"What exactly triggered this... incident?" Dante asks.
"It was, uh, a panic attack, I think?" Sam tries to recall the haziness from half an hour ago. Even if he tries to force it out of his skull, the memory won't budge.
"...What if, we trigger a panic attack again-"
"Are you out of your mind?" Sam flicks his fingers on his forehead.
"Ouch?? What was that for?" He rubs on the impact site, right between the lines where his skin curves down.
"For being an idiot. No way in hell I'm doing that." He declines Dante's offer quickly. "It's not a pleasant experience. I don't know why anyone would want it to happen to themselves."
"Then what? You have no other way of proving yourself." They continue to consider and reconsider their options, until their eyes scurried into their own tunnel visions. "You know what? I'm tired, as fuck." Dante buries his head back in a pillow. "Go sleep, it's almost dawn."
Sam looks back at the open door, his view directly on peaceful Donnie. "Surely I can't sleep with him now! At least not tonight, I'm still... weirded out." He admits.
"Then go sleep outside." Dante's wits aren't that disabled, even if he's half into his own wonderland. "Unless, you wanna sleep with me?" He raises his eyebrows at Sam.
"Yeah, no thanks. I'd rather sleep with dogs" Sam eyes him up and down, before sitting down on a sofa near his desk. "Can I sleep here, then?"
"No, no way. You take the bed, I'll sleep there." Dante stands up, still holding his dear pillow. "Nuh uh, I'm just a guest after all-"
"And guests need the owner's hospitality." Dante chuckles, throwing Sam onto the bed. "You'll get sore limbs if you sleep on a couch, anyway." He continues, plopping himself on the cushion. Without wasting time for another complaint from Sam, he quickly delves himself into sweet dreams.
Sam stays put in the bed as it curves on where he's sitting. His eyes wander around through Dante's room like a lost man. He still has a few days before he has to go back to America, which wouldn't be quite good for him and his thesis, especially after being free from the shackles of the unpleasant atmosphere of his dorm. He picks up his laptop onto his lap, and continues typing.
He drags the idle book through the soft veil covering the bed, cool air blowing out as he jumbles through the pages. He conveniently stops at the page he was working on transcribing.
"The House Built On a Burial Site
Vintage operas reverberate throughout
I hear them sing and swing through the walls
Creeping by, devils in their done do's
Someone had died on the soil that i stand on
And they've came back, scarier than ever
̶M̶̶y̶̶t̶̶o̶̶s̶̶i̶̶s̶ Mitosis, i beam a colorful dream
It promised me not to turn into ash
Cremated with the creation of the creator
Of the house built on a burial site
Its replicas repeat like an echo
Mitosis, i woe a déjà vu
It came by, stampeding like the vintage operas do
I thought i was a sincerity, not an eulogy
I thought i was a skin cell, not a bandage
I thought i was a home full of love and light
Not a house built on a burial site
You bought this land
You've killed people in our abode
I can hear them at night, they weep
When i ask them whats wrong
They beg for me to not burn down the house
To not turn into ash with it
; ̶t̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶b̶̶u̶̶r̶̶i̶̶a̶̶l̶ ̶s̶̶i̶̶t̶̶e̶ ̶i̶̶s̶ ̶y̶̶o̶̶u̶̶r̶ ̶h̶̶o̶̶m̶̶e̶, ̶i̶'̶m̶ ̶j̶̶u̶̶s̶̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶h̶̶o̶̶u̶̶s̶̶e̶ ̶o̶̶n̶ ̶i̶̶t̶
YOU ARE READING
MR. BORN TO LOSE
Romance(BXB) Inspired by Lana Del Rey's Honeymoon album Samuel Clifton is a literature fanatic, he has an infatuation on one particular poet, Leonard Sylas. Upon stumbling on his work online, he immediately felt a connection between him and the long gone p...
