Love and Pain

Introduction

(Please point out any typos I can't type and don't trust myself to find them all)

    The sun rises, spilling light into the wide, two-story house. It's early morning, late spring, in the large, beautiful, secluded house at the edge of a large wood.

    Tim Moore woke up, rubbed at his eyes a bit, and gave a brief yet powerful yawn. He brushed a straw-yellow wisp of hair to the side. The beams of sunlight softly streaming through the window whispered it was time to get up, and he obeyed wordlessly.
    The house really was beautiful at times like this. Standing in the sitting room with a steaming mug of coffee, gazing at the soft light of the sun blanketing the room, the house really seemed beautiful for the first time in years. He sighed, for once completely, genuinely content--
    Soft, hesitant footsteps padding down the stairs. Oliver. He timidly cast a brief glance at the blond, then his wide eyes flicked away and he recommenced his descent. Tim noticed a doll-like hand clutching the banister with his life and chuckled a bit to himself.
    "Why, Oliver!" He started sardonically, intentionally raising his voice louder than usual. Oliver flinched at the sheer volume and refused to make eye contact. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Why so frightened? It's a lovely morning." He gestured theatrically at a large window spilling sunlight. Oliver glanced at it with hollow eyes and turned away. When eventually the brunette gathered the will to finish walking to the sitting room, he slumped into a chair silently and succumbed to a slump. The boy’s whole figure seemed to wilt like a discarded toy.
    Tim just stared at him as the seconds dragged on. For rare moments such as these, the boy was completely indecipherable, unreadable. These instances always particularly amused the blond. He could never tell why.
    Oliver's dim eyes buzzed with the same static emptiness of white noise. He was as still and silent as a corpse. Tim imagined with a flicker of satisfaction that the boy had trained himself to breathe like that, so that his thin chest only ever visibly moved in his sleep.
    He was so overwhelmingly beautiful  when he was afraid.
    "Don't you look fetching this morning," he purred with a low hum. For a brief, glorious millisecond, terror gleamed in his eyes; then he sighed and deflated and nothing had changed.

    The sound of a slap reverberated around the otherwise silent room. A small squeak followed it, then silence. Oliver gasped for breath softly and cradled his cheek. His sapphire-beryl eyes were suddenly crystal clear and trying to fight back tears. Finally, the static was gone; if only for the time being.