The Sparkling Charade of Las Nevadas: the Travels and Escapades of Wilbur Soot

III

The only time I feel like I'm getting real rest is when I'm just half-asleep. It's an interesting feeling. I roll over. My arm flops onto a chest. My hand hits a shoulder. I feel two fully-awake hands push me away. I know I've done something I shouldn't have, as people often do when they are half-asleep.

I don't know how much time passes. It must be hours. For me, comfortably half-asleep, it feels like a few minutes. After which I hear slow breathing, quiet and soft through the nose. Then it gets quicker, the kind of through the mouth, short of air breathing. It's strange how much you notice when you're half-asleep. It makes me wonder if my mind is really half turned off, or if that's when it comes alive.

The quickened breathing is followed by the rustling of sheets. I feel something very close to me, prompting me to open my eyes.

Quackity's eyelids are scrunched closed, and he is holding me tightly. My chin is buried in his silky black hair, which is so rarely sighted that my first time seeing it is now, in the darkness.

Behind him on the night table, a dull gleam catches my eye. My vision focuses and the glimmer forms two engagement rings.

I remember that before all of this, Quackity had two fiancés, a beautiful polyamourous relationship.

Nightmares about love are the worst. I've had one too many about golden hair and bright blue eyes fading into the abyss, or wherever they might go to escape me,

It makes you want to find the nearest person you care about, if you even have anyone left, and pull them close.

I wrap my arms around him. The one under his head will most likely go numb, but I don't mind, I close my eyes and revel in his touch. I know that none of this is going to matter in the morning. Nevertheless, my cold little gay heart is exploding with joy.