Day 5: Cozying up together
A head lands on Alfred's shoulder, briefly breaking his attack combo in his game.
He carries out the remainder of the attack before closing the gaming device. He tosses the device off to the side.
Alfred looks down at the weight on his shoulder, seeing the tousled ash blond hair of his boyfriend, fiance, soulmate, everything. His Arthur.
A book sits on Arthur's lap, held open by lax fingers. Arthur is asleep, shaky breaths accompanied by the inconsistent rise and fall of his chest. Alfred gently pries the book out of Arthur's grip to place on the table beside the couch. He knows Arthur will have a fit if the book is dented in any way. It's the principle of it, he says, books must always be worn down naturally. Dog ears and small rips and imprints are sacrilege and an insult to the book. Arthur is the writer; Alfred knows better than to challenge him.
Warm rays of sunlight streak into the room, dousing Arthur and Alfred in a shower of light. It's even brighter outside, everything coated in white diamond sheets.
Alfred wraps an arm around Arthur, pulling the sleeping boy even closer, Arthur nestles in easily, Too easily. Alfred pretends he can't feel Arthur's ribs through the thick sweater he's wearing. Pretends that the hand weakly clutching his shirt is not frail and bony.
Arthur is an angel in the light, beams of sunlight entwining his hair, painting a halo above his head, and giving his unhealthily pale skin an ethereal sheen. So pale, so white, so devoid of colour, skin was not meant to be that pale. Arthur had always been pale, always small and sickly, but Alfred had accepted him anyway. Like most people, Alfred admires beautiful things and Arthur is without a doubt the most beautiful person in the world. Even when he is spewing up fluid in his lungs or the contents of his stomach. Even when he is covered in his own blood from ripping out yet another IV.
Alfred runs a hand through Arthur's hair, soft, thin strands tickling his fingers. He presses a kiss to the crown of his head.
Alfred leans in, resting his head on Arthur's, and enclosing Arthur in his warm embrace. It wouldn't do for Arthur to catch a cold, so close to the holiday season.
Together they sleep, half upright on the couch, room perfectly still. Outside a gust of wind blows, scattering a mesh of diamond snowflakes into the cold, winter air.
It's such a beautiful day, today. The ugliness of reality can wait for tomorrow, when Arthur doesn't wake up.