Animal Flow

It Smiled At Me

For the first time in awhile, Lips' eyes actually snap open. He feels a shiver travel down his spine as his eyes shoot around the room, finally sighing in relief when he finds himself in the comfort of his own bed. The familiar comfort of Zoot's warmth is curled beside him, rising and falling as the comfortable, somniferous saxophonist lies asleep. The room, usually dark, is illuminated by the open curtain. The moonlight drips its small puddles of light in the room, brushing aside the thick layer of shadow as it lays in its place, curling up and dozing off in a comforting way that reminds him of Zoot. Careful not to wake his sleeping partner, Lips rises from beneath the sheets, sitting upright as he stares out the window. The night sky is clear, absent of a single cloud in sight. The nocturnal debris of stars scattered about dominates the sky. Amidst the mess of debris is the full moon. 

The very being that covers the ground in its thin blanket of gentle light, the moon gazes right back at him with its single eye. Its tender stare of reassurance delivers a feeling of reassurance to the disturbed puppet, as if it is indeed a motherly being looking down upon him. Its white, unblinking glow of empathy... it fascinates him. Obviously, he's always been aware of the moon's presence- however, he's never actually taken the time to acknowledge its presence. And he begins to wonder... why haven't I? 

Wondering what time it is, he slowly glances over to the bedside clock. In red letters that glow contrarily to the moon's white light, it reads: '23:42.' It's about to be midnight. Midnight is around the time everyone is situated in bed for sure... some even stay out later. It's not unheard of for the band to be out so late, especially during tours and other performances. It would be acceptable for him to go out, wouldn't it?

Crawling out of bed with extra care to not disturb his husband, Lips quickly slides on his clothes, soon wrapping himself in his shawl. It shouldn't hurt to go for a little walk, he tells himself. I can protect myself. I'll be back inside in fifteen minutes. Nobody will mind. 

Taking his phone from the bedside and sliding it into his pocket, he quietly creeps his way through the house to the front door. 

As he stands in front of the door, a shudder of anticipation sparks across his felt. 

He's not even sure what the weather is like at this hour, or what sort of creatures may lurk in the dark. 

What if it starts raining... or snowing? 

What if there's... something sinister waiting on the other side of his door?

He gives himself a hesitant yet reassuring chuckle.

You need this. You'll be okay. If there was something outside... you would've heard of it by now.

He takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to set the thoughts free from his mind. He's never made way into the woods behind the shack... but somehow, he's certain that he can make his way through them safely. 

I won't go too far...

As he finally reaches for the door, twisting its knob, he's met with a blow of cold wind right to the face. He stands still as the breeze blows through his hair, its cold making him feel stiff. Just for a moment, he begins to reconsider his choice. It's never seemed this cold in recent days.

 Yesterday, it was a comfortable 78 degrees Fahrenheit. Winter's rough days of stubborn cold are far out of the question- they've barely stumbled into September, few days away from the lukewarm embrace of Fall. And yet, a breath of air so reminiscent to that of Winter's lingers ahead. It seems so strange to him. 

...

But even then, he shakes the train of thought off once again.

I need this, he tells himself.

It'll be quick... I'll be back inside in... twelve minutes.

Nothing will go wrong.

Trying his best to ignore the ever-growing feeling of dread in his chest, he shuts the door behind him- trekking his way across the lawn and to the gate. The gate screeches as the hinges push against the metal bars... sending a little shiver down his spine. 

But he soon retreats, disappearing into the woods.