[ I ] Monotone

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A small groan escaped the bundle of covers on the double-sized bed.
An almost inaudible yawn soon followed, and the person still huddled up in blankets rolled over, his head appearing from the warm cocoon.
His eyes were still closed, yet it was clear he looked saddened, tired. It seemed he'd had a rough, perhaps sleepless night; the dark rings under his eyes added to the sad sight. The paleness of his face was quite shocking, the light stubble on his skin contrasting violently with his complexion. Lack of sleep always wore him down until there was only a shadow left.
He patted the space besides him with a shaky hand, as if anticipating what he would find. And what he found...was nothing. Air. A cold, empty bed. A shudder ran down his spine. It had happened again...the frequency was starting to scare him. Being worried every so often was no problem to him, especially if the one his minor fears were directed to was his lover. It was a sort of sign that he cared, that he loved him and played attention to his companion's life. Yet that worry had merged into fear, the fear of waking up to an empty bed, the fear of seeing his loved one in pain. It wasn't healthy to live with such anxiety and pressure, but he didn't really mind...he was used to giving everything he had, and the broken yet sincere smiles he got in return were more than enough to make him happy, to make him strong.
Besides, he wasn't the one who was unhealthy.
Eyes still shut, he slowly sat up, bones making small cracking sounds that reassembled the sound of dead leaves upon the ground. His life seemed to be one big autumn; there was warmth, there was cold wind. There was small bribes of happiness that had survived summer and there was a strong smell of fear. Of death. Of upcoming winter, a blizzard of worry. He got to his feet, finally opening his eyes as chilly air hit his skin. The blue orbs seemed to illuminate his face with some kind of melancholic light, adding to the calm aura he seemed to exhale. His first steps were shaky, the following a little more confident. The feeling of being needed seemed to stimulate a certain urgency in his system. He let a cough escape his lips; it was not his concern. He quickened, took a breath, found himself standing in front of the bathroom door...His heartbeat quickened, he took a deep breath, forced himself to look through the half open door...
The blonde was kneeling there, arms resting on the toilet seat before him. His whole frame was shaking, gently swaying with the rhythm of both his spasms and sobs. His face was hidden in his crossed forearms, yet he felt he didn't need to see the young man's face to know in how much pain he was. The sounds escaping his lips were soft, yet harsh to the ear; repetitive sobs, small wails, chattering teeth and moans of pain. Nearly every single morning, he found his companion curled up, shaking his pain away. It seemed that day was no different, if not worse.
Leaning forward, he forced himself to look at the content of the toilet, grimacing. Blood. There was spots of blood mixed up with the vomit which he flushed away with a look of disgust and fear. Blood...It was the first time it had been this bad. Trying to hide the flickering terror in his eyes, he reached out with a trembling hand and stroke his lover's hair.
His head turned, tears spilt from his glimmering orbs. His mouth, partially open, let out a small sound of surprise which almost sounded like a mew. Nonetheless he kept at it, tangling his slim fingers in the soft golden locks, massaging his scalp and stroking the golden mess. Gradually, the young man relaxed a little, his tense body bending over with a quiet complain. He breathed a sigh of relief; he was alright.
"Punkish...Again, huh ?"
He only got a shrug in response.
"I told you to wake me up if it happened again."
This time, silence.
"Punkish."
"I didn't want to disturb you...you don't get much sleep as it is, Blue."
The response was quiet, so quiet he might have missed it. But his ears had been hunting for a single noise from the blonde before him.
"Don't be stupid. You never disturb me, you're my boyfriend. It's my job to care for me."
That earned a chuckle from the blonde, who was still doubled over on the cold tiles.
"The doctors don't manage, I doubt you'll do a better job." There was a hint of dry humor that made him want to both laugh and grit his teeth.
"You have too little faith in me."
The blonde seemed to muse on those words, a smile on his thin face. Reaching for his companion's hand, he slowly got up to his feet, knees buckling and legs shaking a little. A sigh escaped him; he rested his weight on the other male. Finally his face was visible...A beautiful yet worrying sight. His light colored orbs that resembled deep pools seemed too wide, a little too dull. His cheekbones were sharp and visible on his sickly pale face, the sight only reinforced by the thinness and transparence of his skin. Despite his state, his lips bore a brave smile.
"That's wrong, Blue. You know I trust you with my life."
"Aha, what's with you being all cheesy ?" The laugh that accompanied those words was dry and almost cold, heavy with both blame and fear. The situation and condition didn't call for such things.
"Someone really needs more sleep..."
"I'm just worried. That's all. The only thing I need is a cigarette."
No further words were exchanged; the trembling blonde was escorted to the living room, served coffee on the couch, then left alone. The house was silent except for the second young man's steps outside. A huff, air blown out, the sickening yet familiar scent of cigarette smoke hitting his nose, a sad smile and shaky hands.
Each day was truly no different.

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