Looking over my shoulder at the clock, it's almost twelve thirty. The room is almost pitch black, except for the starlight coming through the window. He's asleep. His head is on my shoulder and he's lying next to me, breathing slowly, as if savoring the relaxation. He never relaxes; he pretends to, but he never really does. He's always tense, his shoulders straight, head up, gray eyes piercing. When I ask him what's wrong he'll laugh it off, but he never really answers me. It's a bit infuriating. He's a bit infuriating. But he's beautiful. The light from the window makes his long silvery hair gleam. His skin, so soft, so tan. I see random sparkles appear in the moonlight around his face. It's like fairies, dancing around his mouth, trying to make him smile again. Then I realize it's probably from my makeup I had on. Oh well. I sighed, and then wished I didn't. He stirred. His cheek rubbed against my shoulder again, then settled. His eyes didn't open though. Those long dark lashes stayed closed. Which made me happy. He looked so much like an angel; I didn't want to wake him up...