star [ wroetostar ]

15 november 2014

19 years old

At one minute past midnight, a door slammed a few rooms down, subdued whispering heard from behind another closed door. The blond housemate gently placed his book down, turning away from his approaching roommate.

Harry's door was opened slightly, the cinnamon boy still concerned about his best friend in his drunken, high state of mind. The blond was happy he had given this up, within the months, Vik had grown to be constantly irritated. He was almost always high, the strong smell of smoke and metal staining all of his clothing.

The door closed, footsteps and giggles growing softer as they walked away.
Harry's vision began to blur, wiping away at the tears blinding him.

He knew what would happen the next morning. It always ended up the same.

Vik would awaken, his nighttime companion gone. He would rise, hungover and in pain. A dull ache spread throughout his beaten body. Clothes were thrown throughout the room, hastily picked up in the aftermath. And he would limp his way into the kitchen, where Harry would sit waiting.

The blond never slept on nights like this.

Not only because of the broken moans and creaking bedframes that echoed throughout the house.

No, it was more than that.

Harry didn't sleep, because whilst Vik was messing around behind closed doors, Harry as wishing that he was with him instead.

---

"Morning star. Sleep well?"

The same phrase left Harry's lips every time.
And the same response followed.

A single nod was the only reply from the cinnamon boy, his attire consisting of a pair of long pants and a sweatshirt; both crumpled and, as mentioned, reeking of smoke.

Harry breezed past the shorter boy, reaching into the cupboard for the ibuprofen, just like he did almost every morning.

He handed the medication to the other, reaching back in for a glass.

The cinnamon star swallowed the medication given to him, thanking the blond for a cup of ice water.

"Go lay down star. I know you aren't feeling well."

The older boy obeyed, resting his head on the other's chest.

"Lay with me, Hazza?."

"On one condition star."

The taller brought up a single finger, raising the cinnamon boy's face to meet his. The sight was heartbreaking;

bloodshot eyes, marked cheek, bruised neck, lips puffy and spotted with burns.

"You stop doing this to yourself. Face it star, you're dying off."

"All stars do Haz. They shine bright, they explode, they burn out. Billions of stars die everyday and yet, the human race still sees them shining."

Harry bent down, pressing a small kiss to the cinnamon boy's forehead.

"There's my little star."