Lights [COMPLETED]

6 - And we're back

Walk. River. Portal. Bench. Grey.

Life.

I ran to the coffee shop. Luckily the place was still open, still warm and welcoming, just like I left it.

“Hey girl. Long time no see.”

It was the silver fox haired guy, wiping cups behind the counter.
“Hi Stephen.” I scanned the room – no sign of Niall.

“He's home. Ill”
That wasn't good.

Stephen moved toward the counter, leaving the soapy, wet cups behind:
“Listen, I don't really know what happened between you two, and I don't really want to know, but he wasn't in a great shape when he came back to work, the day after you met. He went home early. It's been ten days now, and he's still not coming back. He calls me every morning and every morning, his voice gets worse. Refuses to see a doctor. I can run the place on my own – I called some extras and we're working double shifts. I don't mind, but I am worried. What happened when you were with him?”

Stephen thought it was my fault. And to be honest, it may have been.

“I want to check on him” I replied
He was dubious. Of course he was.
“Don't break him, girl.”
“I'm here to fix things, Stephen. Believe it or not.”

Silence.

“Look, I said, Niall's illness might be because of me, but I'm here to fight it. I won't go into details just right now, but did he ever show you his art?”

He nodded: “The Dragons and the Girl? Yes. Yes, he did.”

“They're real. It's real. Well, not right now, but it has been, and it will be again if I don't help him.”
“Oh good grief.”

He smiled, though. Maybe he had my back.

I knew where to go. It took me quite a while, but I finally recognised the building. Niall's curtains were closed.
He was in the dark.

I walked the stairs and my heart was racing at the different scenarios my mind played: would he be unconscious? Would the Dark be there already? Did it kill Niall? Was I too late?

I knocked, gently.

“Niall, it's me – It's Meira.”
Nothing.

And then, a face. The palest, faintest face I'd ever seen. He looked like a sleep-deprived ghost. His eyes, so lively when we met, were now soulless, tired.

No smile on his lips, either.

“I knew you'd be back.”
“I told you I would be here to help you.”
“I think it's too late.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”

I followed him – a shadow – into the flat. Plunged in the dark, except for my hands.
“You need lights here, Niall.”
“I can't, he said, his eyes right into mine. They hurt me.”
He looked so helpless, so fragile there. I felt an impulse to hug him tight, close, but something prevented me to do so.

I pulled off the curtains instead, because something, the same something in me knew it was the right thing to do. Whatever the pain, whatever its grip on him, it needed to be fought. My mind knew. My body knew. And the sun shone, an unpredictable ray of light in the room.
Niall moaned and closed his eyes. He was back in his bed, shivering, mumbling songs I couldn't hear. I laid beside him and touched his pale, cold hand. I needed to ease the pain with my own light. I needed to try.

“Little boys play and rest and scream. Little girls stare and sleep and dream.”
I jumped. Niall was singing this song. 

“How do you know that? I said”
“I don't know” he replied, eyes closed, his head resting on the head of the bed. We laid there for hours, maybe, and he looked a bit more like himself. “it's just something in my head. It's been in there since you left.”