• dynasty • | gnr | kiss | bon jovi |

•17•

Everything is perfect. The whole world is warm, it smells like aftershave. The whole universe is nothing but a thin single bed with a box matress, a sweet Beatles record playing in the background, and the sound of a pencil scratching against a pad of paper.

Gentle humming, the rhythmic feeling of someone you care about drawing breath beside you.

Warmth, the beatles, pencils scratching paper.

My eyes open ever so slowly, my mouth opens wide and I let out a long yawn. I see Stan beside me, wearing nothing but a grey grease-stained wife beater, sketching on his notepad.

I don't even remember falling asleep, but I'm quite sure Stan wasn't beside me when I did and my arms weren't clutching him beneath the comforter.

I sit up quickly and withdraw my arms with embarrassment. "Oh, um... I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to get so close to you like this. I know this must make you so uncomfortable so, um... I'll get my stuff and-"

"Relax," Stan laughs, pausing to smudge some of his pencil markings with his finger. "It's fine, kid. It's not a big deal."

I lay back against his headboard, my cheeks are on fire. "Oh, uh... okay."

"You talk in your sleep." His voice isn't really accusing or amused, it's just a statement.

"No I don't!"

"It's adorable."

"Shut up," I whine and bury my face in my hands. I can't believe I fell asleep here, and for so long? I'm certain it wasn't pitch black outside when we got here.

He doesn't say anything more. I peer over his shoulder at his notebook, and suddenly I stop breathing. There's a woman portrayed on his piece of paper. She's delicate, she's beatiful. Her eyelids are drawn closed, her full lips are parted just slightly. One of her arms hangs in her mop of curly hair, her other clutches the comforter she sleeps beneath.

She's perfect.

I sit up and pretend not to see, stretching my arms over my head.

"You know, we really don't need to tutor anymore, Stan. I checked in on all your grades, you're actually doing really well."

He eyeballs me again and closes his pad of paper. "Nah, I still need you."

I shake my head gently. "You're smart, Stan."

He scoffs. "Only cause of you, kid. I still expect you at band practice though, don't think you're gettin' rid of me any time soon."

He slides out of bed and goes into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door behind him and turns on the faucet.

"Shouldn't you be out? Marty probably misses you."

He shrugs. "So fuckin' what?"

I walk over to the bathroom door and push it open just a crack. He's rubbing white stuff on his face and there's a razor beside him on the sink, glistening with water droplets. He just looks at me in the mirror and says nothing, so I ease inside.

"That's weird. Isn't shaving a... morning activity?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I shave twice a day. Big whoop."

"King Kong," I giggle and reach a hand out to touch his chest hair.

He freezes a little bit and squints at me, but I don't take my hand away. I just look at him instead, withdrawing only when he finishes shaving and reaches out to turn off the sink.

"You doin' alright? No more cryin', right?"

I nod eagerly. "I'm just fine now."

He nods quietly. "Kid?"