Through Blue Sparkly Eyes

Eyes Down

___________A_Nice_Drawing
A piece of paper in hand he had torn off a notebook he had found under the bed by stepping on it when he had sat. He had then expected to find a pen there too, but it seemed under the bed was the place for single socks, notebooks and crumpled paper balls storage only, which got him to naughtily grimace at the toilet paper roll strategically placed on top of the nightstand by the bed. After retrieving a pen from his backpack he started drawing something intended to ease the boy into waking up to find him gone. He had to leave before he woke up or else he would probably surrender to his warmness, making it harder to leave so he could face the havoc surely awaiting for him once out of the comfort of this room.
On the way out he decided to pay the bathroom one last visit, to find a consterned ginger by the name of Eskild, staring at him with expectant eyes. He excused himself saying he had to leave, before the guy kept on with his inquiry finding anything more than his name.

It had been terrible, by the time Sonja left his apartment he was totally exhausted. There wasn't much really he could say to excuse himself, the only way was to be honest, approaching the subject of their relationship downward spiralling into an unfulfilling shadow of what it used to be. His dependency on her to support and take care of him, as grateful as he was for it, was no longer covering up other aspects. He just couldn't say it, but the sore look in her eyes indicated she had understood it. He hated it, so hard having to be the one to inflict pain to one of the people he knew, and knew him the most. It made sense when she had yelled at him asking him what did all that had to do, with just disappearing with that kid like he had.
He tried his best not to sound as involved as he felt with the boy, when he told her about it. He had then shut off during her retaliations, when he had sensed mockery in her words, implying his incapability to filter his emotions, suppressing and rendering them as a foggy, muffled replica too painful to afront. He had to plead for them to give the whole situation some time to cool down, it was the easiest way out, he couldn't in the heat of the moment trust himself to end it without being overly cutting.

Recieving a text from the boy, later that Sunday, had lifted his spirit up, giving his mind some rest. He forced himself to put aside the real world for a moment, in order to send him a cheerful text back. He was too tired though to dabble in calling him, which could probably end in him having to reject an invitation to hang out, at the risk of not being able to keep the "good mood facade" for long. The last thing he wanted was scaring him off with his mood swings. It would be better to bear the burden on his own of wanting nothing more, than to have him close taking refuge in the warmness that meant having him in his arms. He had already dished out enough harm for the day.
A feeble yet disturbing question crossing his mind; wasn't the prospect of leading the boy to experience dealing with him just indicative of his corrosive selfishness?
He had meant it when he said they'd better talk the next day, also when he typed that he looked hot when sleeping.

He could hardly get any sleep that night, his brain too active even though his body was screaming for some rest.
By the time the alarm went off, he knew he wouldn't be able to endure a day at school. He stayed there lying his mind still reluctant to set him free. Yesterday's issues put on hold in the background, giving place now to the growing apprehension of having acted based on his own desire to be with the boy, suddenly unsure of the boy's feelings about it. Maybe what he aimed for was not to be met by him. The possibility of scaring him off by having taken for granted that he felt the same way about him, making him insecure.
His efforts to get any signs to come to mind that denoted the boy's willingness to go for more than just some cuddle sessions, gave no results. On the contrary, all he could come up with was his discouraging, relentless
concern about nobody finding out about it.

His brain felt numb all of a sudden, the weight of it all crushing him down to bed. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to sleep, that he would just lay there unable to escape his own thoughts. But at a given point his mind finally gave in, after two nights of no sleep, allowing him to escape and finally give his body a much needed rest.
He had closed the curtains on his way to the bed, it had to be dark and it was still early. The sunlight darting through the window was abrasively offensive. He knew it would probably take longer than a nap, how long? he never knew. He didn't care either, he just had to.
He barely got up during the next day to go to the bathroom. He knew he ought to eat something but wasn't hungry at all. He just wanted to go back bed and to sleeping.