s neck. They’d stand there a moment, savoring every second, until carefully pulling apart in an attempt to get a look at the other’s face.

    _______Their lips would be only mere inches apart, which neither of them minded. Especially not the elder, whose hands would gasp at his student’s waist, making sure there was no pulling away. His student didn’t ever seem to care. In fact, he’d return the grip, getting a good hold of his professor’s shirt.

    _______“Did you miss me, professor?,” the student would question just before tugging his professor’s shirt to shorten the distance.

    _______The dreaming professor would think to himself, what a ridiculous question.

    _______“Yes.”

    _______Their lips would brush, each of the two leaning in to close that gap. The professor would feel his body heat up, his head grow dizzy and numb. The things this young individual could do to the old, near-retirement man like him with just a glance… Not to mention the feeling of his student’s lips against his own. The professor had never felt such soaring as he did now.

    _______The student, though, would grow bitter without notice. “So why didn’t you save me?”

    _______It would take only a few seconds to process what was said. The elder’s brow would knit until he felt something tighten around his body. It wasn’t the hungry, lustful grasp from before. It was cold, metallic, like some robotic serpent coiling around him. The coolness of that metal would heat up just as fast his student’s bitterness. The professor would look to the student in front of him again, only to see that once beautiful, perfect, flawless face hidden halfway under a kabuki mask. Whatever was visible was burnt and permanently damaged. That heavenly white space would turn into a showcase, lit ablaze by the professor’s own hand.

    _______That was always when he woke up in a sweat. It never failed. These nightmares would repeat themselves like an overplayed song on the radio. It would get harder and harder each time. The fire would repeat in his head, even after he’d woken up.

    _______All the professor could do was hide his face in his hands. His own fantasies haunted him now, the desires he craved before were tainted with the reality of now, of what he’d done.

    _______It was just the constant reminder of how it was his mistake.