Author's Note: Hey guys! This is my first time writing creatively, so be gentle :P
"D-Dave…" John whimpers. Noir's sword has been thrust through his chest and blood begins to drip down the corners of his mouth while more starts to pool around his limp body. His once bright and shining blue eyes are beginning to fade.
"John!" you try to call. You try reaching out to him with all your strength, but some unknown force is holding you back.
Bec Noir suddenly appears before you. You feel his cold eyes staring at you hungrily behind Bro's anime shades as a wicked smile begins to spread across his face. Your heart is beating rapidly and your breaths are becoming progressively shallower. You're desperately trying to yell to John, hopelessly thrashing about in your mind. Tears are streaming down your face as the realization that your efforts are futile becomes the burning truth.
Noir lets out a sharp laugh, probably at the look of pure desperation in your uncovered demon-like eyes. His adrenaline is most likely fueled by the hopelessness that is furiously coursing through your veins.
In one swift movement, Noir pulls the sword out of John's chest and lunges toward you. The sword acts merely as an extension of his arm as it reaches your chest and begins to—
I bolt upright in my bed gasping for air. All I am able to do is clutch my sides as I shake violently, the sweat glazing my entire body glistens in the moonlight.
"Mmf… Dave?" John breathes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Dave!" he gasps when he sees my condition.
John scrambles across the bed to hold me tightly. He wraps his legs around my middle and hugs me while resting his chin on my shoulder.
"Shoosh, Dave you're alright, I'm here. Everything's fine, shoosh…"
He continued to lull me for about a half hour, my shaking finally subsiding and my breathing returning to normal.
"I'm sorry," I mumble as I turn around to face him.
"You don't need to apologize." His smile is gentle and his eyes are sparkling despite the darkness.
"Will you play for me?" I ask hesitantly. I really don't like acting so needy, but frankly I feel like shit.
John smiles and gives a small nod. God I love that smile. "Of course."
We make our way through the dark apartment and into the living room where John's grand piano is set up, the same from his old home in Washington.
John slides onto the bench and I follow suit, resting my head on his shoulder. John's practiced hands find their proper places on the keys, although the only light source is the moonlight pouring into the room from the windows. His slender fingers begin to dace over the keys and a soft melody fills the room.
Watching John play has always mesmerized me. He almost seems to be in a trance, forgetting his worries and drifting into a calm state of mind. A wave of relief washes over his face as he becomes consumed by his music. When I watch John play, I always wish that I had learned, but I still think my turntables are bitchin'.
John holds the last note for longer than intended before removing his hands from the keys. We sit in a comfortable silence for a while, enjoying each other's presence. Eventually we move to lay on the couch and I hold John close to me, fingering his curly ebony hair.
"Thanks John," I whisper into his hair. He responds by nuzzling his nose into my collarbone. I pull him closer to me and begin to drift into unconsciousness.
