The next morning, Briggan sat up on the couch and sleepily surveyed his surroundings. A split second's worth of observation yielded a jolt upright. Someone had gone through the living room and straightened everything up. Not only that, they had also taken the liberty of lighting scented candles throughout the entire house. Briggan took a look around, and found that the rest of the house had undergone the same treatment.
Well, almost. There was one room that he knew to be inaccessible to anyone other than himself. He had made sure of this, and he would do anything to ensure that fact remain true. It was his sanctuary, and it was going to stay that way. Still... the house looked nice. Much nicer than it had in the recent past. Whoever did this was clearly being thoughtful, and it brought a touch of a smile on his lips.
A smile. That was something he hadn't quite done in a while. Not like this. Most "smiles" in the past had been superficial or out of some kind of insincere humor. This was ... deep and was ... real, even if it were small and nearly imperceptible. The warmth of the place brought back a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time: the feeling of safety. This was no longer the prison that he'd allowed himself to live in for several years. This was his home. Someone had brought it back to life, and he deeply appreciated the gesture. He was in the kitchen when the culprit made himself known.
"Do you like it?" the voice, now all too familiar to Briggan, came from behind him. Briggan turned to find Mastace standing there, hands behind his back. "I tried my best to make it cozy but I understand if it's too much."
Briggan shook his head, wordlessly telling Mastace everything he wanted to say by falling into his chest and silently releasing his tears of overwhelming joy.
"Glad you like it."
"Thank you," were all the words his mind could muster up to say.
"You're welcome." Mastace simply allowed the moment to be, not making any judgements nor taking any active initiative to do anything. He just existed in the here and now, finding a deep-seated peace from it.
"Uhhhh... Mastace?" Briggan said, his face a expressing a slight discomfort.
"Yeah?" Mastace looked at Briggan, noticing his gaze wasn't focused on his face. He followed it and found out the issue quite immediately. "Shit!"
"Mastace, I-" Briggan tried to talk to the lion, but it was already too late. He'd rushed to the room he'd slept in the night before, Briggan's room, and slammed the door. "Damn..." he whispered to himself.
YOU ARE READING
Never Too Late
General FictionBriggan wasn't somebody that wanted friends. He'd been alone for as long as he could remember, and he wouldn't mind it if he stayed that way for the rest of his days. Or, at least, he would've... had someone not began meddling in his life. Now, ever...
