"A Sanctuary Safe and Strong"(Marianas Trench)

Chapter 43

Stepping away from the wall, the blond hurried over to the stairs and climbed them quickly, stopping at the top landing for a minute or two while he listened for any sounds that might come from the guest room, giving him that much more proof that he wasn't completely alone in the house. He thought for sure he'd still hear Matt getting ready for bed, singing to himself, pacing around, watching television, something. But there was nothing. There wasn't even a thin beam of light seeping out from under the door. Josh couldn't quite believe the younger man was asleep already. It had only been about thirty minutes since he'd gone to bed, but maybe he really hadn't been exaggerating about how tired he was. 

Josh sprinted across the hallway to his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him after he turned the lights on. He'd begun to notice that he had an obsession with both lately, but especially the locks. He knew it started right after he'd been shot, but he couldn't help it. Even though the intruder had broken into his house - somehow; he still hadn't been able to figure out how, and neither had the police offer who had shown up to investigate - he still felt like latching doors behind him fixed almost everything. Realistically, Josh knew that a simple bedroom door lock couldn't always keep the bad stuff out, but it was more protection than having nothing.  

The singer quickly stripped off his clothing, leaving it all in a small heap right where he stood. Who cares? He'd deal with it sooner or later. Fumbling around in the dresser he'd nearly emptied out the last time he was home, he took out a clean pair of underwear and socks, a pair of sweatpants and a tshirt - a handful of the last few items that he almost never wore and had left in the "catch-all" bottom drawer. He slipped into underwear, then the pants and shirt, sitting to pull the socks onto his feet. 

Josh frowned a bit when he realized that the dirty clothing he'd dumped out of his bag days ago was now under his ass. "Ugh," he groaned, not wanting to face the idea of doing laundry either. "Later. There's always fuckin' later." He stood once more and held his arms out, shoving everything across the mattress and down onto the floor near the clothing he'd just shed. The place was starting to mirror the bedroom he'd had as a teenager. Shit was just piled everywhere and he couldn't quite figure out how that had happened. He hadn't even been home in days, goddamnit. 

Josh flipped on the light next to his bed and turned off the one overhead as he climbed into the bed. Settling in, he pulled the blankets over himself and reached over to the nightstand for a book. He always kept stacks of books everywhere. The singer hadn't been granted the opportunity to graduate from high school so many years ago - not by his own choice, but by his own doing - and it sometimes caused others to look down on him a bit for that, questioning both his intelligence and abilities. ("I know how to read, okay?") It was almost funny how it seemed to occasionally surprise people when he could quote Shakespeare by play, act and scene, or spout off some obscure string of words by Dante, and he couldn't understand why. If he wasn't writing or playing music, he usually had a book in his hands or at least within reach. He was more well-read than anyone realized and people didn't always give him nearly enough credit, sometimes being too narrow or closed-minded to see beyond his clusterfuck of a past.  

Sighing to himself, Josh shoved the pillow further under his head and tugged the blankets up over his shoulders before flipping the book open to the last page he'd marked by folding it down. He had to read over a couple of pages because he couldn't clearly remember what had happened. It had been about two weeks since he'd last picked up this particular novel, and he hadn't been able to lie in bed and hold it open using both hands since then, which had sucked, because he was really into the plot. But now that he could, he wanted to finish this and move on to the next thing on his list. 

He made it about ten pages further into the story before he felt his eyelids close against his will and the book slip from his hands. It dropped onto the bed and slid off the edge, landing with a soft thunk on the floor, but he didn't bother to reach down to pick it up. That too stayed where it was as he burrowed further under the covers, comfortable in his own bed for the first time in what he would exaggeratedly call about a thousand years, and he didn't want to ruin that by moving. It was the best he'd felt in a long time, all thanks to the brunet who was sound asleep directly across the hall. There was just something...safe about that man that made Josh feel protected. He was never more vulnerable than he was when he slept, and he needed sleep to function - no way around that, so he was incredibly grateful that the younger man had been, well, irritatingly pushy about choosing to be there for him.