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The curtains didn’t reach in front of the window properly, a sliver of light fighting through no matter how much he tried to stretch it to cover everything. The rest of the house was silent, deathly so. The door to the bedroom was firmly shut, encasing him in darkness.
Until a streak of light flashed through the window making Rylan flinch. A few seconds later, thunder followed, and Rylan flinched again.
He was so indescribably angry with himself. He was furious and annoyed and exhausted, because he couldn’t keep his eyes closed for more than thirty seconds. Despite being an adult – still a student, but legally of age for years now – long outgrown his childish tendencies, he’d wrapped his blanket around himself in a tight cocoon and then promptly sweated through it. The sweat had cooled, so now he was cold on top of afraid.
Scratch that. He wasn’t afraid.
He was not afraid of fucking lightning of all things.
Some bright light and distant booming. Simple physics, really. Just some weather. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing someone like him ought to be afraid of.
Lightning flashed. Rylan flinched. He clawed his fingers tightly into the sheets, trying to focus on his breaths, not the incoming thunder… Which could be any moment now.
He turned the other side, facing away from the window, something he was loath to do. It made him feel vulnerable, open to attack, though there was nothing that could even attack him. He turned so he was facing Elliott’s sleeping form, sprawled on his own bed like nothing was wrong.
Because nothing was wrong, Rylan reminded his stupid fucking self.
Elliott had pushed his blanket to his waist to endure the humid warmth. Rylan stared at his chest, could barely make it out in the dark, to mimic his breaths. Thunder boomed and he curled in despite himself.
Rylan scowled. He’d been dubbed the belligerent, troublesome, quarrelsome older brother, the type of person to make comments a little too crude or insensitive, the typical bully, even though he’d never directly bullied anyone. That’s who he was. The second oldest brother, not a snivelling kid.
He scoffed. As appealing as the idea might sound…
He could deal with this. Just tune out the thunder, close his eyes not to see the lightning, force himself to imagine something other than some axe murderer sneaking up on him like in horror movies, or something more realistic like thunder striking and setting the house on fire.
Rylan squeezed his eyes shut. No, that was the opposite of what he was supposed to do. He pressed his face into the pillow. Bright light flashed behind his lids and Rylan shot up with a sharp breath. Thunder rolled and he was out of his bed.
He couldn’t do this, he hated himself, despised this, cursed the weather and physics and himself–
“Elliott,” he whispered, standing beside his bed. He didn’t stir. Rylan glanced through the sliver the curtains left uncovered. The clouds had drifted and the moon shone in, pale and bright like a permanent lightning strike.
Rylan sat on the bed next to Elliott, whispered his name again. Elliott only stirred when he’d lain down next to him, legs pushing against his.
Elliott’s brows pinched as he turned to face him, groggily blinking against sleep.
“Rylan?” he mumbled, voice slurred by sleep. “What’re you doing here?”
At that moment another bolt of lightning shot through the sky and Rylan’s breath stopped short.
“Oh.”
Rylan refused to meet his eyes out of some intrinsic fear of judgement. But Elliott had known him since he’d been that snivelling kid and he’d held him then as well.
He shifted to the side of the bed to allow Rylan more space on the pillow. Rylan breathed a sigh of relief at the fact he shared a room with only Elliott and none of their younger siblings before shuffling properly into the bed and Elliott’s warmth.
Elliott wrapped an arm around him, loose but a heavy, grounding weight. And his breaths were louder here, loud and steady, something tangible to focus on. He was back to sleep in a matter of seconds, despite Rylan still shuffling for a good position.
They were both big, tall and broad-shouldered, certainly not meant to share this bed. But it was fine. It was good, a lot better than the sweat-soaked sheets back in Rylan’s own bed.
And when the next strike of lightning flashed, Rylan curled further into Elliott’s embrace, the arm around him tightening.