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His soft breathing, light raspiness that's more apparent as he sleeps rather then when he's awake. The feeling of his chest against my back, the movement of his chest rising and falling. His thin arm lightly draped around me, his palm resting on the back of my hand.
I look around, my eyes traveling across the room i've grown so familiar with. The room i've cried in, laughed in, and confessed in. The room that would be hell to anyone else, but a safe haven to others.
Arms that would scare anyone else, but be comforting to me. After all, you can't have friends who are crazy. But maybe acquaintances. Maybe casual associates. Or perhaps I am exempt from that rule due to my own insanity.
I'd like the last one. I'd like to think the boy that I let into my bed at night, the boy who saves me from nightmares and blows rings of smoke with me in the wee hours of the morning. I'd like to think of him as my friend, someone comforting and understanding.
But then I overthink. I remember his flaws, the things I'd like to fix. The way he acts like he runs the place, making others feel intimidated and pushed back by him. But maybe I like that, maybe I like that he (unlike me) can stand up for himself. Maybe I like that he chooses to not act like that with me.
I've seen his soft side. A side that I hope to god no one else but me has seen. A side that wants to spill tears, let them run down his freckled cheeks and hold onto my hands tightly. A side that doesn't care to talk about himself any other time, but almost spills a thing or two accidentally.
I love both sides but I love the sliver I see from time to time of the softer side. The one I haven't yet explored and sought out. But there's work that needs to be done before he trusts me like that. Coaxing and gentle hugs, plenty of cigarettes and cookies stolen from Shannon.
I think harder and harder, more and more about my feelings everyday avoiding the obvious question but maybe it's for the best. Maybe I shouldn't be asking myself these questions and asking myself others instead: is it worth it? I'm sick, he's sick. To any sane person it would sound like a recipe for disaster.
But to me it sounds like bliss. It sounds like i'll finally have someone to wake up to everyday that understands because he does. He doesn't look at me like i'm odd or hurt when i have nightmares or breakdowns. He knows what to do because he's had to do it with himself.
He understands.
I fall too far into my thoughts, running over feeling and memories in my head. When I feel his hand move over mine, him tucking his face into the crook between my neck and shoulder.
"Good morning," he mutters. I sigh into a smile, "Good morning." Though the sun is barely peaking through the windows, I can still tell it's morning. "How long have you been up?" he questions, not moving his face away. I shiver beneath, though his breath is warm and delicate, it sends chills through me due to the location.
"Not long," I say truthfully. He moves his face up, brushing his cheek along my neck before he risks bumping his forehead into my chin. I feel him rise slightly, his body lifting from mine momentarily as he lifts his face to rest on mine. His cheek lays on mine, bordering uncomfortable but I laugh anyways.
"What the hell are you doing?" I query, pushing his face away and turning mine towards his. Our dark eyes meet, his still dull from sleep and mine wide and alert. He chuckles, "I don't know." He shrugs before pulling back and sitting up, putting his arms over his head to stretch.
