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Citrus sits on his bed, the curtains drawn open, letting soft light in. It's a full moon tonight, and it's beautiful. He stares at the sky as acid slowly creeps up his throat.
Has the moon always looked like this? Has the moon always looked down at him like this?
He feels his breath catch in his chest, and his wings instinctively flutter out, as if he's getting ready to flee.
He grabs the curtain harshly and shuts it. Something is wrong. The moon feels wrong. He doesn't know what.
He flops back in his bed, his wings draped across the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. He takes long, deep breaths to calm his nerves. The moonlight still filters through the thin curtains, and it's making his skin crawl.
She's mad. That's all he can think. She's mad at him. He did something that upset her, and now he's in deep shit. Did he forget to eat today? Is it because he didn't shower this morning? Is it because he didn't go to the library like he said he would? He goes through every single thing he did today, this past week, this past month, searching for anything and everything that could've made her mad.
He closes his eyes tightly and tries his best not to shake.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Whatever I did, I'll make it up to you. Please, please forgive me,” he mumbles into the silence.
The moon's glow doesn't get any less harsh. It still fills his veins with ice.
He lets out a shaky sigh and rolls over, covering himself entirely with his blanket and draping his wing across his body. He curls up tightly as he begins to cry.
He mumbles apology after apology for everything he thinks he did wrong, praying that something he says will lessen the sky's ire.
The moonlight still casts his room in a soft, cool glow that chills him to his core.