Don had nightmares every night. After hours spent at work, and other hours spent tidying up the messes of his two children, he found himself having no peace even while he slept. It was always the same dream; he was in front of a huge tree, in a dark and foggy forest, and someone seemed to be calling him from the roots. He could clearly feel the voice vibrating from under his shoes, in every single bone of his body, and then resonating inside his skull.
“Remember me.”
Sometimes it sounded like a whisper, other times a scream so loud it made him wake up with a start. He didn't have the slightest idea what that place was, even less about that voice; it called him so loudly, almost as if it was desperate. After waking up, he would find himself groggy in his bed, staring at the ceiling until dawn reached the window. That series of nightmares had started completely randomly, without a particular trigger.
“It's just insomnia”, or at least that's what he thought the first few days. The longer he went on, the more his hours of sleep drastically decreased. In a magazine at work, between one jet ski and another, he had found a simple article on how to combat such a sleep disorder. He'd tried chamomile tea, a hot shower, turning off all the lights, and even some melatonin. Nothing, absolutely nothing, seemed to work.
“Remember me.”
Every morning he woke up more and more tired, he barely paid attention to what his children said to him. Drinking coffee from a mug, he heard them chatter about what they were going to do at school that day, wondering where they got all that energy from; after all, they were just children, and luckily, they rested peacefully every night. He nodded, trying to appear concentrated, helped them pack their backpacks and accompanied them to the bus stop. He did this every morning, yet each time he seemed to be slower and less lucid. He even yawned as he waved to them, crawling back into the house as soon as he saw the bus turn the corner. He began to get seriously worried when, while explaining an item to a customer, he didn't realize that he had dramatically mistaken the model of the jet ski. He couldn't remember the description, not even a feature of that article, reaching the point of babbling confused and hasty notions. The customer in front of him looked at him strangely, almost as if he was a crazy man, and the sale was a total, never seen before, fiasco in every respect. Don, hands on hips, watched his money leave the store, shaking his head in disappointment. The more he watched that customer walk away, the more he felt himself sinking, reaching rock bottom.
“Maybe it's time to go to the doctor,” he thought that evening, opening the front door. His sons had already come home and were both lying on the couch watching television, yelling at each other who would have that WWE match. He barely waved at them before collapsing into the free seat on the couch. He asked how their day had gone, with that last bit of energy he had left, but then he didn't have time to hear the answer, since he had inevitably already fallen asleep.
“Remember me.”
Once again, he found himself in that dark forest. There wasn't a shred of sun in that thick fog, everything around went from gray to pitch black. In front of him, that gigantic tree again, which seemed even more wilted than usual. The voice now seemed incessant, repeating "remember me" over and over, making his head spin wildly. Don, exhausted, really couldn't figure it out. He just wanted to wake up immediately to stop that torture, to get back in touch with his reality, but this time he couldn't seem to open his eyes. He was trapped there, in that whirlwind of voices that gave him no peace, reaching his ears from every possible direction. Terrified, almost on the verge of tears, he put his head in his hands and screamed loudly, so loudly that his throat almost started to hurt.
“I don't know you!”
He finally screamed, repeating it over and over, slamming his feet on the roots of the tree. Frustrated, he had lost his mind because of those nightmares, and wanted nothing more than a peaceful sleep. He wasn’t asking for the world, he just needed to sleep. Everyone would have gone crazy in his place, especially when he seemed to be haunted by such a curse. No longer hearing the voices, Don stopped to catch his breath, slowly focusing on his surroundings.
"Do not you remember me?"
In the heart of the fog, instead of that disturbing tree, a black figure appeared in front of him. It was a man dressed in black, with a long dark green cloak that fell around his neck and behind his shoulders, tattered towards the edges. Two long horns, curved and pointed, rose from the helmet he wore on his forehead, cutting the fog like two blades. His face, however, was incredibly pale and anguished, with dark circles clearly visible under his eyes. He looked like someone's ghost, with that skin so white, contrasting with his black hair. The eyes, wide open and completely black, without iris or sclera, peered at Don as if they were obsessed with him. The head tilted to the side, the half-open mouth, and the furrowed eyebrows made his entire expression even more eerie, sending shivers down every part of his body.
“Mobius, you really don't remember me?”
At that question, Don woke up, his heart feeling like it was trying to escape his ribcage. Sweating on every inch of skin he had, he touched his chest to stop his rapid breathing, trying to look around to see where he was. It took him a few seconds before he recognized his living room, and the sofa he had fallen asleep on that evening. He also had a blanket on him, probably brought by one of his children. The clock showed 4 am; paradoxically he had slept more than usual. Cursing under his breath, he sat up on the sofa cushions, pressing his fingers into the middle of his forehead. Either he was totally going crazy, or seriously something, nay, someone was haunting him in his own dreams. More than a doctor, perhaps he should have gone to a sorcerer, or an exorcist. At that thought, a green spark lit up for a millisecond in all the light bulbs in the living room, giving him yet another heart attack.
Shit.
He felt like he was the protagonist of a horror story. Terrified, Don turned on all the lights downstairs, hiding in the kitchen until dawn broke. Sitting still at the table, he looked around with wild eyes, jumping at every single noise. He was afraid that something was coming for him at any moment; that they were coming to get that certain Mobius, or at least that's what he had called him. Instead, luckily for him, literally nothing else happened.
From the next day, Don had no more nightmares, sleeping nights in a row without the slightest problem. He recovered his hours of sleep, went back to playing with his children and working with a smile, putting those months of insomnia behind him. Everything seemed to have returned to normal, however he continued to think about that figure, that ghost, and the dark sadness that was on every part of his face. He wondered if he should look for someone to explain the meaning of the dreams, but in the end, he put the idea aside, believing it was all nonsense. His life as a worker and single father of two children continued peacefully, until he started dreaming again.
“Remember me.”
He was once again in a forest, but this time the fog had completely disappeared. Instead, there were warm rays of sunlight, coming from behind the branches of the tree in front of him, green and lush as if bursting with life. It was a pleasant dream, a scenario that brought him calm and tranquility, completely opposite to the feelings of pure terror he felt in the past. Don, confused, looked around, taking a few steps towards the tree. His footsteps sank into the green grass at his feet, muffling the sound. Slowly, he raised a hand to touch the bark of the tree, but stopped a few inches away, feeling something shake in the upper branches.
“You're here.”
From above, a male voice immediately caught his attention, causing him to look up. The man from his nightmares spoke again, taking him completely by surprise. Sitting on one of the sturdiest branches, he slowly dangled one leg, while he used the other knee as a support for his arm. He held his forehead with one hand, looking at him with a calm expression, full of fondness. A bewitching smile, highlighted by green and kind eyes. Don took a step back, both for safety and to look at him better, intrigued by such a drastic change. Even the long horns, anchored to the helmet, inspired less fear. A few weeks ago he had mistaken him for a ghost, but now he looked like a God. Within seconds, he came down from the branch to get closer, and Don continued to retreat, showing clear signs of discomfort. Seeing him still scared, the God stopped in his tracks, looking at him doubtfully.
“Don't you remember me?”, he asked him, frowning. Hearing that question, Don almost wanted to grab his brain and tear it into a thousand pieces. No, he didn't remember him at all, and he had no idea why he had been stalking him for weeks. On the other hand, he was sure that if he had ever seen such a majestic God at least once in his life, then he would remember it forever. Shaking his head, Don laughed in exasperation, finally admitting to himself that he was going crazy.
“Listen, I don't know you, I have no idea who you are, and I don't even know who the Mobius you're looking for is,” Don said, gesticulating brightly. He was angry, frustrated that he had ended up in this situation again. He had just gotten rid of those nightmares, now he didn't want to start all over again.
“Mobius?” asked the God, confused by that choice of name. Don looked at him, and he could swear he didn't know if he was making fun of him or not. He had the face of a trickster, after all.
“Yes, Mobius, that's what you called me last time,” he added, putting a hand on his hip. It all seemed like a huge joke, with nightmares and dreams each stranger than the other. After that response, the God's face seemed to be hit with a terrible, terrible, realization. He was the one who was going to connect all the dots of this story, while Don was still at sea.
“It seems you have met the other me,” the deity said, clenching his hands into fists. He hoped he had made it in time, that he had eliminated that problem before he could get to his Mobius, but evidently, he was wrong. He had arrived out of time, and who knows what his variant might have done to him. Maybe he had hurt him, or worse, which was why he was so scared of him now. Scared of his lover, whose existence he had completely forgotten. Grieved, the God clicked his tongue, looking down with a new anger spread across his face.
“Other you? Aren't you and that ghost the same thing?” Don asked, understanding even less than usual. He wondered if work stress could be the cause of all this. He didn't hate his job, but he had read that never taking a day off was more likely to lead to a nervous breakdown. Shaking his head, he gave up trying to understand how and why, and sat down on the ground, with his back against the trunk of the tree, waiting for the other to begin his explanation. After all, it was just a dream, and sooner or later he would wake up, right?
“I killed him,” the God began, looking up to his human straight in the eyes. An icy silence fell between the two, while Don tried not to look too surprised, perhaps to avoid offending such a deity. Hearing that confession, he came to understand why, after months, he had stopped having nightmares. He had finally returned to closing his eyes with serenity, lying down in the warmth of his bed. Was it perhaps thanks to him? Thanks to that God, perhaps benevolent, who was in front of him at that moment? Maybe, then, he wasn't completely crazy. Was there really a logical explanation behind everything he had experienced in the last few months?
“I could never do things like that to you, Mobius,” continued the God, bending close to him. He even bent down on one knee to get to his level, taking his hand in his. At that contact of skin, Don was invaded by a series of different memories and emotions, being hit by what seemed to be someone else's life. It was him, Mobius, with a life at TVA, and a love story with that very God, whose name resonated in his heart like a prayer, Loki. Finally, he remembered everything: their first meeting, the first mission, the first fight and the first kiss, but also their last day together, even if they hadn't said goodbye. He remembered perfectly how he had fallen in love with his company and how they had become inseparable; at the end, seeing his lover isolating himself was so painful that it convinced him to return to his timeline, giving away his memories, and live as if nothing had happened. However, their lives were intertwined in too many ways and in too many timelines; they just couldn't live without each other.
“I'm here,” said Don, now Mobius, caressing Loki's face. Forehead to forehead, he noticed a small, glittering tear falling from the God's eye, and he didn't miss the opportunity to gently collect it. He had found his lover again, and for the first time in months he was finally happy to have fallen asleep. He was happy to sleep for the next few weeks too, as Loki was in his every dream. They were beautiful dreams, which put him in such a good mood that he even went to work with that giant smile on his face. He felt loved, and with his children by his side, everything seemed to be going well.
Or so it seemed, until Loki no longer came to him in his dreams. Their meeting simply skipped over for one night, and the next morning Mobius woke up terribly agitated. He wondered if something had happened to him, if he was okay, or if another Loki had killed him. Its variants could be dangerous, they knew it well. Anxious, he left the house before his children, rushing to work. The sooner he went to work, the sooner the day was over, and the sooner he could go back to bed, hoping and praying that he would see him again. He was worried, but the only thing that could distract him were the jet skis. They were his first love, and perhaps the only thing Loki wasn't jealous of. However, just as he had finished trying one in the shop, even with a fan that moved his hair, he saw the man of his dreams walk through the entrance. He seemed agitated, as if he had been running non-stop from side to side for hours.
“You're here!”, Loki exclaimed, running towards Mobius. For real, he really seemed panicked. His lover began babbling about the TVA, about their friends, about how everyone was in danger and how, sadly, he knew full well that he didn't remember him. About that last thing, however, he was totally wrong; Mobius may not have known what was happening at TVA in that moment, but he vowed to never forget his Loki again.
“I remember you, Loki,” he told him, cupping his face in his hands. Those simple words were enough to make him calm down, instantly dissolving all the worry on his face. Breathing a sigh of relief, one of those he perhaps hadn't done in a lifetime, Loki let himself be hugged tenderly, hiding against his shoulder.
No, Mobius would never forget him again, in any possible and imaginable timeline.