The House of Albums | t.s.

Melancholic Nights

In the kitchen, Midnights sat on the kitchen counter as she snacked on shredded cheese. She hadn't slept, and when she finally realised she needed sleep, Fearless wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of milk.

She grabbed one from the drying rack and held it out to the country album.

Fearless took the glass, muttering a tired, "Thanks."

Midnights hummed and watched the curly head pour milk, then put it in the fridge and reach for her glass of milk. Part of her worried for the younger album, knowing she only got up if she had nightmares or couldn't sleep because of her tendency to overthink, like all of the other albums.

The country album nearly had a heart attack when she processed what had happened spinning  around to find Midnights silently chewing.

"Midnights!" Fearless whisper yelled hand placed over her heart, taking deep calming breaths.

Midnights gave a slow and lazy wave, watching the younger album take a seat at the kitchen island, sipping her milk like Folklore sipped her tea on a sleepless night.

"You doing alright, little F?" The older album finally questioned.

"After that?" She pointed at the spot she stood when she had a fright. "No, I could have died." She glared at the older album, but her anger was overshadowed by her fatigue.

Midnights didn't pay her scolding any mind, "How long have you been struggling to sleep?" When Fearless looked down like a scolded child, she raised a brow equally worried as she was curious.

Fearless didn't have the energy to evade and avoid questions knowing Midnights had a way of getting the cat out of the bag, "It's the third night."

The older album put the bag of shredded cheese down, jumped off the counter, and poured herself a glass of milk before joining Fearless at the island.

Midnights clinked their glasses, making the younger album roll her eyes even as an amused smile tugged at the corners of her lips, "Talk to me."

Fearless took a deep breath, words falling short as her mind raced. She blurted the first thought she could understand, "It's not really one specific thing."

Midnights remained silent, save her slight hum.

The younger album opened her mouth, but the words fell short. She huffed, "I don't even know what it is that's bothering me."

The pop album observed the country album for a moment, "Are you by chance experiencing melancholy?"

Fearless sat back, her brows raised, then drew closer to each other, "That only started with RED," she shook her head. "Didn't it?" She added, unsure.

Midnights hid her amusement understanding that even if one was familiar with the feeling of melancholia, it remained confusing. "Anyone can experience melancholia, Little F."

Fearless seemed unsure, "But..." she trailed off, realising she had no argument. "I'm a bit confused." She admitted shyly.

Midnights didn't judge or tease Fearless. She knew that in a state of melancholia, everything seemed unreal and confusing. She gave a small smile and then said, "I experience it a lot, and I'm just as confused as you are, kid."

Fearless frowned, sad to hear the pop album experienced it often, "That's horrible."

Midnights was taken aback by the look of empathy in those young blue eyes, "It's nothing." She gestured vaguely.

The country album didn't dismiss the words as easily, "Is this why you don't sleep?" She asked softly.

She was curious as she never seemed to be able to understand the album that embodied sleepless nights so effortlessly. She never thought about how it would be to feel those sleepless nights every night as Midnights did.

Midnights didn't like the unintentional entrance she gave Fearless, allowing her to see how such nights tended to take its toll. Yet she didn't want the young album to feel alone as she tended to feel on such nights, "It's part of it." She revealed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Fearless sensed the older album's reluctance and chose not to push for more answers. Instead, she held up her glass and said, "To melancholic nights."

Midnights smiled softly and clinked her glass with Fearless, appreciating that she did not press for more. Instead, they sat in silence sharing in their emotional battle, acting as a piece of driftwood in a storm of pensive sadness and uncertainty.