You don't move all day.
Your powers don't recover until the beginning of the third day. When John had his nightmare the night before, you found yourself running.
From the apartment. From John.
From the guilt. The guilt that you are failing to protect John. She's probably making it as horrible as she possibly can for John, with all three of you knowing you can't stop her.
You can't stop her.
When tears burn your eyes, you let them fall. You feel as if your very soul is a dam and you opened the gates, now you've started crying, you can't stop. You feel a pang of embarrassment, you're outside, in the near-empty streets at 4am as the rain falls near silently around you.
It's so quiet. So, so, quiet.
It's the most terrifying thing.
You slept on a bench, and woke up to the buzz of thoughts that aren't yours, and a sniffle in your nose. You think you may have caught a cold.
You run back to the dorm anyway. You find John laid out on his bed, the white tinting darker where his sweat has soaked the sheets. He's kicked his duvet off of himself, and he looks so fragile and weary as he sleeps, seemingly soundly for now.
You left him when he needed you most.
You need to stop thinking. You need to stop feeling this overwhelming guilt and heart-break.
You take solace in how peaceful he seems now, though, one arm reaching out in your direction, as if that's why he moved it there, lips parted, breathing soft and slow. Hair ruffled but still somehow pleasing to the eye. Last night he slept shirtless, as the dorms heating sometimes overdid it.
You find yourself tracing soft lines down his shoulders and back, and your heart aches for this goofball who has rooted himself firmly in your heart, your routine, your life.
"I'm so sorry," you whisper to him, and you turn, and you walk away towards the coffee machine that had to make a home on the floor of your dorm, because of how make-shift your "kitchen" really is.
You drink your coffee slowly, even sitting stirring it for ten minutes before even sipping it. Your thoughts drown you in negative emotion. Guilt. Fear. And it all balls up inside you to the point you can't name or describe it anymore.
Dave?...I swore I…
He heard you. "John?" you say, and you see blue eyes blink themselves open. He goes to speak but stops.
Are your powers back?
You nod to him, and he relaxes in visible relief.
You decide to come right out and say it.
"I'm sorry." You are. You're so, so sorry you couldn't have been there when he needed you. And your heart aches for this boy, no, this man. You want to kiss it better, stroke the pain away, kiss it away, anything that would stop him hurting. You just wish you knew why this was happening! Who that woman was, the one who kicked you out of John's head.
The memory of this brings up the thought of "she touched what's mine," as if his mind is yours to protect and see the inner workings of. As if there was no one on earth who could see it, hear it, know it, like you can.
"Why?" he asks you, and your throat closes up, because you don't have the words for what you're feeling, never mind why you're sorry.
"I wasn't there to wake you up," is all you say, and his nods in understanding.
"Don't feel bad Dave, I'm okay now!" he says, and a peak into his thoughts tell you otherwise. He's weak, tired, and scared.
Scared of what you told him.
Three days, three days young knight, until you're precious Heir loses his light.
You still don't know what his "Light" is, you've just kinda been assuming it's "life" but you consider that it could be something else.
Nothing good could possibly come out of John losing it, however. That, you're sure of.
But with your powers in this state, there's nothing you can do. Plus, she knows how weak you are now, you have officially been kicked off the "threats" list. Gone, out.
It scares you.
Because clearly she thought you were strong enough to be an issue. Now, she probably knows how easily she could bypass you to get to John.
But that isn't the only thing that bugs you. Her voice seems familiar.
"Are you okay Dave?" it's John. He's stood up and suddenly he's right there. Right in front of you. One hand on your shoulder, the other tilting up your face, do you really look that out of it?
You feel your heart rate increase anyway.
"You don't look good," he tells you, and you shrug, lifting his hand with your shoulder.
"What do I look then?" you don't know what he means when he says "bad."
"Ill. Pale, paler than you usually do." Oh shut up John, just because you have the skin of a well-made cup of coffee doesn't mean you get to make comments about my pale-ass skin.
Wow. You compared his skin to a "well-made" cup of coffee. (At least you didn't say it was soft or silky or wonderful eventhoughtitis)
That's it, you've solved it, illuminati confirmed as Dave Strider.
God is a kick-ass barista.
You need to get some decent sleep Jesus fucking Christ.
"I did just spend the night on a park bench, dude." He looks confused, and looks to your unused bed.
"Seriously? Why?" he's concerned. D'aww.
"I just…." Why did you leave?
You need to think about it, but it hits you.
You couldn't see John in pain when you couldn't help him.
You are entrenched in the gay. You are up to your metaphorical titties in gay. You are balls deep in this bitch.
Oh.
Oops.
There's a mental image you didn't know you needed in life.
"I didn't like seeing you hurt. I couldn't stand it man," he's touched, you know that. You feel a warmth in your chest that you haven't felt in years.
"Oh, Dave," he says, and you know he's gone into "sappy-emotional" mode, because in that moment he hugs you. He hugs you like he means it, and you return the hug with slightly more enthusiasm than normal.
Slightly.
"You tried your best. I mean, I'm still getting over the "my roommate as superpowers" thing, which is awesome by the way, but you don't need to worry about me, I'm sure this will all sort itself out."
But it won't. She won't just go away until she's got what she came for, whether it's John's blood on her hands or yours. She won't just stop doing this. You know that. Ignoring it won't help. You need to take action, but you're running out of both time and options. It's going to get to the point where you meditate for four hours and say "come at me bitch" in the early hours of the morning, when John usually has his nightmares.
Then you could stare intensely at him until she goes away, you don't know. You'll have to work on it.
But you don't have time!
You wasted it with teenage angst, gay feelings, cuddles and fucking your powers over.
Go you. Gold star.
"I know, but my best isn't good enough," your thoughts go quickly, you almost forget you're having a conversation with John, he hasn't separated the hug yet.
You trace idle patterns into his back, like he did to yours yesterday. He relaxes, just like you did.
"It's the third day," you tell him suddenly, and you feel his back muscles tense at the mention of this fact.
"I know," he says, and then it's silence. Because neither of you know what to do. Neither of you know what to say.
Neither of you have a lot of time before this deadline is up.
"What do we do?" John whispers, and your heart, for the millionth time, breaks, because of the man in your arms.
He's scared. Of course he's scared. He thinks he's going to die today.
"I'll have to stay by your side, even if you piss, who knows man, she could try a sneak attack, get you with your dick out, that would be all kinds of messed up," he snorts when he laughs, and you both relax.
Except for that small part of you that reminds you how jealous you are when he's with women. Or men. Or anyone that isn't you, Rose or Jade.
And when it comes to sexual or romantic stuff, just you.
You selfish bastard.
"I don't think so Dave, even the most desperate or cunning villain wouldn't get someone while their taking a piss," he's pulled back enough to look at you now.
"Exactly, you would never expect it, which is why it's genius, you're welcome, John, aren't you glad I can come up with this shit?" he laughs and hides himself in your shoulder. His breath dances across your skin and you take a minute to appreciate that fact. You continue tracing the patterns, this time, though, you draw the breath you feel dancing across your neck and shoulders, instead of the message you were tracing, trying to engrave it into him, so that it may never lose its effect and its words would never be lost.
Be safe, John. Be happy.
"We can't cuddle all day today, though." You restart the conversation, however comfortable the silence was.
"I know. It sucks." He replies, and this time you laugh.
"True. But seriously, real talk, we need to do something so that you're safe." He sighs against you.
He says nothing.
I'm scared. I'm scared to die.
"You aren't going to die," you tell him.
But what if I do?
"Then I'll kill whoever killed you, but you aren't going to die so it's cool, I just need to beat them up." He pulls away completely at long last, and you find yourself missing him already.
You're fucked.
Yeah, sorry about the delay in updates, since recently I've been updating quickly, but some shit went down. Some of you may recall me mentioning my matesprite, yes?
That's not a thing anymore, and I'm a bit of a mess. Also, exams, hurray. I have two tomorrow from my time of writing this. But I have cranked this shit out for you guys. I also don't have a set plan for this story, so whoa, surprises everywhere.
And again, sorry for the spelling mistakes but I have a habit of writing and posting chapters at like, 2am. And sorry todays chapter isn't as long as usual but, see the above reasons.