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THE eerie darkness of that night will never cease to exist in Jem's mind. He remembers each moment to the smallest possible detail. The pitch-black curtain of the midnight sky seems to be engraved in his memory for the rest of his days. Various milky speckles dance around the midnight canvas – forming different patterns and patiently tugging at the corners of young Jem's lips in a way that almost makes him smile. Almost.
It is one of those nights when every worry in the world seems to fall upon his shoulders, poisoning his young mind beyond the point it can take.
Jem is sure that he has spent countless hours just laying on the blanket in the middle of the field, surrounded by nothing but pure darkness. In that particular moment, it is hard for him to cope with his illness. He feels as if he is on the verge of dying; his breathing pattern is rather slow and he feels as if taking another breath will most certainly end him. And if not that, then Jem is sure that the unendurable headache will take care of his pathetic existence.
Of course, he doesn't let the way he feels show on the outside. To any pair of curious eyes, the silver haired boy looks completely fine, happy even.
"Daydreaming again, my friend?" The voice that he enjoys so much rings in his ears, healing all the wounds. His silver orbs are facing the midnight velvet sky, studying the silver glow of the moon.
"Did you know that your eyes are the same color as the moon and the stars?" Beatrice says, her body joining his on the blanket.
"Are they, now?"
"Yes, actually," the girl whispers, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. "I think they just might be my new favorite color."
Jem lets out a laugh, lifting himself in a sitting position, but not without a wince.
"Are you okay?" Beatrice follows his movements, her eyes filling with concern and speckles of fear.
"Yeah," Jem says. "It's just one of those nights..."
Beatrice nods her head in understanding. The boy doesn't have to offer any explanation, for the Fairchild girl already knows just how hard it is for him to fight the consequences of his disease.
Lifting her gaze up, Beatrice smiles. A sole action of something as simple and pure as smiling without a given reason warms Jem's soul like a fireplace on a cold winter night. A set of tingles begins spreading through his body, offering him an escape route from a naked shore of pain.
