The candle on the bedside table flickered as a strong draft blew through the bedroom. The curtains billowed into the room, barely avoiding the precariously balanced pile of books beneath the window. Ryth lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling where the light danced across the dark green paint. It was just another one of those nights. He’d spend hours lying there on top of his bed sheets, waiting for something that probably wouldn’t ever happen. If it was going to happen, it would’ve done so already.
He didn’t even bother looking at the clock, just waited for when the candle would burn out. Sixteen hours. That’s how long it lasted, supposedly. He lit the wick at sunset, just as the last slither of light slipped below the horizon. If he was lucky, the sun would rise before it burnt out. He wasn’t keeping his hopes up though.
Part of him considered lighting up another cigarette, if not for the nicotine for the way the smoke wrapped around his room. They weren’t his. His never tasted the same when he was alone like this; they were a reminder of his isolation. No, instead he had another pack: cheaper, more bitter. They were laced with something to make them that bit more bearable. But the taste, the taste was late summer nights perched on the bridge. It was chapped lips against his skin and teeth just that bit too sharp to be normal. It was nails dragging lines across his body, digging half-moon marks into pale flesh. It was cheap wine paired perfectly with expensive cheese that was almost impossible to find. It was chocolate liqueurs fed to him by bruised knuckles and bloodied fingertips.
Ryth took one out the metal case on his bedside table, sitting up so his back was pressed against the carved wooden backboard. He held the cigarette between his lips, lighting it with the candle’s flame. He didn’t know where his lighter was anyway. The candle light glinted off the cigarette box, the ornate copper distressed with age. He kept the case open, using the lid to tap the loose ash off the end, watching as it collected in a small pile. At this point an ashtray would have been a good investment, but it was just another thing to keep track of. Unless he got multiple, one in each room, probably more than that. One on the desk, one on his bedside, one on his window-sill. Would that be enough? Probably. Probably not.
From his bed he could see the rolling hills outside his window, silhouettes against the star-dusted sky. The only light was the moon, full and bright. Trees littered the field directly outside, soon blossoming into the thick forest. At this time of year it was horrendous within. If the creatures inside didn’t kill you, the ground did. Small puddles quickly became portals to the caves beneath, leaves hid the cracks in the earth and the trees were one small shake from completely collapsing. But even with all that, he couldn’t stay away from it.
For everything bad that lurked within there was something that lured him back to those trees. The stories of the dangers meant nothing when he knew what was really kept within.
He took a drag from his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs and closed his eyes, tipping his head back until it hit the backboard. Slowly, he exhaled, letting the smoke paint the air. The curtains fluttered in the wind, the heavy fabric snapping against itself. When he opened his eyes again, the room was darker. The candle still flickered away, threatening to blow out. But everything was dimmer, as if a cloud had covered the moon. When he looked towards the window at the moon, he froze.
Perched upon the window was a shape, just millimetres from being in his room. The mess of hair and battered skin illuminated by the candle was all he needed to see. Ryth felt the smile creep onto his face as he stubbed out the cigarette, leaving it in the ashes. He moved to the edge of his bed closest to the intruder, whose smile mirrored Ryth’s own.
“Merrin,” Ryth said, standing up walking to the window to stand in front of him.
“Hey,” Merrin said, pushing his hair out of his face with a bruised hand.
Ryth held a hand out to him, pulling him into the bedroom. Before he could say anything, Merrin looped his arms around Ryth’s neck, pulling him down into a tight hug. His body was cold, much colder than the air outside. His clothes were damp against Ryth’s skin, but not wet. Ryth ran his fingers through the knotted mess of Merrin’s hair, breathing in the smell of the woods that clung to him.
Neither pulled away for a while, just standing in Ryth’s bedroom, drinking in the feeling of one another. By the time they did pull away, Merrin felt that bit warmer. His hands were rough when he held Ryth’s face to place a delicate kiss to his lips. They were cracked and had the faint taste of blood, but it just made it feel all the more comforting.
What wasn’t comforting was the coldness of Merrin’s hand as he slipped it under Ryth’s shirt. He pulled back with a shocked squeal, watching the joy bloom on Merrin’s face as he did so. Merrin gave him a light shove, pushing him backwards onto the bed. Ryth let himself fall onto the plush bedding, wrapping his hands around Merrin’s waist as he sat on top of him.
Merrin brushed a hair from Ryth’s forehead, putting it back into place.
“I’ve missed you,” Ryth said, voice barely a whisper.
Merrin smiled down at him, running his thumb across Ryth’s bottom lip. “You say that every time you see me.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Shut up,” Merrin said, leaning down to kiss him.
Maybe this night was different after all.
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