Work Text:
Late-Night Disruption
A faint knocking hits the window pane. She does not stir. Another knock. It persists.
Sarah's eyes slip open slowly, awoken by the knocking on the glass. She lays there in the dark for a moment, and another knock comes. Her eyes trail to the window curiously.
With a heavy sigh and a rub of her eyes, she lifts out of bed and moves to the window, a hand running over her hair and combing it back. Her hands find the curtains in the dark, and she pulls them back. Moonlight illuminates her room. She unlatches the cool metal on the cill, lifting the pane.
Though she peers out upon the house, there is no visible creature stirring. Nothing disrupted, throughout all she can see in the dark yard. The foliage is still, the rooftops clear. The lawn is empty.
She looks into the winter night in confusion, but she is too tired to be curious. After a long moment, she closes the window with a shake of her head, glass cool under her fingertips. Her hand lingers on the curtain, but she decides against closing them.
She turns her back on the window, dropping down onto her bed in the corner once more. She rests on her side for a long while. Her eyes do not close, but trace the shadows restlessly. She turns onto her back. She cannot sleep.
She rises once more. Turning her head, she glances towards her desk on the opposite side of her room thoughtfully.
In the next moment, she is passing by her desk chair and lighting a candle, placing it on the corner of her desk before she sits. Her hand naturally finds the edges of a paper and the welcome slip of a pen. With nothing more to put her mind upon, she begins to draw.
Night Visit
Without a second thought, the boy throws a small rock towards the window. He can hear the faint knock from where he sits behind the foliage. He sees his shadow fly across the window, curiously peering in between curtains.
She's sleeping now, he realizes.
He stares at the window a moment longer. He throws a pebble once more. Then another.
A moment draws on in the silence, then he throws one last rock. Sleepily, she lifts from her place on the bed. A rub of her eyes, a hand through her hair, and she is up out of bed. Her hand, he can see curl around the edge of the curtain. His bright eyes gleam in the dark.
In the next moment, she pulls the curtain back. He ducks down sharply under the bush, catching himself a moment scarce and beckoning his shadow to hide. The shadow morphs against the wall and melts into the others silently.
The boy can hear the window lifting. He can roughly see the form beyond the glass, leaning out slightly and peering among the night.
A long moment lingers as the girl sits by the window, ever-enchanted eyes searching the distance. His heart pounds faintly, enraptured.
He does not rise from the shrubbery. He cannot bring himself to it. A second passes. With a sigh of fatigue, her hands raise. To his disappointment and despair, the window slides closed.
As the blonde girl in the distance turns her back to the window, her fingertips catch among the curtains. She does not pull them closed.
As she retreats to her bed, the boy rises instantly. He is weightless as he flies through the air, hands catching upon the sill and eyes raised above the edge. He lingers there, gazing as she lays down unceremoniously.
His shadow comes from the wall curiously, lifting off the surface and enshrouding the window briefly. Before the boy can move to catch it, the shadow slips into the room.
He gasps noiselessly, leaning forward in protest as his shadow sneaks inside. The boy gapes, conflicted.
She's not asleep, he sees. His shadow flits over her resting form, hiding amongst others in the corner. In the next moment, the girl turns onto her back. The boy ducks down, but his shadow has the privilege of remaining the same, resting there in the dark.
The boy lifts just slightly in the corner of the window, eye tracking her figure curiously. He watches noiselessly as she lifts from the bed once more.
She walks across her room in the moonlight, hand grazing over the back of her engraved desk chair as she lights a candle. She sets it down, now painted in shades of firelight as she sits and finds a pen. Just as she has many times before, she fills the empty moments with composition.