Hello there. Thanks for clicking on this. This is my first Boosh fic so be nice! Have fun ya'll.
His Eyes in the Dark.
Sometimes he has nightmares. Some nights. Most nights.
They're vivid and hot because he sits up and breathes hard, his fingers in his hair and in the sheets. He pants and I can see the sweat on his face from across the room, so far away. He looks at the door, looks at the end of the bed, looks at his palms with anxiety but never looks where he's wanted. My eyes stay closed, tighter and tighter until I hear his intake of breath.
"Howard?" He asks, in that same way he always does. "Are you awake?"
And I always am. I'm always awake. I look to his bed and see his eyes, just his eyes staring in my direction, beautiful and blue and coming out from the dark. His arms are always hugging his knees; his hair always sticks his face like a child. Then I'll talk to him, tell him comforting things to nurse him slowly back to slumber until his breathing steadies and he's quiet. Then it's like a release, knowing he's asked for me. After this, I can sleep too.
The nights when he doesn't dream I simply watch until fatigue takes me. The moon floods light onto the end of his bed, the illumination growing as the night stretches. After a while it usually lights up his face and I can see that he's sleeping. He complains that I leave the curtains open but how can I not? The sight of him sleeping is like a drug, like a sweet obsession, a filthy secret. He sleeps with the moonlight on his face and I wait, wait for him to dream.
Even when the moon isn't out I can see his eyes piercing through the dark.
Sometimes he talks, mumbles, calls out and reaches for something that isn't there. When it wakes me up I roll over and see him talking and it makes me smile. When Vince is dreaming it's like he isn't asleep at all, like he's living an extra day with his eyes closed and everything is alright. When he has nightmares he's louder and lies on his back and his face twitches and he's cold. I know he's scared and I wait, wait for him to wake up.
I wonder what it's like to be in his head, to know what kinds of dreams cause him to be like this. It seems anything bleak or unwanted finds him at night because he only says my name like that in the dark, when he's scared. It's only at night that he looks over to me with expectation, knowing I'll be there wide-awake and waiting. During the day he doesn't need me to listen and nod and tell him that it doesn't matter, that it wasn't real. It's real to me. Every dream he has that leaves him panting and cold is so real to me because he might be asleep but I'm not.
I lie there with my eyes closed and I wait, wait for those words.
"Howard? Are you awake?" And I always am. I'm always awake.