Word Count: 1520

Minutes waltz away from the bedroom and its darkness, dashing effortlessly through the window glass. The amber glow from the street lamps overlays the cold and mute gray paint on the ceiling, its flickers and twirls painting bloodcurdling creatures in gold and smoke. The bedsheets have been messily tossed away at the end of the bed, a wrinkled and lonely pile of soft lavender fabric. The ticking sound of the wooden wall clock, subtle but steady and nerve-wrecking, fills the silent atmosphere left by the cars that stopped driving through the street. It’s three in the morning, there are no vehicle engines roaring outside, no sharp stomps of high heels making its way from the flat above, no drunk chatter nor insanely loud music, not even the shy tapping of a couple of unknown feet against the concrete sidewalk. Just the merciless beat of the seconds clockwise and the unsteady, velvety breathing of the boy curled up in bed.

His dark eyes are as open as they can go, glued to the ceiling in paralyzing fright. Despite hating to stare at the dreadful monsters that appear and vanish in the waving shadows, the boy doesn’t even think of closing his eyes and drifting into sleep. He is physically unable to take a hold of his self-control once his eyelids shut and nightmares crawl inside his mind. The sheer, white fabric of the muscle top he’s wearing for pajamas tenses and stretches as his delicate but clammy hands fist it in frenzy, trembling knuckles growing pale. His knees shift a tad closer to his chest, the hair on his uncovered legs sticking up as a chilly sensation runs up his spine. Why haven’t his parents arrived?

Biting the inside of his cheek, the boy attempts once again to let himself fall into dreamland. The vicious grip on his tee loosens a bit as his eyelids slowly lower, the room fading black and the implacable ticking growing distant. A discordant frown emerges between his brows; his parted lips shut tight, losing its rosy hue with the pressure; the quiet and fluent motion of his chest progressively becomes frantic, loudly ragged. No more than six seconds have passed, and the boy’s eyes are wide open again, terror lurking beneath the shiny wetness of the tears threatening to fall. His raven black hair is awfully tangled and damp in cold sweat; his whole body shakes as he lifts himself up, sitting on the not-that-comfortable-now bed with his thighs flush against his clothed torso.

Inhale and exhale he tells himself, scraping every ounce of serenity left in his slender body, it was just a bad dream. You tried to sleep and bad news, it didn’t work; now get on your feet and think of something else. Quickly complying with the sensible voice in his head, the boy swiftly turns to face the edge of the bed; shyly extends his legs, letting his feet meet the waxed and smooth surface of the wooden pavement. Geez, it’s cold. The boy pulls himself up in one swift motion, his lanky but surprisingly toned figure looking now rather fragile against the ominous scene surrounding him. He hugs his shaky, exposed arms in a vague attempt to protect them from the unforgiving coolness of the air. Why does everything have to look a billion times scarier at night?

The heavy, sharp silence has flooded the apartment like an invisible but extremely dense fog. Dead silent, the boy tiptoes his way through the house, his bare feet ever so lightly kissing the wooden floor. His hands are firmly gripping the hem of his muscle top, knuckles brushing the milky skin of his exposed thighs every once in a while; Nibbling at his bottom lip, the boy internally prays to every known god not to stub his toe into any furniture edges.

 After what feels like an eternity, he reaches the plain yet intimidating main door. A shaky sigh spills past his dry, parted lips as he reluctantly frees the wrinkled fabric of his tee from his vice-like grasp. One of his hands reaches for the doorknob, slim fingers wrapping themselves around it and twisting it carefully. A loud click echoes through the empty flat, quickly muffled by the darkness of the corridor, and the boy’s head turns in a rushed snap, fright filled eyes glancing at the menacing, shaded walls. Reluctantly walking backwards, he makes his way through the doorstep, his eyes stay glued to the obscure pit that the once trustworthy flat has become.

The door closes smoothly behind him, not a sound to hear besides the quiet gasps that bloom in his lips as his feet kiss the cold polished stone floor. The sloped steps are filled to the brim with dark, dreadful shadows; it makes the boy wonder if he’ll hear some monstrous growl emerge from the depths of that shortcut to hell. Better not stay to check. Turning on his heels, he makes his way across the empty, ominous hall, halting in front of a minimalistic beech door. Please, be at home. The boy brings his shaky fist to the sanded wooden surface; his knuckles connect with it three times before he lets his hand rest against it. The matte echo of those three shy knocks floats in the air like the subtle yet decadent perfume of dead leaves soaking under a late night storm; slightly turning his head, the boy watches his rear as his whole body tenses, the sharp edges of his shoulder blades appear visible underneath the milky skin.

Suddenly his hand falls limp to his side as the door opens in a silent motion, the dim lighting from inside the flat accentuates the outline of the tall figure standing a few feet from him. Broad shoulders and defined arms give the silhouette a menacing aura, yet the boy just lowers his head and squints his almond-shaped eyes at the sudden brightness. Instinctively biting his lip in shyness, the words spill past his thin berry lips in a mumble, his voice takes that childish twist he’s always been ashamed of.

 -…I can’t sleep…

Not daring to move a single muscle, his submissive side makes him freeze on the spot and resist the urge to start shaking as the taller boy’s ice stare washes over him. He can feel his toes growing numb as the polished stoned floor’s cold sinks past his skin, the hair on his bare thighs is all spiked up due to the chills running through his slim legs. Finally, the other’s rasp yet calm and surprisingly serene voice reverberates through the hall, the warm notes within instantly dipping the paralyzed boy into soothing relief and safety. 

-Me neither. Come on in, you’re giving me the chills.

The effect of those words on the lanky boy resembles some kind of spell, compelling him to swiftly do as he’s been told. There’s some undertone in the taller’s rumbling voice that reminds him of warm water currents underneath the surface of the late spring sea, watching through the bedroom window how a powerful storm unravels outside, sunrises and strong coffee, sheltering inside someone else’s oversized and still warm leather jacket. Those thoughts fill his mind like a sedative, turning his surroundings into an undefined blur of soft colored fluffiness. Only when he feels himself lay on top of a comfortable, cloud-resembling surface, everything starts to get back into focus. He’s resting on a king-size bed, and he can feel the smooth touch of the crème toned silk bedsheets against the back of his bare thighs as he tries to reach the edge of the bed with his foot.  A rustle by his right makes him turn his head, just to see the taller boy peacefully lounging next to him. With his feet crossed and an open book splayed over his bare torso, the blond giant has his glacial stare nailed to the ceiling. He looks like an ancient sculpture, keeping its cold yet burning passion as centuries wash over him.

Suddenly, stone turns into flesh and the blonde’s gaze travels up to the raven haired boy, who can’t help but softly yawn. Time to get your zzzs, boy. Back to his relaxed and clearly sleepy self, the boy fins his voice again spilling past his mouth without having his consent.

-Thanks for letting me in.

-You know I don’t mind.

If Morpheus hadn’t already started taking over his figure he could have felt the slight trace of a promise, a somewhat peculiar warmth bleeding through those otherwise mainstream and plain words. But his lids start feeling heavy, and the slim little boy with huge dark circles under his eyes wiggles in place looking for the ideal sleeping posture. Finally letting his eyes shut, a sweet mumble flies away from his now smiling lips.

-Good night, Kris.

Slumber falls upon the boy like the first snow of December; he can barely feel how the blond boy covers his lanky and trembling body with a cozy knitted blanket, a glint of softness and concern in those mighty storm gray eyes.

-Good night, Tao. Sleep tight.

- Ele.