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· 🙤 •° · ︻╦デ╤━━╾ ·°• 🙦 ·
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❝ Nightmare? ❞
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FLARE CLUTCHES A SMALL BLANKET in her hands as she tiptoes down the hallway, sniffling quietly. More tears threaten to spill down her face, and a sob threatens to escape her lips, but she forces herself to stay quiet. She doesn't want to wake the Hargreeves siblings or Reginald. Besides, if any of them are taking a late-night stroll around the house, she doesn't want to run into them. Not while in tears.
She would seem weak.
And Flare isn't weak.
She cracks open the door to Five's room, peering inside tentatively.
"Five?" She wonders if he's asleep.
He's not, of course. A mess of math equations lay scribbled on note paper all around his room while he sits at the center of it all, drowsily writing away. The bedside lamp casts a dim light around the room. His head turns towards the door.
"What do you wa— oh," he cuts himself off.
Five's irritation immediately retreats at the sight of Flare's reddened face. She takes the fact that he hasn't immediately told her to get out as a sign that she can enter. She silently shuts the door behind herself and stumbles over. He eyes her quietly.
Flare sits down beside him, still holding her blanket close, and trains her gaze on the wall ahead.
They sit quietly for a while. It's okay, though. The silence is comforting. The nightmare she just woke up from had been a vivid one.
A graphic memory flashes through her mind, still echoing from when Flare first saw it. She can still feel how realistic everything felt—the inescapable burning, her skin peeling off, her family's screams for help as they're swallowed up in a sea of flames—she can't get the images out of her mind. They remain, stabbing her slowly. Sorrow and loss are still fresh in her memory.
Flare sniffles, leaning back against the headboard and turning her gaze to the ceiling. His room smells nice.
"Bad dream?" asks Five, his voice barely rising above a murmur.
She nods.
"You wanna talk about it?"
She shakes her head.
The boy hums softly in acknowledgement. He has never been good with feelings or emotions, but then again, neither has Flare, so she doesn't mind. Honestly, she prefers that he says very little. She doesn't expect or want any pretty words from him, she just wants to know that he's there with her. Words are pointless when they can't change something.
Five sets his notes on the cabinet next to his bed before shutting off the lamp, bathing the room in darkness. Flare hears him shift next to her as he pulls his blankets down, climbing under them and offering her to do the same. Accepting, she pulls the covers over her and curls up beside him. They both lay facing each other, their bodies only inches apart. The only sounds are those of her soft breathing and the ambiance of the creaky old house.
It's quiet now. Peaceful. Far better from the tortured screams of her family which echoed through her dream, and now continues to echo through her mind. But Five is here, alive and well, right in front of her, while the rest of his siblings are sleeping soundly in their rooms. The boy's presence is a constant reminder that everything was just a dream. There's no need to worry. Everything is okay. Even if Five hasn't said it aloud.
A small feeling of relief begins to push aside the leftover dread from her nightmare. He comforts Flare silently, because he doesn't know any other way. This feeling of safety when she's with him—it's all she needs. It's one of the things she likes about Five, although she'll never admit it. No matter how many sharp remarks they trade, he'll always be there for her. No matter what.
Her anxiety begins to melt away. In her mind, Flare reminds herself of where she is: with Five, in his room. Safe, comfortable, and warm. She feels her body relax, allowing itself to grow drowsy. The girl closes her eyes, leaning her forehead forwards to rest against his.
Here is the only place in this house that actually feels like home.
