Her home was an unusual one at best. It was surrounded by barbed wire. With lit braziers lined against the fence, all around a small office building. They entered through a gate lined with thick wet ropes, which she gracelessly whipped over their heads, dripping onto their hair as they passed underneath, causing stiles to flinch and make a disgusted face.
"...I like your place.." he said, trying to contain his sarcasm, eyeing the place, dodging the lit grates as she dragged him to the door. "wait till you see the inside." She murmured, raising her brow quickly. As the door opened, he was momentarily blinded by numerous lights lit inside. "Oh my god!" he muttered, squinting and shielding his eyes with his arm.
She chuckled, and let go of his hand. It was only then that he noticed that she had held it all this time. He shook it quickly and pocketed it blindly, slightly embarrassed to find it as clammy as it was. His eyes adjusted, his lids revealed an excessively lit, but seemingly normal room. There was a couch, a table, and everything you would expect in a living room, a bit shabby if anything, as if it were gathered at a ordinary yard sale, though it was all lined with candles, wax lights and lamps. "...at least it's well lit." Stiles offered, throwing up his shoulders and pulling a face. Who would set up home in a place like this?
She slapped her gun onto the table, and de-armed herself swiftly, letting out a noise with every weapon. She stretched and popped her joints, moaning. Stiles shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do with himself. The girl arched her back, and twisted towards him, a dull expression set on her face, as he arched his brow and bulged his eyes, edging her on to start her explanation. "you're going to want to sit down for this."
"I'm fine." Stiles insisted, giving her a reassuring nod in case she didn't believe him. She offered up her hands in acceptance and lifted herself onto the counter next to her weapons, her hands holding her upright, her feet gently dangling back against the wood with mild thuds. She scraped her throat and pulled a face, searching for the words. "I hate this part." she muttered, and ran her hand through her shaggy black hair.
His lower lip pressed firmly against his upper as his mind raked over his situation. He blinked involuntarily, trying to bind his emotions. His mouth still tasted of blood, his chest still felt empty, remembering the shadows and the empty streets "Am I dead?"
She shook her head, allowing him an audible sigh of relief, however short lived. "not if I can help it." she said, offering sympathetic eyes as he snapped towards her, a feeble hand raised. "wh-what does that even mean?!" he called, his mouth set in a wide O.
She bit her lip and raised her shoulders again. "Sit down." she repeated, tilting her head.
"I don't want to fucking sit down! I want you to tell me what's going on!" he shouted sharply, throwing about his arms about, instantly regretting it as her jaw tightened with a click. "what's going on..." he pleaded softer this time, as he stood closer to her.
She squinted again and licked her lips. "well, you're not dead." she started. "yet. You're not exactly alive either." Stiles frowned. "I'm never good at explaining this part, silly really. I've done it so often." He nudged his head, edging her to go on.
"Okay, well here goes. You aren't alive, nor are you dead. I don't know your specific situation, but if you're here, you're most likely in a comatose state. There've been others like you, quite a few actually." She started, earning a confused face from her companion. So she tried again. "You know that comas are tricky right. That its always a gamble if they'll wake up or not?" Stiles nodded quickly. "This is why. They come here, to their personal battleground, where they fight, to wake up. Or die"
Stiles' heart dropped into a quickened beat. "Bardo." he muttered, repeating what Kira had once told him and Scott. The place between life and death. "Funny, someone else used that word once too..." the girl muttered. It made sense, however confusingly she put it. This place, the headaches and shadows weren't unusual in their supernatural world but what reason would she have to lie? He couldn't for the life of him recall his last memory, only lydia's scream. "I'm in a coma?" he muttered, clutching his head. She nodded, her feet still playfully dangling. His hand began to shake as it reached "count my fingers." he said, instructing himself. His hand appeared vague only for a moment but then clearly depicted five fingers. A breath escaped him, before he sucked it in again, his eyes wide with realisation "c-can I hurt anyone?"
She stared at him, and shook her head. His breathing was becoming more rapid as the his thoughts progressed. "You should eat something." she said. His eyes shot up to meet her, a confused expression on his face. "I'm in a coma! Why would I eat something. I'm not even real!" he called, as she jumped off the counter. "You're real, your soul, your mind are very much real. Soul needs nourishment just like the body does, and eating is the easiest way to feed it. Well, in this place anyway." she said, gently poking his chest before opening the fridge. "You like apples?"
"those shadows..." Stiles continued, ignoring the apple pressed into his hand. She nodded while taking a bite. "Those are your personal tormentors." she said, as if she were talking about the weather. "Not all of them, mind you. Only the ones that are coming after you." she added, rolling a piece of fruit in her open mouth. "oh my god.." Stiles' face fell, his complexion shading to white with every sentence. His heart pumping more wildly, his breathing irregular, he muffled himself, pulling at his lips.
He turned towards her. "I need you to be honest with me." he said, darkly. "Is this real?" She nodded. "You die here, you die out there." she said, with a jerk of her brow.
Another bit of apple was being bitten off and loudly chewed, adding to the sweat on his brow. "but." she said, causing stiles to whip around his head, wondering what bad news she could possibly add to this. "That's where I come in." Her face was practically beaming with confidence as she took another bite. "I'm your rig in the system, buddy!" she said, playfully punching him against the shoulder, looking quite proud of herself. "Rig?" Stiles repeated, a painful expression set on his face, his brow fused together.
"Yeap. I'm going to help you wake up." she declared. "I've got experience see, woken up dozens of people that come here." she explained, rubbing some dirt from her eye. "You, wake people up?" Stiles repeated, gesturing with his hand, trying to comprehend what she just told him. She nodded and proclaimed herself the reverse sand-man.
"Well that's great! Everything is solved!" Stiles threw at her, sarcastically. "What do you shake me a little, throw some water in my face, what?!" he bit, raising his voice with every word. "What are you going to do to wake me up?! I'm in a coma! What are you going to do?!" he shouted, his hand firmly stuck in his hairline, pulling at his roots.
"I'm going to save you." she said calmly, placing her half eaten apple on the counter, and wiping her wet hand on her top. Stiles' hand dropped as she spoke, and dangled at his side. "You're going to save yourself, kid" she clarified. "And I'm going to teach you how."
Stiles' exhaled, calming himself, wishing that this was all a bad dream. "Now, eat your apple." She instructed and opened a cupboard above the stove, and picked up a pistol found there. It was only then that Stiles started to wonder about this mysterious girl that just happened to be there to save him before he got his ass handed to him. How old was she exactly, and how long had she been here. Had she gotten those scars here? Fighting these shadows?
"so... are you?" he asked, carefully, pursing his lip. She looked at him over her shoulder, offering a small smile. "I'm in a coma, too." she explained. Stiles nodded, feeling as if he should apologise for having asked the question. "Have been for seven years." She added, jerking her eyebrow quickly settling the gun in front of her guest. "Seven years?!" Stiles called, his jaw practically resting on his chest. "Why haven't you woken up?" he questioned, slightly more composed than before.
She squinted, and put his hand on the gun, urging him to keep that on his person. "Eat your apple." she repeated, her voice stern, her lips tight. She wasn't a big fan of answering questions, she never had been, and they always did ask them. Simply saying some things out loud were hurtful, and he really didn't need to hear them.
She turned on her heel, made her way to a door on the other side, the heel of her boot clacking loudly on the wooden floor boards, she looked at him once, before slipping into another room, leaving stiles on his own.
Whom quickly whipped out his hand, to count his fingers again. He sighed as there were only five on each hand. He traced the apple with his nail, slightly cutting its skin. He didn't really feel like eating, he wasn't hungry, at all. Normally he'd be stuffing his face by now, teenage grow spurts and all that, or any other good excuse to binge his way through a fridge. He didn't have an appetite, a side effect of being comatose no doubt. Patients get fed through tubes.
He wondered what he looked like, lying in a bed, plastic lines attached to him, in a hospital gown that would show his butt crack were he to get up, machines beeping at his side. His father no doubt sitting by his bed, holding his hand. If he was, stiles couldn't feel it, there wasn't anything touching his hand, besides that stupid apple she kept forcing onto him.
He angrily took a bite, chewing it more violently as he began to realise it tasted of nothing. He could feel the texture in his mouth, there was no flavour what so ever. Nothing, like he was only breathing. Which seemed to be only thing he was good at. He was always in the way, always the weak one that needed to be protected. He was in a fucking coma and still he needed someone to save his ass. Someone he didn't even know. He firmly pressed his free hand against his forehead and let out a beastly noise, cleansing him of his frustration, or at least attempting to.
The girl reappeared, standing in the doorway. "Come on." she said, beckoning sadly with a short movement of her head. Stiles nodded, stepping towards his host, numbly. She took his hand, and squeezed it softly as she pulled him into her bedroom, and through to an attached bathroom. It was similar to the one found in the Beacon high shower room. Though smaller and less ominous with her there and extremely bright lights looming above them. The water was crashing down from the four shower heads. It was only then that Stiles picked up on its sound. It was almost deafening standing in the middle of them.
She squeezed his hand again once, and he looked down at her, only noticing now that she was substantially shorter without her boots. He wondered when she had taken them off. "uh..You want me to take a shower?" Stiles asked, unsure of what conclusion to draw there. She didn't reply, and simply dragged him towards where the water clashed down. She had stepped under a stream, fully clothed, and pulled at his arm. She seemed serene standing under the head, her eyes closed, water pouring down her face, her black hair sticking to her cheek and jaw like a wet cloth on porcelain.
Stiles head dropped, as he picked up on her intentions and stood under a beam next to her, allowing the water to encase him. Soaking his clothes, awkwardly sticking them to his skin. He felt like a cat caught in the rain, uncomfortable and disappointed with its owner. He scraped his throat, waiting for some kind of explanation why his underwear needed to be soaked. Blindly she nodded, as if she had seen his expression.
"Breathe." She said, arching her own back and leaning back her head, exposing her neck. Stiles shifted his weight from one leg to the other. She squeezed again, her eyelids flickering. He took in a deep breath."Breathe" she repeated, water dripping over her lips as she spoke, her chest rising and falling at a soothing rate, almost intoxicating. Without realising, he copied her, his chest rising with her, his eyelids slowly closing. The water was warm, soothingly so, tingling his skin as the droplets found their way down to his feet. He felt like he could stay there for a while longer, if not forever.
She opened her eyes to look at him, skin reddening, his hair forced against his scalp. She brushed a finger against the side of his hand. She said something, almost in a whisper. She turned her tap, and then his, silencing their showers. He peered through his lids to look at her, almost upset that she had taken him from his trance. He had felt at ease, standing there, for the first time since he woke up in this god awful place.
An instant rush of cold came over him, though the room was filled with plenty of steam. As soon as the sound died down, his ears were filled with a far less pleasant noise. His face instantly fell as a certain voice rang. The voice he had heard earlier that very day, whispering what he hated most. "Let me in..." Its voice raspy and low.
His eyes changed, a fearful expression set on his lips, trembling. "no no no no." he whispered, clenching his head. The girl shifted and cupped both of his ears and pulled herself closer to him. "This is the first step" she said, whispering. "Stiles, they move through shadow. They can't enter here, the only darkness to be found, is inside your head." she urged as he became paler by the second, his expression bewildering, shifting between her hands, until he started to scream.
The voice was now upon him, penetrating his mind. He didn't need to ask it for its name, as he already knew it. The girl's voice bellowed over it but her words made no sense whatsoever. Her hands were gentle and kind as they shifted his screaming face, tilting up his chin, forcing him to look directly into the light. He hissed and squinted, as it burned him.
"Let in the light."she said, softly, her wet fingers on his temples, pushing gently. "Brighten your mind. Turn on the light." she explained. The mere words were pissing him off to the extreme. What kind of fortune-cookie bullshit was she spewing? It hurt immensely to open his eyes completely, he wanted to turn to her and rip open her throat, tear her limb from limb, have her blood coating him, dripping through his clothing, teasing his skin. He wanted to hear her scream, hear her plead for her life.
"Turn on the light!" she called, her voice dangerously weak. His eye drew to its corner to look at her, only noticing then his hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing. Disgusted and shocked he pulled back, but they didn't move. His skinny fingers were stuck to her skin. He could feel her pulse, rapid and frantic against him. His chest closed, his lungs still, as he felt empowered by her struggling eyes. "Oh my god." he muttered, his words thick with pleasure instead of the panic that he intended. Disgusted by himself he tried to turn from her, his stomach sour with nausea. His voice was heavy with a ring that wasn't his own. He forced a gasp out of her, his vision veiled by darkness. The girl's trembling hand reached for him, touching his chin, tilting it upwards weakly. "Stiles the light.."
Stiles was now a vision not natural. His mouth was ajar, thick stings of saliva connecting his jaws, grunting breathes escaping, his eyes blankly shooting around it's socket, his veins thick and discoloured.
Every muscle in his body worked against him as he desperately tried to tilt his head and look upwards as the girl had directed. A bloody taste filled his mouth, and he was certain he popped a blood vessel or tore a muscle in his neck as a numbing feeling spread to his face. He spread his eyes as widely as possibly, the light burning into his iris. He screamed so sharply he was certain his vocal cords would snap and fought the urge to cover his eyes, to shield himself. He held his hands in place, around the girl's neck, tightening them even further.
"Get out!" he cursed, screaming at himself as the mist inside his head began to dissipate. He sucked in a breath as he felt strength return to him. His eyes felt dry, but not painful. He drew back his hands, noticing where they lingered. The girl instantly collapsed onto the floor, gasping and coughing violently. "T-thats it." She praised, clutching her own neck, smiling up at him. "oh my god." he called weakly, falling to his knees beside her, his hands searching. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" he called, tears stinging behind his eyes as her lungs fought to regain their calm.
She whipped her head upwards, looking at him, her hair sticking to her scalp. "that's some...personal tormentor you've got there, Stiles." she whispered, her voice broken. "Usually the shadows embody guilt, regret, angst, fear, hell even bad decisions. But that was some full blown possession right there." she continued, her voice strained but audible.
"I'm so sorry, oh my god." he almost chanted, his hands flailing not sure where to put them. They were trembling. The pain and worry etched on his face was something else, she had to fight not to chuckle. "It's okay. You did well..." she said, rubbing her neck absently.
"I don't know what happened. I- Sorry." he muttered, pulling back his hands, too disgusted with himself. She smiled, ever so brightly, showing her teeth. She held out her hand, asking him to help her up. Instantly he scuffled to his feet, awkwardly coming to a standing, reaching out to pull her up. Her limbs were weak, devoid of oxygen and stressed.
She dragged her legs underneath herself and lifted herself on his hands. She was heavier than he would have thought, or perhaps it was simply because of her numbness, but he released an "umpf!" as she came to a standing, tumbling against his chest. She paused there and breathed, clutching his hand as a lifeboat. In any other situation he would have been flushed with embarrassment or perhaps even lust, but now, her leaning against him was only a testimony of what he had done to her. He snorted to keep from breaking down in tears right there.
He wanted to run, as far away as he could get. He was clearly a danger to her, clearly he was not to be trusted. To be taken over just like that, that such rage had filled his veins, for him to derive such a twisted sense of pleasure of her pain. He felt sick. "Stiles." she said, pushing herself from him slowly, steadying herself. He looked down at her, her face showing nothing of what had just transpired.
"When we are stimulated, we feel most alive. That's when we're most vulnerable to the shadows. When we are happy, or at peace, we are most afraid of losing it. That's when they creep into our minds." She looked up at him, her eyes beautifully bright and open. "Our mind is our first and last line of defence, you can't allow them in." her voice had regained it's former stern quality.
Stiles' eyes were wide with guilt and shame, his lower lip firmly pressed to his upper, his throat too closed up to reply to her. She had done it on purpose, standing under that water. It had been a test, or a lesson. She had taken such a huge chance, because she didn't know the evil that had hold over him. She didn't know the monster that slept beneath his skin. She could have died, by his hand.
She stood on her own now, as she casually brushed her wet locks from her eyes. She reached over to Stiles and did the same, though his hair wasn't nearly long enough to impair his vision. "Well done." she praised, as if she knew he needed comforting. He wanted to grab her hands and bury himself in them, but selfishness of that very notion disgusted him even further. She had been hurt, and she needed to comfort him?!
"come on." she said, her hand dragging over his skin before pointing out her way with a swing. With sopping sounds she made her way to the door. Where she paused for a moment, Stiles' eyes trailing her sadly. A sopping sound hit the floor. Shock coated his features as he realised what had made it. Her clothes were in a pile on the tiles of the bathroom, her hands already reaching for the clip of her bra. He would have covered his eyes, had he been able to move them. He could only gawk and the expanse of her skin.
It was absolutely covered in marks. Burns, lacerations, punctures, even bites and an ungodly amount of freckles. "holy god." he breathed. She peered over her shoulder absently, dropping her underwear on the floor as well. Stiles noted that the scar on her lower back trailed halfway over her ass, while her freckles went all the way. "Let's put on something dry, I'll have something to fit you." Her voice was devoid of emotion. It was only then that he realised that she must have gone through this process with every person she woke.
He was no different. She disappeared around the corner. He could hear her rummaging in a drawer in the next room. Did she keep stacks of clothing in all sizes? How many people had passed through her gymnasium home, how many people had stood underneath that shower?
Stiles' head jerked involuntarily, a cold passing through him. He pulled at his wet shirt, uncomfortable taking it off. He wasn't like the other guys, he wasn't ripped. He didn't go to the gym or bench press in the morning. He was athletic sure, he played lacrosse but compared to Scott or Isaac, his physique was a disappointment. He never did like changing his clothes in public. It had taken him months to feel comfortable in the locker room at Beacon high, and he still changed facing his locker and as quickly as possible.
The girl eyed the door, waiting for her guest to make an appearance. Though he remained absent. She smiled to herself and carried a folded pair of slacks and a vest and placed them at the door. "I'll leave them at the door and face the other way." she said, sharply. He didn't answer her, but as soon as a wet thud fell, she toed to the bed and settled there, her back to the door.
Her remark cut into him. He appreciated her consideration but felt embarrassed that she had picked up on it so easily. He felt awkward, stripping there. The room instantly seemed so much bigger, and he felt so much smaller. He cupped himself shielding himself in case she made an appearance after all. He pulled a face, creeping closer to the door, walking sideways so that he would have enough time to turn if she was there, at the door, waiting for him.
He sighed his relief as he found her, back turned to the door, staring at a boarded up window. She too had changed and was now wearing a shirt a few sizes too big, a tiny wet circle at her collar, where her hair had dripped. She had left him with a towel as well, to which he couldn't help but smile. He cleared his throat, signalling her that he had changed clothes. "Thank you." he said more quiet than he thought. She turned only smiled. "How are you feeling?"
A laugh escaped him. "like I should be in a mental institution, but otherwise fantastic!" he offered, his words thick with sarcasm. She nodded, and jerked her head, beckoning him over in the sergeant way she did. Stiles was already getting used to it. "Light's up in a few hours." she informed him as he sat down at the edge of the bed. "training starts tomorrow, best get some sleep." she said, making her way to the top of the bed, folding open the blankets. Stiles shifted on the sheets, already standing before she could say anything.
"I...I uhm, I'll take the couch." he declared as she looked at him funny, slipping her bare legs under the covers. He looked away as he caught a glimpse of her panties. Blue, he registered invulnerably. But just as he turned she said "You have to stay close to me."
He turned to find a strangely stern expression of her face, as if it were of life-altering importance that he was to stay in her room. He eyed the night stand, seeing an impressive arsenal there at the ready. A glint beneath her pillow which he assumed was a knife. She was staring at him. He knew better than to question her, he knew that this was her personal request, not one of her lessons.
His face dropped slightly, submitting and nodding. He took a place beside her, awkwardly shuffling under blankets that seemed too thick for comfort. He stared at the ceiling, simply not knowing what to do with himself, he had not before shared an actual bed with a girl. He'd kissed a few girls, but he was still very much a virgin. Kissing girls is one thing but sleeping next to a one?
She turned and faced him, her wet hair rustling on the pillow. "You okay?" she said in a husk whisper, her voice audibly sick with exhaustion. As she shifted, Stiles' face froze, he couldn't answer her. Her leg touched his, it brushed right past his pant leg, and found a place behind it, loosely hooking him. His heart was beating fast, not knowing what was happening. She was close to him, too close for comfort surely. Then he felt a travelling hand at his side. His nostrils flared as he sucked a breath, his eyes widening. She chuckled. "I'm looking for your hand." she whispered.
He looked at her, slightly embarrassed for his dirty mind. "keep your mind out of the gutter." she scolded, closing her eyes, a smile on her lips. He looked away, as if he had no right to see something so perfect, not after what he had done, not in this place. It was alien to him, a smile so ordinary. Nothing had made him feel so inferior before.
She had found his hand and tangled her fingers between his and pulled it up to her face. He could feel her breath on his skin. It was seemingly calmer for her but he was having heart palpitations. He fought his instincts, of pulling back his hand, scared to offend her, scared to take something away from her.
Perhaps she was the one that needed this, this comfort. Perhaps she needed to hold onto his clammy skinny fingers, and have her leg touch his. Her arms seemed so thin in her massive shirt, she seemed so tiny, so fragile. He more than anyone knew what it was to be helpless. He wondered about the other hand for a moment, the one that was bound with a dirty cloth. Had she redressed it? Was it lying somewhere, limply under the covers? How had she hurt it?
To be numb and at the mercy of someone else. He had gone through it often, the worst when he lay paralysed by the Kanima's venom. No, that was a lie. At least then he couldn't hurt anyone.
Fear wetted his eyes while he stared out in front of him. Simply remembering the nightmare he had gone through only a few days ago trembled his heart. Yet it had been mere minutes for her, since she escaped a death by his hands, and she was laying beside him, her eyes thick with sleep. Her neck discoloured and painful, yet she was smiling.
Why had she not fought against him? She had not struggled in his grip, nor had she made any effort to fight him off. She had just allowed him to strangle her. She did not seem the meek and helpless type, she seemed to type to floor someone with a well timed and well placed punch and giving a kick for good measure. She had shot one of those creepy shadow things in the face, with a shotgun. But then why had she refused to act against him? She had just taken it, he could have killed her and she hadn't made a single effort to free herself, to free save herself.
She lay there beside him, her neck still bruised and discoloured from his fingers, her lids heavy, her face strangely peaceful. Beautiful. Her face was clean now, and it was only then that he could see her freckles, or perhaps he simply hadn't noticed them. Though unlikely, as they were darted over her entire face, numerous, they trailed from her cheeks to her neck and down her shoulders and chest. He stopped there as he pictured the glimpse of her back. The corners of his lips tugged but he ignored them.
She was not holding his hand because she had been so shocked by previous events. She was stronger than that, more than that. Was it for his comfort? Had she lead him to her bed, because she was concerned for his safety? Perhaps this was the way she made sure he was okay. He had choked the breath out of her, and she was concerned about him. Was there nothing that brought pause to this girl? She had just been attacked. He had just attacked her, and now she was laying beside him as if nothing had transpired. She trusted him to be in her bed. She trusted her unconscious self to him, someone who had tried to strangle her. He didn't know whether to smile or feel ashamed.
Her room was bright, obnoxiously so, like every room he'd been in so far. He figured it was to keep the creatures at bay. There was only one window, which was barricaded to a point where no natural light could even find its way inside. Her walls were bland with tape marks here and there, like a child's bedroom, or a teenager's, coated with posters and pictures and removed in a tantrum, corners still sticking against the wall. Faded over time but never completely removed, by choice or lazy disposition. Next to the window, on either side were hench make-do bookcases, seemingly constructed out with wood of unknown origin. They were filled with note books, to the point where there wasn't room left for another volume. Some were bright, some faded, some with spines read bare, some titles were familiar to him, written with markers and pens, some not so much. The sheer volume of her collection was slightly disturbing.
Some of the volumes one would find in any home. He recognised some, like 'the story of red riding hood', 'Wuthering hights' and even 'Harry Potter', but some of them were different. On their spines were just names, first names actually. 'Steven', 'James', 'Emily.P' as if they were records of people. He wanted to get up and search through them, see what was inside them.
She let out a wee noise, breathing against his hand, her eyelids flickering. He decided he would ask her about them in the morning. Until he noticed something. There was not a single speck of dust on them, while the rest of her home seemed to be irregularly cleaned as best. She removed them often, possibly read through them all systematically, read and reread as time dragged on, not allowing the dust to settle on them. He peered at them, counting as he went, calculating to amount of books she would have to handle per day for them to be so spotless. Then she squeezed his hand, her eyes still shut. He couldn't tell if she was awake or asleep but he felt a wave of pity crash over him. Was she lonely? Was she holding his hand because she was lonely?
His chest suddenly felt tight. He sucked in a breath, looking down at her. She was asleep. He realised then that he had been awake for a long while. She could sleep, while he had sat there for hours now, awake, unnatural. She was so very...human. He was envious. She lay there undisturbed, angelic. In a place like this, she could sleep. He had to fight the urge of planting a kiss on her forehead.
He couldn't sleep, he simply couldn't. He was exhausted sure, but he was unable to close his eyes for more than a blink at a time. And so he watched her.
