Spooky

Chapter 6

-Scourge's POV-

My eyes slowly drift open to the sound of a blaring phone alarm. For a moment, all I can think is that's one weird text notification noise, but then I hear someone else groan in an agonized fashion; there's some thumping, and the alarm cuts off, punctuated with a relieved sigh and the distinct sound of someone going right back to bed. Blinking, I stare lazily at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the sound of my roommate's breathing slowing down to a more lethargic pace. After a moment, I turn my head to see Spooky facedown on his bed, one bare arm stretched to the floor—I was right, he does have muscles!— and his mouth slightly ajar. The remnants of his eyeshadow have fallen onto his cheeks, undoubtedly carried there by the long lashes I can see fluttering gently with sleep. Weak morning sunlight is beginning to ooze in, painting his fur with a yellowy glow that turns his stripes orange and highlights the mess of half-washed-off makeup adorning his eyelids. Why is he so tired? I wonder sleepily, and then my brows crease in confusion as I notice he's not wearing his jacket anymore. Where did it go?

It's only when I reach to toss my blankets off that I realize the reason he isn't wearing it would be the fact that I'm wearing it. Staring down at myself in confusion, I try to force my tired brain to remember what happened last night; rather abruptly, it hits me like a ton of bricks, and heat floods my face. Oh, yeah, that's right, I swallow roughly, I woke up crying, he hugged me...and I guess I fell back asleep in his arms... Ah, shit, that's awkward...! Slapping a hand to my forehead, I groan, feeling even my ears start to heat up with the force of my embarrassment. Well... At least he promised he wouldn't say anything...

A yawn from over to my left interrupts my thoughts, and I whip my head round to face the source of it. Shadow rolls onto his back, fidgeting in half-awake discomfort, rubbing his eyes, which only serves to further spread his eyeliner mess. His hands mush his face around, and I bite my lip to hold back a snicker, turning to throw my legs off the bed. Steel was right about you, I say silently, you really are a sweetheart, giving me your jacket after I fell asleep... How cute. As he sits up, I take the hoodie off carefully, then toss it at him the moment he turns to face me. It hits him squarely in the face, and he yelps, surprised, immediately reaching up to pull it off.

"Good morning!" I chirp joyfully, and he yanks his jacket off his face to give me a death glower. I beam at him, swinging my feet a little, and I would swear that ugly glare lightens just a tad. "Thank you for your jacket last night," I purr, "that was so kind of you."

He flushes, quickly pulling his jacket back on, then growls, "Invest in some pajamas. If you get sick, so do I." Pouting, I watch him as he stands up, walking over to his suitcase. Shadow's jacket is still unzipped, showing off his sleep-ruffled white chest fluff, and his tail lifts the back of the jacket, creating odd wrinkles in the back.

Oh, don't pretend you did it for just that reason. Stretching, I reply, "If you say so," and he gives me a strange look, glancing over his shoulder at me. Relaxing, I smirk back at him, giving him the same face that always drives the girls nuts. Eyes half-lidded, sharp teeth flashing, one brow higher than the other, with my ears flopping in a lazy semblance of the same pattern. To my surprise, he doesn't react, just turns back around, and my heart sinks. Maybe it was too much to hope...

-Shadow's POV-

Why is he acting so odd? I wonder silently, crouching down to pick out my clothes. Last night, he threatened to kill me over seeing him like that... I figured he'd be pissed off at me putting my jacket on him, but he wouldn't stop shivering—I had no choice—and yet, and yet, he doesn't seem upset... Casually, I eye him out of the periphery of my vision as he stands, shaking his brilliant green spines out. Speaking about last night, I turn back to my suitcase, picking up a Motionless in White t-shirt, I'm beginning to think I was being too rash, writing him off as just another shallow asshole. After a moment of digging, I snag a pair of red ripped jeans, too, and some fresh socks. Something deeper is going on here. Question is, do I dare venture so deep? Footsteps thump behind me as Scourge makes his way to the closet, obviously going for his leather jacket. Standing up, I shrug my own jacket off—why did I even put it on if I knew I was just going to take it off again? I'm a dumbass—and snag a brush from my bag. The sound of a hanger, behind me, being jostled and a metal buckle slapping against leather catches my attention, but I choose to ignore it; sitting down on my bed, I pull a portable mirror out from between the pages of my spellbook, then start to brush my quills into shape. I woke up too late to snag a shower, so I guess I'll just do it in the evening. In front of me, Scourge pulls on his jacket, and as much as I try to ignore him, it's a little distracting. He keeps turning around and around, trying to figure out where the jacket's beltbuckle went—it fell out of the righthand side's front loop, and now dangles uselessly just out of his reach—like some kind of dog chasing its tail. As I run the brush through my hair, I bite back laughter, enjoying the little show I'm being treated to this morning. Muttered curses, a bit of stumbling, and suddenly he's on the floor and I can't hold back the giggles anymore.