Hi everyone! This is my entry for Fanfic Idol-the prompt was 'night' and I decided to twist it around a tad and write a pairing I haven't yet, so there you go. :)

He was darkness. It hurt because someone had blown all the stars out and he was left all alone at night, when everyone had left him with no choice but to be alienated from the rest of the world. And he spent the days and nights because what was the difference really among half-empty bottles of liquor and scattered fragments of his life that could be. Everyone from his original life had left him, and shamed by his imprisoned parents, he had no choice but to shut himself away in that massive ancient house that felt like it was made of cast iron because it was dark and black and it was always nighttime inside. And there weren't any happy memories anywhere but his room; he had the elves bring everything in because he couldn't bear to step foot anywhere outside. Shying away from the constant centre stage of the media and the rest of the world in general-for Merlin's sake, he never even left his childhood bed-left him no hope for any future interactions. He was convinced that his fate was sealed-he was going to be a perpetual pariah and die on this very bed with an elf watching over him.

And then she came-the gorgeous young persistent reporter with wide green eyes and a distinctly Welsh accent; she came every day and knocked for two hours straight for an entire fortnight. He finally let her in after two weeks; she wasn't doing anything to alleviate his throbbing head. He offered her tea and she said yes, sitting in a very ladylike manner on the edge of the sofa, tucking left muddy mackintosh behind the right one, and self-consciously patting her blond flyaway hair ever so often. She took a sip of the tea the elves made her and spat it out all over the antique Bohemian cushions seconds after taking a sip, claiming that 'sewage tasted better than that'.

It was the first time he'd laughed in months. And then somehow she started laughing too and he couldn't stop and their ribs hurt within minutes and suddenly he had a powerful burst of life and asked her to stay for dinner and she said sure why not because she wasn't going to risk getting thrown out-she did want a story after all-they ate beans on toast on the back balcony.

And he told her everything-he wanted to make the most out of perhaps the only human interaction he would be getting for a while. She sat quietly and listened, eyes open as if to absorb all of his story, hands alternately fiddling with her fingers and crumbling the edge of her toast into bits.

Suddenly she didn't want to write a story anymore. She didn't want to turn something in so personal as if it were an assignment. She didn't care about her paycheck because he had been through things she could imagine and maybe it wouldn't be as horrible if he weren't the way he was now. When the tears came she held his hands and as his sleeve slipped, she could see the black outline of the infamous skull.

And he saw nothing but grace and love in her; he never suspected her ulterior motives until they disappeared and after that, what was the point anyway?

She was his light and she led him out of the darkness, she was the sprinkles of stars on moony midnights that compel your eyes to stay, she was the best thing to happen to him but if there was no night for her to save him from then he loved the night because it asked her to save him again and again and again until they were both nothing but a solitary constellation half-twinkling in the rest of the sky.

Thanks for reading! :)