The third sunset we share is on the bus.

Theo sits on the seat in front of me so we can both look out of the window. His hands are full of the canvas, which he holds against his chest so I can't see it. His head is tipped back a little so that his curls, which are shaved away at the sides and back and a huge mop on top, tip towards me. (If I ran my hands through his hair, I think they would get stuck.) (I can't, even if I wanted to - I'm holding his new art supplies.) (And I don't want to.)

His fingers tap the back of the canvas. I can hear it over the roar of the bus's engine. It's annoying.

There's a spot of paint on his ear. It's endearing.

The sky is dark blue and the horizon shot with pink and gold. It makes his skin, paint and all, glow. It's kind of beautiful.

My thoughts are all disjointed, but I think it's better this way. It gives me more of a chance to sever this developing attachment before it ends badly for both of us.

Well, just me. It wouldn't hurt him to lose me because he wouldn't remember having me... in his life.

I'm just a big ol' ball of positivity.

The bus hits a pothole. Charlie's headphones slip down to his neck and he returns them to the original spot with paint-splattered fingers.

I have to make him happy. I know that. But do I have to hurt myself in the process? (Yes. That's why I'm still here.)

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"Did you have fun?" I ask as we walk up the gravel path.

The sun is almost gone now, the wind picking up and teasing our clothes and hair. Theo shivers. I do too but it feels more like a habit.

Theo's smirk is half hidden in shadow. "Honestly? Yeah. I've never had a paint fight before."

He's smiling. I make myself reciprocate it.

"Do you think you'll have a paint fight with someone else when I'm gone?" I can't help but blurt out after a minute or so of silence.

Theo, whose shoulder is brushing mine, stiffens. "I... I don't know. How can I know? Some people probably die without ever having a paint fight. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Maybe we'll have another one. I don't know. I don't know, okay?"

His ramble is followed by an awkward silence. I can feel it spreading, thickening, threatening to make the relationship we've built up over the past three days null and void. Desperately, I break it. (Because I'm weak and self destructive and fuck it.)

"What did you paint?"

Theo bolsters the canvas in his arms. "Just... somebody in the class."

"The model?"

He shakes his head.

"...Me?" He glances at me, then nods reluctantly. "Oh." I don't know how I feel.

"Well, I'm flattered. Can I see?"

Theo hugs the painting closer - honestly, I'm surprised it hasn't absorbed into his skin. "No!" he says. 

"Why?" In spite of myself, I smile. "Is it inappropriate? Did you draw me in the nude?"

"N... no! Why... why would you say that?" I didn't see you in the nude, twat." Theo fumbles. I can't see it in the growing darkness, but I can imagine he's flushing.

My smile widens. "Then can I see? Please? I promise I won't judge if it's shit, or even if you did draw me naked. I've seen nearly five decades worth of student art classes. I've laid eyes upon some horrors."

Theo shakes his head. "No. Sorry. It's just... I put everything in my art. It would feel like you seeing me naked." He coughs. "It would be like baring my soul."

"Haven't you already?" I say quietly, not meaning for the words to escape my lips. I was so quiet that I don't think Theo heard. But then he responds.

"Not like this."  

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  Theo starts up The Fellowship of the Ring almost as soon as we get back to his mansion after he runs his canvas and new art supplies up to his room and forbids me to go looking for them. Georgia is in the kitchen, and while the trailers play before the movie begins Theo wheedles two milkshakes and a cheese pizza from her. He hands me one at random (they're both chocolate) and we get lost in Tolkien's world, him over-eagerly and me with a certain level of reluctance.

"Admit it," Theo says after the film is finished, turning to me halfway up the stairs so that I crash into his chest. I nearly go toppling but he, quite unnecessarily, grabs my wrist just in time. "Admit it," he continues once he's righted me.

"Admit you liked it."

"Really? There's not much to admit. Yeah, I liked it." 

    Theo raises his eyebrows at me. "That was easier than I expected."

"Why?" I put my foot on the next step and Theo takes another step up with an air of reluctance. (We were standing so close.)

"I dunno... don't I have to wrestle the answer out of you? That's what happens in the books."

I shrug. Theo snickers and we continue up the stairs, going our separate ways once we reach the landing.

My bed is made again and my new clothes, courtesy of Theo, are hanging in the wardrobe. I change quickly into Theo's pyjamas (which are quickly becoming scentless) and dive under the covers so I don't start thinking sad shit, like how this room is starting to feel like mine and how I'll miss this brief feeling of belonging I've been shrouded in when I'm forgotten and trapped back in that school.

Fuck, too late.

I stretch out further, trying to take up as much space as possible in the ginormous bed that was really meant for two. My fingers, toes and face are exposed to the stale air and my core is something near warm. It's wonderfully uncomfortable.

Sleep comes undemandingly but I brush it away. I give in to the urge to be awake right now, to make this brief chance of freedom and joy last for as long as fucking possible before it's wrenched away like every good thing before it.  

   I don't know how long I'm awake for - seconds? Minutes? Hours? - but I eventually hear a door creak open and feet padding across the thick carpet outside my room. The creak of the staircase, distant click of a glass, rush of the tap and the footsteps returning. So Theo's also awake. 

      I stand quickly, quietly, and rake my fingers through my hair as I head towards the door. Through the small crack, I watch him head back to his room, illuminated in patches of moonlight. The hand that holds a glass of water is shaking a little. Without realizing it, I push the door open and follow him slowly.

Through his door this time, I watch him place the glass down quietly and flop back onto his bed, his shirt riding up and exposing his navel. (Why is he wearing a shirt now?) He sighs and rubs furiously under his eyes, his hands coming away damp. "Three years. Three years ago." He massages his closed eyes and lets his fingers drop to his mouth, partially muffling any sound.

"Three years. Fucking get over it."

So his night terrors are about his mother. I guessed as much, but knowing beforehand does nothing to quell the aching empathy in my chest. Before I can stop myself, I push his door open and half step inside.

As the door creaks, Theo yelps and slips to the floor, landing on the carpet with a painful-sounding thud. He scrambles up quickly, yanking the hem of his pajama shirt down and pulling on a scowl.

"Hey," I say, my voice cracking. I clear my throat.

"Hey," Theo says, sitting up and trying to look dignified despite his bed hair and awkward reaction to my entrance. He grabs the glass of water and takes a gulp. "Why are you out of bed?"

In the moonlight, I can see the faint blush dusting his cheeks.

"Just... wanted to check if you were okay."

"Oh." Theo coughs. "Well, I am. Thank you. Goodnight."

I nod and start to close the door - and stop. Open the door a little wider and step fully into the room. My toes catch the same patch of moonlight as his.

"Are you sure? Because bi-nightly nightmares don't seem normal to me."

"I said I'm fine," he snaps, curls bouncing as he whips his head towards me. A bit of water slops down his front and he sets the glass down again hastily.

"Okay." I sigh. "I'm sorry. Just... do you want me to stay? Until you fall asleep again. I don't need to sleep, so it's not exactly a loss on my part."  

   Theo stares up at his tiny window, his face glowing in the light. (He looks like an angel.) He's mute for so long that I sigh, assuming his silence means no. I open the door again and place a foot over the threshold.

"No," Theo says, so suddenly that I jump. I look over at him to see he's staring at his lap now, knotting and unknotting his fingers in a way that looks pretty painful. "Please. I... if you... if you wouldn't mind, I wouldn't. Please. Please stay."

Smiling slightly, I close the door behind me and sit on the end of his bed. (A single one. Strange.) Charlie, avoiding my eyes, lifts the covers and slips back underneath. Before he places his head back down, he grabs one of his three pillows and tosses it in my general direction, hitting me in the eye. Chuckling softly, I stick the pillow between me and the wall and smile at him in thanks. I manage to catch his eye and he ducks his head under the quilt, flushing.

Laughing under my breath, I turn my head away and glance up at the ceiling. It's dark blue and painted with stars using some kind of paint that glows in the dark. It's something I would expect to see in a child's bedroom, not one belonging to a boy legally old enough to copulate.

It's endearing. 

After a few minutes, Theo sticks his head out of the comforter. "Thanks," he mumbles, and it's a sound heavy with sleep. As I turn my head from the ceiling, he meets my eyes again.

"Anytime," I say.

His head disappears again, leaving only a tuft of woody curls. A few minutes later, the room is filled with soft snores.

I should go back to my bed. My back is uncomfortable even with Theo's pillow and I know, I fucking know that moments like these (moments in bedrooms. Small, intimate moments where it feels like we're the only two people in the world) will make every second after he's forgotten me all the more painful.

And, right now, I don't care. I don't fucking care.

My eyes drift over his shape under the covers one last time (he sleeps in the fetal position) and linger on the thatch of hair spread out across his pillow. Smiling softly, I let sleep claim me, letting myself forget everything for just one night.

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a note from me

an update? yes