The Wine, Scars and Nights Like That

The middle of the night. I can hear knocking on the door. By moment I wonder if it's already a dream or still a reality. I blink – I exist. I still sit in this big black bed and there lies an open book on my knees. On the table next to the bed stays a stranded glass of wine, just like I forgot about it, like in a moment it was pushed into the insignificant background. I don't say anything but the doors are slowly opening.
I look enquiringly at him a little irritated.

"You know, I… I couldn't sleep… There was such a noise downstairs, I think…"

I smile slightly; he's never been good at making excuses. I'm surprised how I could be frustrated even a minute ago. How could he annoy me? You can't be angry at him, never, ever. Even, or maybe already, especially if he comes in the middle of the night, when you fall asleep alone over a book. I look at him: he's standing in his Star Wars t-shirt, he's unsure, maybe a little embarrassed. He's too sweet for me, yes, I need to admit that. You can't be cruel, you can't muster up to a brusqueness and the set "leave me alone" when you see someone like him. Although… Could on the world exist someone similar to Twiggy? I deeply doubt that.

Nothing has the due value when I look at him and I know who he really is. A friend, a soul mate… a lover? No, it's too little, it's too shallow. It's not the word which could describe the feeling that fills me when I look at his small, skinny body, unruly dreadlocks and those huge brown eyes, those softly look seems to be able to seize my body and mind. I know I couldn't jib.

When I watched on my new girlfriend's request all those cheesy love stories, love seemed to be a flower in a bottomless wallet. It seemed to be a curvy smile and the beautiful waist, a sacrifice and a thousand of signatures.

I can see his face shines. He gently closes the doors and thoughtlessly heads towards me. Then he snuggles himself next to me like a little cat. I sigh and put my book away. I know I won't read a word this night. The wine? It'll stay, I suppose so. It seems we won't need it today. I only hope it doesn't disappear in the whole chaos that quite often was created by chance, ending only when the sun rose up again.

I lie on my back. Yes, I'm aching. Bruises and scars after the next concert don't just disappear in one moment. I've never even wanted it to happen. I wanted to have them forever. I can feel Aaron's soft fingers touching one of my wounds. I memorize how much scared he was when I did that, how long he pleased me to don't do this anymore. He and all his concern that I feel currently as gentle moves – a try of relief. I liberate my arm underside the warm quilt and embrace him, I want to have him as close as it's possible.

"The noise, yeah?" I whisper with an undercurrent of amusement when he cuddles up me and strokes old cuts on my pale body.

"Mm." He murmurs and I feel like I can see his shy smile.

I close my eyes and everything around me seems to spine. The wine, the book, the whole exhaustion. I need to feel his warm touch, his wet breath and that soft shaggy hair. I like such hugs. I fall asleep. I realize that he also loses consciousness. His moves gets slow, uncontrolled, strange, charming clumsy.

Today is not the night for wild kisses, moans, and the whole corporeality. Today I want to feel him, feel him sleeping. That's what he came to me for, isn't it? I remember when I promised you could always come to me. It was so.

The calm, rhythmical breath. When he was falling asleep he probably could hear my heart biting. I already can see you're not scared anymore.

Will you tell me tomorrow which nightmare was tormenting you? I'll tell you why my book was lying on my knees. You know, we both have our nightmares.

I know, he also knows, that when everything goes away when we are… We are just together.