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A F T E R 2 : 0 3 a m

Declan stood alone in front of the huge detached house, hands buried deep in his coat pockets. Snow has stopped falling for a while now, but the morning was still bitterly cold. Before him, the police stormed around, demanding for everyone inside the house. There was light from the windows, but so far no one came. The cops were still doing their jobs, knocking, looking, threatening for the man to show up.

Declan remembered the moment when the call was cut off. The deafening beeps pounding from the speaker. The dreary silence that almost suffocated him, almost forced him into a panic attack, one just as bad as those Gray has been through. He sat stunned, not entirely sure of what to do but think of him, and making sense of what just happened.

Finally, Declan snapped out of trance. He called the police, and told them to track the number down. He couldn't even begin to think what that horrible man was about to do to Gray. It hurt him as much as when he'd heard Gray sobbing, or choking as fear cracked his voice. He waited for only about 10 minutes, but those were the longest 10 minutes of his life. He remembered sitting inside the police station, with his phone gripped tight in his hands, the officers a blur in front of his eyes. He'd never felt so afraid.

When they told him they've got the address, C8 Pryer Street, and that he could come along if he'd wanted to, he agreed right away. He was silent for the whole ride, and even when they'd arrived he'd said not a word, but inside he was an absolute mess. Why couldn't they have gone just a little bit sooner? Drove a little bit faster? Gray could be... no, he couldn't think of that, he mustn't.

The sound of the lock opening snapped Declan back to reality. A boy came out, and for a moment Declan thought it was Grayson; but no, that boy was too young. Young and clueless. The police led him to the side, wrapping a thick blanket around his thin, pyjama-cladded figure. Next came an old woman, wild grey hair and tears streaking her face. She was accompanied by another, younger lady, with a pretty oval face and pale blonde hair. Declan couldn't really see anything marking her skin, but the way she walked told him enough. The three of them shuffled towards some officers, and the little boy began to cry.

Where was Grayson?

Declan could almost hear his heart again, the ever-increasing thump-thump-thump as it pounded inside his ribcage. Grayson. He started walking towards the house, his strides getting longer and longer with each step. Grayson. He couldn't afford to loose him now, of all times. Was it because he hadn't acted quick enough? Grayson. What did that man do to him? God, if he ever dared as to just touch Gray, Declan would...

The door opened again, and out came a dark figure. He was tall and wiry, his posture slightly hunched over. Bleached blonde hair framed his pallid, bruised face. Puffs of smoke rose into the morning air as his colourless eyes swept around, lost until they landed on Declan.

They didn't need to look twice.

Everything happened at once, shockingly fast but at the same time so agonisingly slow. Gray slammed against him, his arms fitting perfectly around Declan's waist as he buried his head into the crook of Declan's neck, his thin frame already racked with sobs. Declan automatically wrapped his own arms around Grayson, one on his back, one intertwining with his hair, pulling him closer. And they stood, still and silent, enclosed in each other's embrace, as if to make up for all the time spent before they'd met. A meteor could've crash down right then and wiped out all lives on Earth, and Declan wouldn't have cared, for all he could think of now was Grayson, in his arms, finally safe, finally happy.

Grayson stopped crying at last, and lifted his head. His eyes were watery and the palest of golds. There was a dark bruise on the side of his face, and his lower lip was split. He looked at Declan, and for a while they were both at a loss of words.