Beyond the Horizon

8. Grazed

When Shion woke the next morning, only a trickle of early sunlight had managed to sneak through the blinds. It couldn't have been more than a half hour after dawn, and yet the spot next to him was empty. The blankets, though, were still warm when Shion laid a hand on them. He could hear clinking and water running in the bathroom, so he assumed Nezumi was already readying himself for the morning—for leaving this warm, comfy place and heading back into the wilderness.

          Shion sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He had slept poorly. The bed was perfect: firm mattress and clean, soft sheets. But every time it sucked him into sleep, Shion was jarred awake by Nezumi.

          Nezumi was restless, even at rest. He woke at every creak and stiffened at every rattle. Shion blearily remembered waking at quarter past two to see Nezumi sitting up in bed, staring at the door. There were voices on the other side, but even half awake, Shion could tell it was nothing but a couple, or maybe two friends, returning to their room after a late night. Nezumi, though, watched the darkness like he expected the shadows to coalesce into monsters.

          It was obvious that Nezumi's nighttime vigil was not reserved for this hotel; stillness and attention were wound into him like fine-springed clockwork. He must always be such a light sleeper and nervous sentry. Shion hadn't noticed the night before because they hadn't shared a space so close. On the dirt-packed forest floor, Shion couldn't feel the jounce as Nezumi hurtled out of sleep, but every movement carried on a mattress.

          So he learned one thing about Nezumi, inadvertently: He was a light and restless sleeper. Guess that's worth something, Shion thought as he rubbed his shin where Nezumi had kicked it during the night. The skin was raised, but only just beginning to color.

          Shion dragged his body off the side of the bed and stumbled to his feet. Coffee, his groggy mind pleaded, and he gravitated toward the small machine on the desk. It was one that used pods, which mildly offended Shion's tastes, but his desperation to feel alert lowered his standards. He inserted a French Vanilla pod and crossed the room to open the shades.

          His coffee was not done when he walked back. In fact, the machine sat still and silent. Shion frowned and poked the power button. When that didn't work, he bent over to check whether it was plugged in. It was, but in spite of this, the machine refused to produce the fragrant, caffeinated beverage his brain desired.

          "Come on..." Shion grumbled. He sighed loudly, but the noise of the hairdryer starting up in the bathroom drowned it out.

          He probed the coffee machine—pushing buttons, removing and inserting the pod, blowing into the receptacle—as he considered whether or not it was pathetic to go down to the lobby to ask if they provided coffee. His stomach gave a saddened gurgle, and Shion decided it was worth the trip if it meant he could secure both food and beverages.

          Nezumi stepped out of the bathroom. His hair had been blown out straight and hung like rivulets of dark ink over his shoulders. Shion had a few seconds to admire how much softer and more elegant Nezumi's face looked when his hair was loose before Nezumi swept his hair up to tie it back.

          "Coffee?" Nezumi asked, his voice betraying a note of hopefulness.

          "The machine is broken."

          The corners of Nezumi's mouth tugged down, but he didn't say anything more.

          "I'm going to go down to the lobby and see if we can get some from them."

          Nezumi finished tying his hair up. He was once again a man of sharp angles—still beautiful, but with a cold, untouchable air, like a statue cordoned off in a museum. Shion experienced a twinge of lament at the transformation. He knew that Nezumi was the same person whether his hair was down or not, but he felt somehow that the Nezumi he saw last night and a moment before was one he had a chance of being friends with.