One Shots

Nowhere (PG-13)

A/N: this one is slightly erm, scratch that it's very dark. It's all murder and suicide and stuff so TRIGGER WARNING. But the ending is also rather cute. At least I think so. WHY DON'T I WRITE HAPPY STUFF?? Also, I wrote and edited this on my phone so I apologise for any mistakes!

            Just A Pair of Lost Boys

      He used to appear to me at night, sitting on the edge of my bed and I'd wake to cold winter night's despite the fact that it was the middle of summer. He had that effect. 

      Shivering, I'd bring the blanket up closer, until only my head was visible over the duvet as I whispered a hello. He'd smile and it'd feel so warm and welcoming.

      I used to ask him things like, "Where do you go when you're not here with me?"

      And he'd reply, "Nowhere."

      And I'd say, "What's that like?"

      He'd stare at me. Then, "It's lonely, but only because you're not there." And in these moments where he made me feel so important, I'd feel close to him. Closer than I've ever felt with anyone. He never made me feel unsafe, I was never threatened by his presence. I knew he wouldn't hurt me.

      But as the visits grew more frequent and the questions more intense he'd begin to say things like, "Don't ever leave me." And, "I was so lonely without you." But I always wondered how he could feel lonely if, when he wasn't beside me, he was nowhere.

      As it neared the end of summer, he'd stop appearing on my bed and instead, he'd show up in my closet as if he were hiding. I'd hear movement, like the sounds of my clothes falling from their hanger's, or knocks against the wall as if he was rapping his knuckles to gain my attention.

      I'd usually end up in there with him, sitting beside him in the darkness and I'd feel empty. Lost. I didn't feel warm and I didn't feel cold. It was just this numbness and a slight hint of fear. One night, I asked, "How come you hide, now?"

      "Because I'm afraid." Is how he responded.

      "Afraid of what?"

      "Myself."

      I never asked him what he meant, but his answer didn't scare me. No, it just made me worry. I knew he wasn't here or there, he wasn't really in this world and yet he was. Constantly in and out without a real place to stay. He didn't belong, and I guess that's why I felt so close to him sometimes. Because I didn't, either.

      I couldn't tell you how he came to be this way. What had happened to him in this house that brought him to this end. What I can tell you, is that, for me, it was a sharp breath of air and a misplaced footstep on the slates outside my window, that sheltered the porch below.

      I used to climb out and sit on the roof to escape the turmoil inside. All the screams and the shouts, that sometimes didn't even belong to that of my family, but of the families before. This house, it was something else. It was between realities. Or, perhaps, it was me that was between realities. Maybe I always had been.

      Because for as long as I can remember, I've been friends with people that weren't physically here. I found comfort in their pain and sadness, because I could relate. As long as I had my friends inside this house, nothing else mattered.

      His name was Tim but he never allowed me to call him that. The first time I had, I felt the whole house shake with anger. I never used his name again. I began to understand him the longer I stayed this way; in and out of life. Sometimes I'd feel so physically here that it'd be like I never slipped from that roof in the first place.