Just a drabble.
Be nice, I haven't written in a while.
Hope you like it.
He hadn't planned to fall asleep just yet.
But, like many other times before, insomnia cannot be fought.
The smaller boy had been studying. Now, his books lay in a mess around him, pages folded and wrinkled like a makeshift blanket. His breath caused the pages closest him to ruffle. He was asleep, for the first time in many nights.
It was only when he was asleep when the monsters could attack.
Time and time again without the comfort of Semei in the other room, he had told himself it wasn't real. When he was young, it worked. It seemed that when Semei died, the real monsters appeared.
They would grab at him with long, dark tendrils; sinking under the tender flesh of his skin. It would burn, the pain worse than anything his mother could have done. He often screamed, though it did nothing. If he fought, it just hurt more. The tendrils would latch onto him and pull, so that blood often dripped from his wounds. For some reason, it was always towards the closet. He would fall off the bed, his body aching, and just when he was about to surrender the light would form.
It usually appeared behind his left ear. He wasn't sure why. But when it did, the dark tendrils shrieked in outrage. They would release him, his limbs bruised and bloody. He would slump against his bed, exhausted. Purple orbs would watch in a haze as the light caressed his arms, healing his wounds. That was usually when warm hands would pick him up, the smell of tobacco filling his nose, and place him gently on his bed.
He always knew who it was.
Soft, gentle footsteps entered the room. Ritsuka's computer was still on, which meant that he had probably fallen asleep without meaning to. A soft smile graced the older man's face, the light from the computer reflecting off his glasses.
Even when he was asleep, his word was law. Soubi carefully discarded his shoes by the door, hung his jacket on a chair nearby (freezing in spot when his sacrifice sighed in his sleep) and kneeled by the bedside. With practiced hands, he straightened pages, closed books, and stacked them by his desk. Finally, he let his eyes rest upon the boy.
His eyes were clenched shut, hands balled into fists. The blond hadn't noticed it before, but his tail twitched anxiously against his leg. The Sentouki knew what to do.
He sat on the bed lightly, always on his left side. Long fingers took hold of tiny wrists, rubbing them softly; watching the small face for any sign of waking. He lightly stroked his fists until they unclenched, gentle fingers rubbing that certain spot behind his cat ear until the frown disappeared from his features. When the painter knew his job was done, he smiled. His arm went around the tiny waist, his nose filled with the smaller boy's natural scent.
He would always be there to defeat his demons.