You don't remember when it started, but now it happens almost every night.
You're small, so small you can't even lift up your sword (but it's broken in half for some reason, so you don't think it would have been much help anyway). Instead you have to drag it behind you like a deadweight as you make your way down a red dust path with rolling fields on either side.
You know you're in the game, and you know you're looking for someone. Once you stop and ask yourself who (or sometimes why), everything changes.
Now you're in a jungle of black and white trees all swooping and caging you in, but you fight your way forward. Then you realize that you don't know forward from sideways since the path has disappeared beneath your feet, so you stop.
That's when you notice the bodies.
They're everywhere: hanging from the sky by circles of rope, sprawled across the ground, piled in heaps of broken angles and angry red. They're all dead, and they're all you.
You scream yourself hoarse, but no one ever answers. You're alone with your mistakes, each one an instance where you fucked up and all your friends died because of it. They all tell the same story, but it ends in a different failure every time-an infinite number of unhappily-ever-afters that you can't even remember and will surely contribute to. Then you'll just be another dead Dave to add to the masses and mark the way for the real one.
Maybe he won't let everyone down.
You can't look reality in the face, so you stumble forward blindly. You're running away, tracing your own footsteps, but you hit a dead end every time you see yourself and stop to change directions. Eventually you can't turn anywhere without seeing a corpse, and you feel panic welling up inside your chest. Now they're piling up into towering walls like a prison that push closer and closer until you realize that you're doomed.
You can't even take one step anymore, because time has slowed down like it's under a blanket of snow. You're going to get covered up and lost forever.
But before that can happen, you notice that you're sinking into the ground. Blood is pouring from the bodies in ribbons that weave towards you like snakes. They swirl all around you and you can feel them seeping into your skin as heat and life and energy and you're going to burst the deeper you fall because your face is still everywhere you look, but now they're all blank. You're up to your chest, the ground pushing on you until you can't breathe. You're still screaming, but you have to stop when your head submerges. You struggle to take one last breath of air, and it tastes red.
At first, everything is red, but it's more like liquid than earth as it slowly fills your lungs with a dull ache that threatens to consume you. Just as you're starting to give in and fade away, someone grabs your hand and pulls you back up to the surface. For a moment, just one moment, he looks right at you. Then he's gone in a flash of light brighter than anything you've ever seen, leaving you hunched over on the ground sobbing for the guardian who gave you a second chance.
Suddenly, you feel a different hand on your shoulder. You look up and your best friend is there, smiling down at you in a way that says everything is going to be alright. You believe him, because he's John.
Then you see that Rose and Jade are standing on either side of you, pulling you to your feet. They smile at you, too, and you feel yourself glowing.
And that's when they start sinking.
It's slow and definite; they start reaching out to you desperately, yelling for you to save them, but you can't move. There are red-hot whispers winding around you and shackling you in place no matter how hard you strain against them.
You're worthless.
You're a coward.
You're afraid.
So instead, you have to watch with the cold sting of inevitability closing around your throat as your friends are pulled away from you. They fall deeper and deeper and deeper, every inch draining the warmth out of your heart until they're completely gone and you're alone.
And it stays like that for so long that everything starts to crack and collapse around you, burying you until you're gone, too. But you can still taste the red of anger and hate and cowardice, because you're still a failure.
When you jolt awake in the middle of the night, you don't remember any of that; you just know you had that dream again and you're scared. You're sobbing and shivering and you think you might be the only person left on the planet.
Usually, you just sit in bed and try not to look at anything. You don't try to rationalize it. You think that maybe if you look at something, it will all stop existing. You keep your eyes closed because you think you must be better off not knowing either way. You don't want to open them and see that you're right, you're all alone, so you lie there and breathe in and out, in and out until you fade into nothingness. When you wake up in the morning, you act like it never happened. It's all a hazy memory that seems so far away.
But you can't do that tonight.
Your eyes are stinging the longer you keep them closed, so you open them before you can stop yourself, and for just a moment, everything looks like it's made out of red, like your eyes themselves.
The world is spinning as your breath comes out in ragged gasps, and you don't know what to do. Everything is rushed and out of control and falling away in pieces. Your eyes still hurt, so you put on your sunglasses just to feel the familiar weight, and everything stops. The world is frozen; everything is frozen, except for the sound of your heartbeat in overdrive.
You aren't sure which world scares you more.
You suck in a deep breath of silence that weighs down your lungs and race across the room to your desk. Your heart is pounding out space between your bones, and you feel detached, surreal, like you might just float away. You need something to pull you back.
Now you're staring at your shitty screensaver and wondering when you turned on the computer. You bring your feet up onto the chair, hugging your knees to your chest. You'll have to type around them, and you feel ridiculous, but you can't make yourself uncurl.
You need to know you're not alone.
- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 01:47 -
TG: hey john
TG: dude i know youre awake
TG: youre always up all night on fridays watching those shitty lifetime romcoms meant for dissatisfied suburban housewives who want something to vicariously latch onto
TG: actually
TG: does that worry you at all
TG: that the highlight of your week is finding out if drew barrymore will finally admit her love for the man she had previously written off as a self-serving tool (she will) and if she can do it while somehow managing to be an ambitious badass who can single-handedly dismantle the patriarchy (she can)
TG: (every time)
TG: i mean
TG: whatever milks your goat
TG: you know
TG: metaphorically
TG: not like theres an actual goat
TG: its just a figure of speech
TG: like whatever floats your boat
TG: again just a metaphor
TG: a metaphorical boat which may or may not contain some metaphorical goats
TG: i dont know maybe its some sort of figurative goat smuggling ring
TG: that no one knows about because it doesnt fucking exist
TG: but meaningless idioms aside arent you just a little concerned about this
TG: do you suddenly feel the need to clean your whole house or subscribe to other obvious female social stereotypes while still maintaining your haughty independence
TG: do you want to pack a lunch for your kids or start a strained book club with your neighbors
TG: rose and i saw you vacuuming a totally spotless carpet the other day
TG: were worried about you
TG: we have to stop this before its too late
EB: it is two in the morning.
TG: whoa really
TG: thank fucking god you were here to tell me
TG: i should get some kind of convenient glowing display to tell me the time whenever i want, maybe in the corner of a screen i look at almost all day
TG: oh wait
EB: did you wake me up just so you would have someone to be an asshole to.
TG: youre welcome
EB: this is stupid.
TG: oh ouch
TG: watch where you point that sarcasm champ
TG: youll put somebodys eye out
EB: that was the exact opposite of sarcasm. literally. like, the exact fucking opposite.
TG: but it still hurt me deep in my kokoro
EB: seriously, dave, what's up?
TG: what do you mean
TG: i just felt like talking to my best bro
TG: at exactly two in the morning
EB: you stay up really late every day but you almost never pester me because you know i'm asleep. so what's going on? did something happen?
TG: what no
TG: cant i just chat up my friend when im bored
EB: no you cannot because "chat up" is the dumbest thing i've ever heard.
TG: yeah
TG: but really i dont need an ulterior motive to feel like talking to you do i
EB: i guess not, no.
EB: but it is a little weird at this time of night.
TG: morning actually
EB: shut up, i'm trying to be a good friend.
EB: are you sure you're okay?
EB: dave?
EB: ...
TG: yeah im fine
EB: oh man
EB: that was the shittiest lie i've ever seen.
TG: no it wasnt i feel great
TG: never better in fact
TG: so awesome
TG: you only wish you could feel as good and emotionally stable as i do
TG: but you cant
TG: thats how totally fine i am right now
EB: yeah whatever, nerd. if you ever actually want to tell me about what's going on, i'll be here.
EB: for now, goodnight.
TG: morning
EB: shut up!
- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] -
You let out a shaky breath that you didn't know you were holding and don't close the Pesterchum client just yet. You stay curled up in your chair with your chin on your knees for who knows how long, staring at the blue text and listening to your heart slow down so that it doesn't make your thoughts all hazy and ripped around the edges.
Blue is much better than red, you think. It's cool and calm and you can feel it soothing the pounding heat and panic in your veins like a breeze. You're slowing down as your feet get rooted back to the earth, and you have John to thank.
It's a surreal kind of security; your hands still tremble at the prospect of sharing your dreams with anyone, even him. Yet at the same time, you find yourself imagining what it would feel like to breathe without a box closing you in and you can't ignore the lurching anticipation in your chest.
Another unsteady breath, this time while nodding slightly.
If he guesses, I won't lie.
That's the most you can make yourself promise. Your heart thumps obnoxiously at the prospect of sharing your burden, but your mind goes blank with the fear of having to admit it out loud. That makes it real, after all—real enough that you'll have to face it.
You hide your head between your knees, letting your shades slip to the ground and feeling infinitely worse for being so helpless.
Please figure it out, you almost whisper, but you can't bring yourself to do it.
You can't even make yourself return to the comfort of your bed. Instead, you drift off into a shallow sleep, curled up in your chair until you're as small as you feel and wishing you had at least a broken sword to defend yourself with.
- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 02:03 -
TG: hey
TG: john hey
TG: god damn egbert youd think youd know the drill by now
TG: i pester you in the middle of the night and we talk about meaningless shit while you pointlessly search for a hidden meaning in my obnoxious yet appropriately flirty banter
TG: a meaning which doesnt actually exist by the way
TG: its the exact opposite of existing in fact
TG: its so far from existing its on its own plane of being
TG: which manifests in this world as some dumbshit grain of sand that our weak human minds cant even comprehend
TG: until it gets stuck in the asscrack of non-existence on the beach of youre imagining it
TG: then it doesnt exist twice
TG: now its a carbon molecule that some weakass flower sucks in through its leafy pores and turns into oxygen or some shit
TG: (probably a rose because the universe is ironic like that)
TG: until its eventually re-released into the world
TG: at the third tier of motherfucking non-existence
EB: do you ever get tired of talking to yourself.
TG: nah im pretty much the shit
EB: catch me, i'm swooning too hard.
TG: dont worry thats a totally normal reaction
TG: rose does it all the time
TG: shes always flirting with me so hard or whatever
TG: i just cant be left alone
EB: i'm sure that is exactly 100% true.
EB: wait, don't change the subject!
TG: what
TG: from what
EB: how bad of a liar your stupid gay butt is.
TG: fuck that my butt is the best liar out there
TG: i dare you to find a butt thats better at lying than mine
TG: oh thats right
TG: you cant
EB: :P
TG: i will accept your apology no later than five o'clock this evening
TG: two pages standard essay format no title no credit
EB: how about instead of doing that, i don't.
EB: and then you tell me why you bug me in the middle of the night all the time.
EB: come on, there has to be a real reason.
TG: what do you mean real
TG: are my strong emotions for my best friend not real enough for you
TG: i cant contain my desire
TG: to talk to you 24/7
EB: yeah, bullshit.
EB: you would sleep until noon if you could. so what's up? insomnia?
TG: not really
TG: its seriously not a big deal
EB: stop saying that. i'm being the absolute best bro. the best one. i'm going to figure this out.
TG: or youre going to spend the rest of your life feeling the tiniest bit unfulfilled
TG: never quite knowing why
TG: because you didnt realize that you were reading too far into your friends sleep-deprived ramblings at 2 am
TG: so you never let it go
TG: and it haunts you for the rest of your life
TG: what was he hiding
TG: what could it have been
TG: until your common sense finally kicks its rusted and creaking gears into motion after a lifetime of disuse
TG: to whisper the answer into your oblivious ear
TG: nothing you fucking moron
EB: augh shut up.
EB: is it nightmares?
EB: i mean, they would have to be almost every night, so maybe not.
EB: but am i close?
EB: dave?
Your hands hover over the keyboard. He did it. He guessed correctly, like you wanted. Now you can share this awful secret that's been suffocating you for who knows how long and finally move on with your life because someone will be there to help you through it.
You frown at the screen.
EB: hello?
EB: ...
EB: ...loser.
TG: yeah
EB: yeah you're a loser?
TG: what no
TG: yeah youre right
EB: about you being a loser.
TG: no what are you even doing this was your thing
EB: i'm just kidding, i know you mean the nightmares.
TG: its really not a big deal
EB: you already said that.
TG: i mean it
EB: well i don't know that much about this kind of stuff but i've had nightmares before, too, so i'll help if i can.
TG: you cant
TG: its not something i need help with
TG: sometimes i have weird dreams and i wake up and cant get back to sleep right away so i talk to you
TG: i repeat not a big deal
EB: are you sure?
TG: yeah
TG: hey are you still coming over later
EB: of course! i promised to kick your ass at video games all night.
TG: dude were playing on the same team
EB: wait what?
TG: kidding get over here so i can wipe the floor with you
TG: apartments gonna be so clean after were done
TG: all sparkling with the tears of your defeat
EB: ha ha, try the other way around!
EB: later.
- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] -
You close the Pesterchum client and opt to spend the rest of your morning dicking around on your computer. When the doorbell rings (probably twice by the time you hear it), you leap out of your chair and trip over your desk, frantically searching for a pair of pants that you never bothered to put on.
You've totally composed yourself by the time you open the front door half a minute later, but John takes one look at your flushed face and snorts. "You hadn't even gotten out of bed, had you?"
After pointing out that his hair looks like he's still in bed since it defies all the known laws of gravity, he grumbles something about your stupid shades obscuring your vision and pushes past you into the apartment.
You head straight for the living room and sprawl all the way across the couch, raising an eyebrow as John stops by your feet.
"Way to be an asshole," he complains, but he still tries to sit around you instead of pushing you out of the way.
"My house, my rules."
"Dude, this isn't even a house."
"My four-room semi-owned structure, my rules."
"Dude."
"Get off my fucking couch, John."
Instead, he shoves your legs away and stretches out along that side. You decide to kick his ass into next week to make up for it, so you set up the video game.
It isn't long before he's so into it that he's leaning forward with his lips slightly parted and you have to remind yourself not to seem too intent on that or the game (you want your victory to seem effortless, after all).
He nudges you in the side with his elbow and your thumb slips on your controller.
"Are you serious?" you say incredulously, but he just flashes you a self-satisfied grin as the TV blasts confirmation of his K.O.
So you shrug and shove him into the arm of the couch with your shoulder. He pushes you away quickly, yelling dismayed protests, but you already got the kill you wanted.
"That was low," he declares.
You smile just a bit as you return your attention to the game. "It's a cruel world we live in—"
You choke on your words as he uses one hand to push your face into a cushion. You drop your controller and push his arm away, spluttering.
"Yeah, it is," he agrees, trying and failing to keep a solemn look on his face as you hurry to straighten your shades.
Your expression tightens imperceptibly in the beat of silence that follows. Then you lunge across him and begin to wrestle his controller out of his hands.
He yells in surprise and tries to shove you off, but you latch onto his arm and plant your elbow under his chin. He lets out a breathy noise and scrunches up his nose to keep his glasses from slipping off his face but doesn't let go of the controller.
"You must be really scared of losing," he grunts as you attempt to pry his fingers up.
You feel him swallow hard around your elbow and consider kneeing him in the stomach. "More like I'm showing some mercy by letting you off the hook now."
Just when you think you can yank it away from him, he shoves you back with a surprising burst of strength and pushes you into the couch with an arm across your chest.
You make a faint shocked noise in the back of your throat and register somewhere in a corner of your mind that your shades were knocked halfway down your face. Blaring in the immediate forefront of your thoughts is awareness of the fact that your shirt is riding up a bit and John is practically straddling you.
You feel like someone covered you with a blanket and struggle to find the right words beneath an uncomfortable weight of heat. Meanwhile, John smiles in a way that makes you want to bury your face in a pillow. "Why do you always cover up your eyes? They're so cool."
You blink involuntarily and hope (against the odds) that you don't look too caught-in-the-headlights. The way breathing hurts your chest and the fact that you still haven't said anything suggest to your highly honed observation skills that the answer is embarrassingly negative.
John laughs, sitting up and nudging you with his leg. "Get it together, bro. I've got a solid, like, six kill lead on you."
You take a shallow breath and straighten your shades, splaying your legs across his lap. "I'd get real comfortable with the ground if I were you, John, 'cause I'm about to knock you off that high horse of yours."
"Bring it."
"Overused lines from shitty old fighting movies?"
"I was being ironic."
"There are some boundaries, man…"
You don't think you ever want to find out if, should you put your ear to his chest at that very moment, his heart is beating as fast as yours.
"I forgot my sleeping bag."
You glance up from your laptop. "The road before you is hard and unforgiving, because it is the floor, but I can promise that you'll walk away a changed man. Namely, your back and neck will be bent in alignment with an as of yet unknown gravitational pull—"
"Oh my god just give me yours, you massive dork."
You direct him down the hall and return to your hugely important technological escapades, crossing your legs over the haphazard sheets on your bed.
When John returns, he says, "Jeez, are you even planning to get any sleep?"
You look up again, a bit taken aback, and he rolls his eyes. "You haven't even changed yet."
As a matter of fact, you hadn't been planning to get any sleep, as per your normal sleepover routine, but you figure there's no sense in worrying John with it. You swing your legs off the bed and head for the bathroom. "I was waiting for you to be done. Unless you're implying that you wanted to strip for me."
"Sometimes I wonder why I bother trying to be friends with you."
"It's all a clever scheme to get the lion's share in my will," you call over your shoulder as you enter the hallway.
"Not worth it!"
By the time you return to your room, he's splayed out on his back on top of the sleeping bag with his hands tucked behind his head. He's watching the sun ripple across your ceiling as it sets, but he glances at you when you walk in. His eyes somehow look darker without the glasses in front of them, and the harsh way the red light of evening hits his face makes your toes curl.
"I think I'm just going to hit the hay," he says with a yawn, curling up a little on his side.
"Figures," you scoff, climbing into bed and sprawling out over the sheets. Your laptop is radiating more heat than is already sticking to your skin, so you push it a little farther away and tilt your head at an awkward angle.
"You know, Dave, one day you'll regret choosing being cool over getting enough beauty sleep like me."
You don't look away from the screen. "Nah, I don't need it as much as your buck teeth do."
"And so you show your true colors," he says, but his voice sounds slow and distant.
"Or are they just my decoy colors?"
After a while, you turn your head just enough to confirm the deep rise and fall of his chest in the rapidly blurring haze of not-quite-light-or-dark. You remove your shades and try to ignore the fact that the air suddenly has weight, hoping maybe the red is leaving your eyes with the rest of the sunlight.
The heat weighs you down long into the night. Your thoughts are starting to get fuzzy, but the heavy temperature crawling along your skin makes you just restless enough to avoid giving in to fatigue. It's the kind of night you hate, where it's so hot it seems like the entire world has stopped moving and nothing will ever be able to cut through the fogginess even to lift an arm ever again. It puts a strange pressure on your chest but you can't make yourself do more than shift your legs.
Then you hear a rustling to your right and manage to roll onto your side. John is somehow still sleeping peacefully, albeit at an awkward angle, and you marvel at the way he seems detached from the heaviness of the air. His skin looks drained in the moonlight, but it's kind of nice, you think—a little surreal. You imagine everything is moving around him much more quickly, calmness and clarity all spiraling out like a breeze even as white-hot pinpricks sparkle down your neck. You take a deep breath that tastes stale like starlight, holding it and waiting waiting waiting because everything is so slow and stalled and hot that you think you might burst if something doesn't change.
You close your eyes and listen to your heart beat, imagining you can hear John's filling every pause.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
And somewhere along the way, the heat breaks. You shift onto your back and let your chest deflate until your breathing hits a normal rhythm. Your eyelids flutter but don't open, because it's dark and your skin is glowing, not burning, and you feel exactly as if you could stand up on your own for the first time in a while.
So you let yourself drift off to sleep with some newfound courage.
A faint buzzing is the first thing that fazes through to you from the conscious world, and it lashes around your neck and pulls you back until your eyes snap open and you take a shuddering gulp of night air. You bolt into a hunched over sitting position and cradle your head in your hands, because you can still hear screams in your head and only one of them is yours. Everything is vibrating like it's going to crumble away if you look at it, so you squeeze your eyes shut again and try to ignore the way they sting.
You hear something moving on the floor and a wall of white noise swells over your thoughts for a moment, then for another once you remember that it's John. You only just realize that your face is wet and your throat is raw, so you try to swallow the sobs but end up choking on your pulse instead.
"Dave?" whispers a voice still thick with sleep. "What's going on?"
You couldn't answer him even if you trusted your voice not to shatter, because you can't even remember what's wrong. You just have a terrible, burning hole in your stomach like something's missing and it's even worse because you don't know what it was like to be whole in the first place.
Now there's a hand on your shoulder that almost reminds you of what the sun feels like when it burns but instead is the cloud that hovers over you and keeps everything at bay. You think you might see that nothing's really there if you look up, so your hands tighten around your head as more sobs shake your core.
"Dave! Oh my god, are you okay?" The voice is sharp and close and cuts straight through the static clogging your ears like cotton. "Please just look up. I'm right here. It's just a dream."
There are hands on both of your shoulders now, light but reassuring. You don't want to risk losing them.
"Please. Let me help."
Something in his voice anchors you, so you raise your head, gripping onto his wrists next to your cheeks and trying not to move your whole body with every desperate breath. He's kneeling in front of you, at the same level, and you blink at the way everything about him shimmers faintly blue. Your gaze meets his, and your thoughts all run into each other like they're searching for a memory that isn't there. His eyes are as scared as yours, and for a moment, you think they might be yours.
"It's just a dream," he whispers, but his voice cracks under the cost of a victory that no one knows. Silence suddenly drops like a curtain.
You crash into him and wrap your arms tightly around his neck, trying your best not to cry any more as he lets out a surprised yelp and you fit your head against his shoulder. His hands hover over your back for a moment before linking around your waist.
"What's going on?" he asks softly.
"It's no big deal," you say, voice harsh and raw in a way that makes your ears sting.
He laughs, and it fills your chest with heartbeats again. "Dave."
"I can handle it."
He sighs and hums a little at the same time. "My shirt's getting wet, asshat."
You don't move your head, so your words remain muffled. "A minor casualty."
"My shirt is offended." You can hear the smile in his voice, but after a short silence, it's gone again. "Are you okay?"
You shift so that your chin is resting on his shoulder and blink the cold water off your eyelashes. You want to keep clinging to him forever, because you'll probably break into pieces the second he stops holding you together. And you hate that fact, but it's too late now.
"I can't help if you don't let me, y'know."
You jump a bit, and he tilts his head to rest against yours. "I want to. But you have to let me."
Your eyes start welling up again, hot and angry and bitter. You tense up and curl in on yourself as much as you can because why do you always need someone to pick you up and fix everything for you? You squeeze your eyes closed to shut everything off as the words you're too afraid to say beat through your head. Why can't you just get it right the first time?
John's arms tighten around you and pull you right back to reality. Your eyes pop open in surprise as his hushed voice takes on a new weight that settles at the base of your neck and tingles down your spine all the way to your toes. You think it's possible that the entire world has stopped around you, and that doesn't seem so bad. "It's not giving up. Okay? It's like… being extra strong? Because you don't have to do this alone. Or anything at all. That's what your friends are supposed to be here for, right? It doesn't make you worthless when you need them. You aren't worthless. And you don't have to prove that, okay? Dave?"
Your arms go limp and you feel an ache behind your eyes like they're trying to adjust themselves to shade after a lifetime of sunlight. Everything is spinning and you could swear that it's falling away around you, into the deep, dark unknown. If you don't do something now, you'll get pulled down, too.
But maybe, you think, it's better to make the leap and trust that you'll be okay.
You pull back so that you can look him in the eyes, trying not to feel vulnerable as he aims that small, proud smile toward you. His eyes are so bright and clear that it's like being underwater on a sunny day, but sharper and more real, like you're gazing at the sky for the one breathtaking moment where you're able to wrap your head around infinity before you lose all the clarity. Except that looking at him, it doesn't go away.
You imagine you can feel the air humming, and suddenly he leans in and kisses you.
It's short and every bit as sweet as you imagined it would be. When he pulls back, you can't think of anything to say, but that's alright because he grins his dorky grin and breaks the silence for you.
"I can see all your freckles when you blush."
You laugh, then, coarse and exposed and real, as a few more tears blur the corners of your vision. They won't be the last, and you don't mind.
"Ah, but only a true suitor knows exactly how many there are," you say, and he laughs, too.
"One hundred and twelve."
"Oh. I don't know. Who the fuck counts their freckles?"
You lie down, together this time, unwilling to break this one moment and catch up with the rest of the world just yet. While he holds your hand and rests his head in the spot on your shoulder where the weight you've been carrying is now half as heavy, you drift to sleep with a warmth in your chest. When your eyes flutter open again in the milky non-hour before dawn, you see him tangled in the sheets with his head on your stomach and a smile on his face, and you don't mind being the first one awake.
And when the sun finally rises, it still feels uncertain, but now that's okay.