Iridescent

6 | Hold Your Laughter

I remember going camping with one of my "besties" as a kid. They're only playmates, really. I remember sharing a tent with her and despite being friends, I've never watched her sleep before. And with the child's curiosity and excitement of camping for the first time, I opened my eyes.

Against the dark, I wasn't able to see everything clearly. But with the moonlight's aid, I was able to see just enough. It felt strange to stare at someone in their sleep. It is their true self, completely unguarded, completely relaxed with nothing hidden.

That was how I felt that morning, waking up shivering from yet another nightmare. The sun was struggling against its own slumber, shying away behind the clouds. I got up from the couch and quietly padded to the bed.

My saviour was sound asleep.

I sat down on a stool, watching him. I recalled the first time meeting him, the sunlight hitting his green eyes and me, catching a brief moment of seeing something real about him. And now, I was looking at him at his most vulnerable state. I could take a stab at him right there and then. All the strength he had when he defended me against Lambert won't be effective.

I stood, hovered my cheeks near his mouth. There was a weak breath, and a sigh of relief escaped my lips. I tugged on the edge of the duvet to cover his bare shoulders, and when I glanced up, I found a pair of green eyes fixed on my blue ones.

Shoot.

I let go of the duvet and took a good step back. "I was pulling the covers," I raised my hands in surrender. "I wasn't doing anything else."

He blinked.

"Pulling the covers up or down?"

Heat rushed to my cheeks and my gaze hardened into a glare. "Get out."

He stifled a laugh, the pain limiting him as he shifted his shoulders. His eyes drooped closed.

"Don't pass out again!"

"I'm not."

I warily approached him, watching his chest lift and fall. He was alive and well. Deep down, I was more than relieved.

"Are you feeling better?"

He turned to look at me. "Think so."

"I'll grab you something to eat."

"You can't let anyone know I'm here."

I stopped half-way. "Uh sure, but you have to tell me why."

"There's-" he winced as he sat up "-no why. Just don't."

In the moments of contemplating silence, our gazes challenged each other. Unlike Marty's look, who always had a soft edge regardless of how hard his stare was, his gaze was distinct. When they're gentle, they're gentle. When they're sharp, they can cut through meat and blood. And when they're ice-cold and stone-hard, I knew he was determined not to give me an answer.

I exhaled shortly, "Fine."

He sighed quietly as if my words had relieved some of his pain. But, unfortunately for him, he forgot I was a determined one too.

Well, he wouldn't know.

"I want to know why you were in my room. My bathroom, to be exact."

"Nothing."

I stared flatly at him. "You, my good Sir, were bleeding out on my bathroom tiles. I thought you were a corpse, and you decide that it was nothing?"

"Yes, nothing." He pushed himself up, moving slowly to get off the bed.

I softened at the sight and resisted the urge to walk forwards and help him.