Day 01: .03 (3/3)

Three hours later from my rest, I wake up, dry blood on my face and neck, and my sheets hugging me in comfort.

I rise, my sheets draped behind me like a bear hug. My mind wishes it were morning, so I can look forward to a new day—a new dawn—but then I second guess this desire, because I know all I would think about is if I'm going to die again.

"Andy." I hear my pops whisper, knuckles brushing against the door, "Andy, are you awake?"

I don't answer, my throat dried and shut. I hear my pops sigh, another soft knock hitting my door again.

"Andy," he calls again, this time desperate, "I need to make sure you're okay-."

"He's probably asleep," my mum reasons, edge in her voice.

"Maybe," my pops responds, "Yeah, maybe but I-I have to make sure my son is okay. He isn't okay."

"And you think he's going to answer?" My mum raises her voice. "You saw the news-that was his car! I know-I know what my son's car looks like and I know what his licensed plate is! And Zachary said he didn't come back in his car-! Oh god, what happened to my baby-?!"

"He will tell us when he responds," my pops said, "and hopefully that's now. Andrew-."

"In the first place," my mum fumes, "this wouldn't have happened if you would've filled his gas tank before school-."

I'm already out of my bed, my blankets forgotten, left to lie on a bare, wrinkled bed. I creep to my door, but not without stealing a glance at my bedroom mirror, my face scrapped, bruised, and crusted blood and dirt painted and left to dry on my fair skin.

"I-I was planning on it and fixing his doors-." My pops argue.

My hands cower above the doorknob, but not moving to open the door.

"There was a problem with his doors too?!" My mum asked, her voice fully raised. "For god-sakes Penance, how careless can you be?! This is your fault-!"

"It's not pops' fault." I didn't realize I opened my bedroom door until I'm face to face with blue and brown eyes, both piercing me like an audience and a show. I'm not an actor though, my voice cracked and my eyes already water up again, invoking raw emotions; I'm just playing the role I've been assigned all my life—the role of the eldest, perfect son, showing that he's not so perfect. "I-it's not-I told him it was okay." I said.

My parents silently stare at me, unmoving under my tired eyes. "I told him it was okay, so…so I-I'm sorry, I wretched the car." I croak out, holding my shaking hands to my chest, my face wet with tears.

My mum holds my face, her blue eyes matching my own. "No, no baby. No, it's not your fault." And I thought it was the end of the blame game until my mum turns her eyes to pops again, her eyes change from caring to fierce in an instant. "It's your idiot fathers' fault that knew damn well it wasn't safe-!"

"For god-sake Lorea," My pops said, frustrated. "I thought he had enough gas in the tank-!"

"Well, you thought wrong-."

Then, their voices get louder.

"If you're going to continue-."

"My poor baby-."

And louder.

"Your baby-?"

"He's not yours if you care so little-." And louder.

"He's not mine? Will you grow up-?!"

"Me?! At least I have a stable job-!"

And louder.

"Stable job-I don't help you support these kids-?!"

"Don't I make the most in this house-?!"

"You know what, if you feel that way, why did you marry me-?!"

And I see Zachary standing behind them, and rarely, I see him watch my parents fight with that expression on his face, almost like it pains him—physically—to watch them exchange blows left and right.

It's like a boxing match, my mum and pops throwing hooks left and right, kicks and punches, harder and harder, trying to see which blow hurts more, which one would tap out the ring first. And I don't know if I'm the referee or the perpetrated--if I'm the one counting score or am I the one who started the fight in the first place. But I heed—regardless, I heed because I'm tired of counting score, and I'm tired of being the cause of this effect.

"Stop-!" I yell, my throat aching. "Stop! Zachary is right there."

My parents turn and spot Zachary, shame, and guilt on their faces.

"Zachary," my mom speaks up first, "can you go to your room for a minute?"

"Hell no!" Zachary yells. "Why are you and dad fighting-?"

"Zachary, this conversation is for adults-." My mum starts, my pops interrupts. "It should be, if your mom wouldn't act so damn immature about-."

"Immature? Aren't you the buffoon who-?"

"Stop!" Everything is pounding and everything aches, and I just want everything to "Stop, okay?" I plead. "Let's just talk about this in the morning."

My dad turns to me, his expression morphing between fighting me and giving in.

"Andrew-."

"Please." My voice cracks, my eyes become wet again, and my throat burns. I look away, ashamed to break down again. My parents look to me and Zachary, sharing a silent look.

"Okay," my mum and pops agree simultaneously, but not without glaring at each other.

"Yes," my pops agrees.

"In the morning," my mum agrees.

"Fine." Zachary huffs. We watch our parents disperse to their room, a silently argument being exchanged through whispers. Zachary turns to leave, but he questions me with his eyes, brown and big and tough and innocent.

"I'm okay Zach," he doesn't believe me again, but nods.

"Night, bird brain." By the time he leaves, my door is already shut and locked again. I'm already back to the position from three hours ago, sitting on my floor, my back pressed against my bedroom door.

Until I hear a rustle outside.

For a minute, aversion and bogey fill my nerves. It's Masked Face, it's them and they're coming to kill me. I think, pressing myself further on the door. They're going to kill me, kill me, kill me, but how—how are they going to murder me? Will it be painless, painful, will it ache? Fuck, they're going to kill me, kill me, kill me, God damn it I'm going to die-.

Then I see pieces of white hair tickle the window. To my surprise, white pieces turn to feathers, then to hairs, and then to blue eyes peeking through my window before they widen, surprised. A head hurriedly scurries out of my view, the tree branches fill its missing spot instead. I push off my bedroom door and stand, my weak limbs slowly compelling me to my bedroom window. I unhinge the locks and open the window's cage, letting the cool air penetrate my room.

I turn my head right and left, finally spotting Not-so-Sebastian standing a few inches from my window, perched on parts of Zachary's shut window, the outside of my brother's window drawn to oblivion by dark black curtains. Not-so-Sebastian flinches, but doesn't move his eyes from forward, his stance stiff and legs far apart to fit on the ledge.

"Hey, my guy," Sebastian spares a quick glance my way before continuing to stare forward. "Not moving doesn't equal me not seeing you, but nice try."

Sebastian stands quietly for another second, before sighing and sparing a look my way. I look back at him, my hands gripping my window's bottom tightly.

"Hello." I said.

"Hi." He greets back.

We stand in silence until I motion to his perturbed stance. "Why…um…why?"

Sebastian shrugs, going silently instantly.

I look through the open window, glancing at the stars silently hidden by the tree's leaves before I reach my hand to Sebastian.

"Can we talk?" I asked.

Sebastian looks from my hand to the open window, perplexed. "I... I wasn't-I wasn't planning on-." He stutters out.

"We can talk outside?" I beckon. Sebastian looks at me, even more surprised. "The roof, the trees, god anywhere just-just not here." I take a shallow breath. "Please, just a little? Please?"

Sebastian silently looks at my hand, then he eventually nods, taking it.

"The rooftop is okay," Sebastian grips my hand, slowly pulling me to the ledge he's perched on. "But be careful." He said.

He grips my hand and pulls me up until I'm against him, his chest touching my ear drum. I can feel it, his warmth, but I can only partly hear it, his heartbeat.

"Wait here," Sebastian said. He grips the ledge above his head and climbs up. He does this again, and again, until he's on the roof, his hand draping down, reaching for mine. I reach and take his hand, his strength easily pulling me up in one swoop and in his arms. He slowly let's go, giving me time to turn and find a spot to sit beside him. I finally settle in my seat, silently looking at the ground, fear almost taking over me again. I sit closer to Sebastian, our thighs to our shoulders touch, the full moon silently observing our closeness.

"You're not a fan of heights." He doesn't ask me, but states. I nod, swallowing. "Then why did you say the roof?"

"I didn't want to be inside," I force out, softly laughing, "couldn't be inside alone. Didn't really want to be if I'm being honest."

Sebastian looks at me but doesn't comment. He keeps his eyes up, the moon staring back at him. We sit in silence, like we were avoiding each other, but we were absorbing each other's presence too, like it was something we needed from the other—a symbiotic relationship—but I didn't know which one of us was the parasite.

"So," I breath, the cold air making me shiver. I suddenly feel something on my shoulders—a coat—I realize, Sebastian's big white coat covers my shoulders, providing me with warmth. "Thank you…woah," I burry myself further in the coat, its inside layers warming me up instantly. "Jesus, this thing's warm. You never get cold in it, huh?"

"Don't get cold that easily, so no," Sebastian shrugs, "but it helps when its brick."

I pause, looking up at Sebastian, his face blank, but his hands playfully wrestling with each other. "Brick?" I repeat; I laugh out.

Sebastian turns to me, surprised. "Yes? Isn't that a term for cold?"

I nod, but I let out a snort. "Yeah, but never thought you were "cultured." I never heard you use slang before. Ever."

"Oh," Sebastian suddenly turns shy, shrinking in on himself. "I won't use it again…"

"No," I said and shake his arm, ignoring his surprised face, "I didn't mean it badly. I just…I'm…surprised, but in a good way."

Sebastian nods, looking like he doesn't know how to take that. I don't know how to explain it, either. Words are harder to express under the pressure of the night, the stars, the moon, and blue.

"So," I fill the next silence, wanting to continue to fill it, "why were you out here?"

Sebastian flinches, shrinking in himself again. It takes a minute before he unshrinks, finally ready to respond.

"I was worried." He said.

I stare at him, taking my turn to be whammed. "Why?"

Sebastian fidgets, "because you were shaken up."

I nod my head, slowly. "How long were you out here for?"

Sebastian shrugs. "About an hour or two." I raise an eyebrow, questioning.

"Dude, that's…" I take time to find the right words. "Really…creepy."

If Sebastian could grow smaller, he would be an ant by now. "S-sorry, I-."

"But really nice. Thanks." I said.

Sebastian looks at me, surprised again, but he doesn't speak, so I continue." Did you even go home after you dropped me off?" Sebastian nods.

"I got worried, so I came back not to long after." He said.

I stare at him, with his big body and big shoulders and big muscles and under the silver moon, I witness a better view of his big heart, too.

"I thought you were a-uh-little weird, to be honest." I said. Sebastian nods knowingly. "I-and that you low-key hated me-."

"I-I didn't-I don't." For the first time since we sat on this roof--in this spot--he looks into my eyes, like he's drowning in me. "I don't, so I…sorry if I came off that way."

"And I'm sorry too," I look up and down, fearful of getting lost in his big blue sea, his really pretty eyes, "for mis-judging you and-."

"You don't have to apol-."

"I don't," I sigh, cutting him off, "but I should-I want to."

Sebastian nods his head. "Thanks."

"And thank you." I clear my throat. "For saving me, and for protecting me the last few times too."

"You're welcome," he shrugs, "but I let you get hurt twice, so I didn't do a very good job."

"I mean, the first time no one saw that coming," I snort, "and the second time was on me. A little too clumsy there."

"I'm not too good at this-trying-to-save-you thing," I raise an eyebrow, a thought suddenly running through my mind.

"You remember." I comment.

Sebastian frowns. "What?"

"The other two times." I grab his hand, his eyes drawn to our touching palms, a soft blush rises to his cheeks, "you remember what happened, right? You remember that I 'got hurt-,' well, died and stuff?"

Sebastian nods.

"I'm not crazy…" I look at Sebastian, a feeling of relief runs through me like waves. "And-and someone other than me remembers! I-, at least I have someone at school that knows how odd all this is now-."

"W-well," Sebastian shakes his head, "The-uh-'alive' me doesn't remember." He avoids eye contact. "Only I do-."

"Alive?" I look into his blue eyes, his orbs pit less and sparkling, like diamonds were planted in them. "Alive me,' wait then what are you?"

Sebastian looks from our joined hand into my eyes and gulps.

"Tomorrow," he croaks, "we can talk about this tomorrow."

"But-."

"Tomorrow!" I'm shocked by how loud Sebastian raises his always calm voice, jolting up and jumping down to the ground. "Tomorrow we can talkgetsomesleepbye!"

He disappears in an instant, like he wasn't there prior. Then a second later, he's back, stiffly standing next to me.

"I should-um-let you down, huh?" He said.

I slowly nod my head, reaching up. He takes my hand and grabs me by my waist, jumping down to my window ledge and helping me back through the open window, into my room.

"Sebastian-." I start, but he cuts me off.

"Get some rest." Sebastian clears his throat, my hand still in his, "and tomorrow, just call for me."

I silently still, looking up in his eyes, illuminating brighter than the moon, and the thousands of tiny stars sleeping in the sky. His white hair, lighten by the moons' presence glow, strikes me, harder than anything that has blinded me and stings me to my core. A supernova, large and destructive one stands on my window ledge, prepared to extinguish the normality I once craved for.

"Good night." He stares at me and nods.

"Good…night." I said. He jumps, and then he's gone. I stare out the window, below the ground, where only the trees' skin and leaves lay, and up at the moon, glaring down at me.

My hands were warm, and I slept with the thought of a promise in my mind.