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David lightly taps at Michael's window. Curtains drawn tight. Yet he knows, as well as he can feel the impending storm, that Michael is in his room.
No response.
So David does the only sensible thing and drums his nails one by one to glass once again. A smidge more insist.
This time he hears it. The muffled acceptance. "Come in."
David clicks open the windows and quietly shuts them once he is inside. Just in time to shut out the rain. It drums softly on roof and window alike. He pushes aside the curtain. Darkness weaves through the room but he can clearly see the unruly curls nested within sheets.
"What?" Word ground out rough from beneath the layers of fabric.
The other bed is empty. David neither knows nor cares where the rest of the household has gone. There is only Michael.
Trailing his fingers along a small desk, David ambles towards Michael's bed. "The night is young yet, Michael. Come out and play."
"Next time. G'away." That rough quality again. Voice made course with sleeplessness.
"You want adventure yet when it comes knocking you are content to stay locked away." He stoops to picks at one of the sheets. Soft and well-worn. Well-cared for.
"Stop. My head." If possible Michael curls deeper under the blankets. Body balled up as far as it could go. "Stupid headache."
"So a little pain is more important than living you life?" He is aware of the abiding torment. He can almost feel the roving pressure against his own brain so clearly it radiates from Michael. But he does so enjoy pushing the boy.
"Fuck off." Michael shifts, pushing his head deeper to his pillow.
"Hm." Sharp little puppy teeth. It would be a simple matter, to tear away the covers and pin the boy down. Watch him squirm, feel his fight despite the drowning tide of his migraine. But it is a passing fancy. Why try violence when a kind hand turns even better. David knows this all too well. He straightens, turning to the window.
"Wait." Tentative fingers grasp at the hem of David's coat. Silence stretches. The hesitation clear before Michael's uncertain voice continues. "Can you stay? A little."
How sweetly the boy does come around. David can see it. Those endless expanses of Michael desperately seeking the solace of rest. The weakest concept of eternity. "Let me consider." He taps a finger to his chin in faux contemplation. "Tonight we're to have a party, a celebration of finding each other. Full of drink. Revelry. And you want me to remain in your little bedroom?"
Somehow, Michael's obscured form droops in disappointment. He releases David's coat. Michael's head emerges, eyes attempting to blink away the discomfort. The glimmer of a tear trapped in long lashes. Beautiful. Arm pressing over his head before he turns away. "Of course not."
So easy. "And that is why I will spend the night." He warms from Michael twisting back around in slight wonder despite the pinch of pain to it. How many nights alone has this boy had? He will not let him have more.
"Ok." Then quieter. "Thanks." Michael shuffles closer to the edge of the bed.
David leans over, swipes away the not quite fallen tear from Michael's eye. A single lick would prompt a violent reject from his body. Tragic. He settles for running his hand over Michael's head. Tangle of hair soft beneath fingers.
Michael sighs. Leaning in. "Your hand's cold."
"Am I your personal ice pack?" It pleases David, to bring relief. Warm human skin is a magnetic draw. Life thrumming just below the surface. Michael in his half-formed state does run cooler. But still remains so susceptible to these human ailments.
"You know, Michael, if only you took the plunge earlier this would no longer be a concern." He continues petting over the soft mass of curls.
"Not helpful." Even Michael's grumble is muted in his brain fog.
David chuckles, moving on to massage at the back of Michael's head.
With the lightest sigh, Michael lets his weight rest on David's hand. No complaints.
Good enough.
A crack of lightning bolts clear even through the curtains. Michael winches, moving to shield himself from light and sound. Eyes squinted even more tightly shut, he curses, "Fuck."
How much closer Michael creeps towards being of the living dead in this. A creature most comforted by the cool silence of night. What is one to do with such a fragile thing.
He sits on Michael's bed and opens his coat to wrap it over Michael. The boy nestling close on his side. And David has the most particular sensation. That distant pang. The only children he may have are unnatural. How much more malleable a younger Michael might have been. Not a callous in sight. David continues to idly run his nails along Michael's scalp. Skin so delicate despite the scars. Breakable.
They stay in this way. Michael's head warming on David's leg. Breath easing out as David rests his other hand over Michael's back. Holding him as though he were a child. It does not take long for Michael to drift towards sleep. Tension smoothing into dreams.
Time has little meaning to David and yet it flows on. His hands never leaving Michael. Soon enough, the weather clears. David lifts his coat. He watches the gentle rise and fall of Michael's chest. How readily he would crumble beneath David's fingers.
He needs Michael turned before he can fully shatter. Tomorrow night they will hunt. Tonight, David will stay as long as he can. Brushing wisps of hair from Michael's face and contemplating their future. Where the only true hurt to exist will be what they bring to the unsuspecting world.