Falling Skies

Twelve

It's a strange sensation, Ryder realizes, to feel so deeply intertwined with someone that's barely known to him. Whose story went from being a mention in his own, to a full blown chapter. Then somehow worming themselves into every thought he's ever had, every word he's ever whispered.

It's a strange sensation. To physically hold onto something that makes him feel so calm yet so sick. But it's unknown whether that sickness is from a hate bred deep within his blood, or the uncertainty of loving something so wildly new to his world.

It's a thought that passes through Ryder each morning he wakes with Wren in his arms. Pulling him a bit tighter into his chest with each passing sunrise.

"Wren." He whispers against the strawberry curls of the other boy, hair lightening each day under the stress of Haven. Wren merely nuzzling his head into Ryder's outstretched palm next to his bright red cheeks. Every morning is a toss up of whether he will be void of any hue or filled with color, today luckily being one of the latter.

The body cracks open with a yawn, a slight pop audible from somewhere on his body. "I'm awake...don't worry." He adds in the last part as more of an afterthought, pressing into the outstretched palm just a little harder as if to really get his point across.

With this, Ryder sits up in the swirl of blankets strewn against the floor. The bed still covered in vomit and Wren preferring the floor left him no choice but to lay against the tile, his back cracking as he raises up with a groan.

"It's a Wednesday today, so no one will be checking in on you for a while."

"Mhm?" Wren mumbles, eyes still shut as his legs curl into his chest.

"So I was wondering if maybe you could tell me some more about you and your people and where you're from?" It comes out more rushed than necessary, Ryder's face contorting for a brief moment before regaining himself. His hand falling against the other's hip as he attempts to roll him over.

"I just think I should know some about where you came from. We are good friends after all."

Good friends. It's a bit of an understatement. At this point just the thought of Wren has his chest aching with worry, and he can't remember the last time that he slept in a bed rather than curled into Wren's drug filled body on the floor.

It's been less than a month, Ryder.. he thinks to himself, hands pulling down at his face in a poor attempt to clear his thoughts, to distinguish his childish attachments to Wren from the reality that they barely know one another. That he doesn't even know what species Wren is.

Yet there's this undeniable pull to that red headed boy that has his mind clouded with doubt and anxiety. This instant infatuation and near obsession with anything about him. It started off as just wanting a connection to someone who might be like him.

Yet it quickly escalated to childhood stories and late night lessons, usually on what his dreams truly mean. How to control them, how to make them pinpoint events more specifically, how to tell the future better.

He had never had anyone to share his 'gift' with until Wren arrived. That has to be why he feels so attached? Right?

"Ryder." Wren snaps his fingers, the sound shocking Ryder from his thoughts. "What were you wanting to say to me?"

"What are you?" It's a question thrown with too much force, Ryder drawing back from the impact of it though it's too late. The words digging into every corner of the room and uprooting what little peace they had had that morning. Wren looks over shocked, though the expression is quickly shaken away with a smile as his body turns around in the makeshift bed to face Ryder.