Akemi Nui

"Oh... oh!" It takes the second time around for the realization to really kick in, and suddenly you're very awake. You twist over, trying not to stare down at his pants where your head had just been lying, as you push back onto your heels. "So sorry, Hornton, I can't believe that I..."

You can see the remnants of your evening now that your eyes are adjusting. Two empty mugs on your coffee table, some plates that once held snacks, and your frequent evening visitor still sat on your couch, with posture as primly straight as ever.

"I... I fell asleep."

"You did.” He's way too amused by all this. Especially for someone who had to sit still for who knows how long with your head in his lap.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" You settle on asking, trying to keep the embarrassment out of your voice, squinting.

"You were sleeping." Again, simply put.

"... Well, yeah, but... I was sleeping on you."

"That is correct."

You're wondering if you're having two different conversations. Because as you keep trying to hammer in your point, his expression just keeps getting more and more amused. Like this joke of his is so funny he's having to physically restrain himself from laughing out loud.

“Just… ugh, whatever.” There was too much drowsiness sticking to your eyes for you to care anymore. You can cringe about this another time. “Thank you, then. For letting me sleep.”

He has nothing to say to that. And you’re too busy shoving the heels of your palms into your eyeballs to consider why that might be.

God, you were tired. You must’ve been asleep for a while. A quick glimpse out the windows shows it’s still fairly dark, so maybe it was the middle of the night. But it could also be early morning. A quick tap on your phone screen, where it sits next to your empty mug, tells you that it is, in fact, very early in the morning. The sun would be rising soon.

… There were classes today, and Hornton was still here.

“Oh god, don’t tell me you stayed up this whole time—?”

He's looking at you. But not in amusement like before. His face is perfectly lax, no indication for what he's thinking of. He looks focused though, and you peek over your shoulder just to see if there’s something you’re missing behind you that’s got him staring so harshly.

Trying to decipher his expression leads you to a reminder of how clean he looks. For lack of a better descriptor, he looks airbrushed. Which isn’t that dissimilar to how you’d describe people like Vil or Cater. But it’s just, somehow, he’s different. There is something in the glint of his eyes and paleness of his skin that is so perfect it’s looped all the way back around to being slightly uncanny. Where it’s clear Vil and Cater worked hard for their beauty, you’re hesitant to say the same for Malleus.

… You need more sleep. It’s too early to be waxing poetics about a man… being, entity, who likes how decrepit your house looks from the outside.

“You never went home, did you?” You try again, and this time his attention actually latches onto what you're saying. You can tell by the way his eyes flick up towards your face and his pupils readjust. Widening at the sides, then shivering back in, much like a cat’s. It’s sort of… cool? Freaky? Makes you want to get a laser pointer and see how blown out they could get.

“… Child of Man?”

Now you’re the one needing to recenter your attention. Because apparently you’re so gods damned out of it that you’ve started zoning out to the thought of playing with Hornton like he’s a house cat.

The day this being learns how to read minds, it’s over for you. Or maybe he already can, and your time is already up.

“Sorry! Uh, what, what were you saying?”

His lips curl, and it’s simultaneously terrifying and mesmerizing to see the smile take shape on his face.

“No,” he says. That amusement is back in his voice. Then he reaches over and pulls the collar of your sleep shirt back up over your shoulder. You're unsure of when it had even fallen to begin with. “I have not returned to my dorm yet. As I was here with you while you rested.”

Because you had used him as a pillow without his consent.

"I’m so sorry.” Your whole body heats up, mainly from shame.

“Apologies are unnecessary.” He brushes your concerns off without so much as a blink. “It was a worthwhile experience to watch you sleep.”

“… Pardon?” Did you hear that right?

“I rarely get to witness the habits of humans while they rest anymore, so to be able to regard yours was very intriguing.”

“… Right.”

Sometimes your visitor says the strangest things. But he wouldn’t be your nighttime guest without it.

“Is that a… Fae thing?” You ask, overwhelmingly curious now that it’s been brought to your attention.

You see his eyes widen, just the slightest. You assume that means he's confused, so you clarify.

“Like the, uh, interest. In watching people sleep. Do Fae not sleep like humans do?”

The resulting silence that follows is a bit nerve-racking. So much so, you're tempted to apologize for possibly being offensive until he starts to answer.

"You are correct, in a sense. Some Fae require minimal sleep, such as I. Additionally, I usually prefer to rest during the first rays of sunlight."

"Oh, so then school must be hard on you."

"Nothing is hard for me."

"Oh yes, how could I forget."

What a jerk.

"You are grinning."

"Oh," you were, funny that. "I guess I am. Feel free to ignore it."

"And if I don't wish to?"

Now he's also smiling with that damn grin of his. The one that his eyes follow, mimicking the curl of his lips, yet with not a wrinkle to show for it. It's the one that tells you he knows. He knows what you're smiling over. He knows that it's him, and he's proud of it.

"Then it's not like I can stop you." You shrug, accepting your defeat at the hands of this unreal entity you can't stop yourself from feeling fond of.

"No, you cannot." The bastard's smile grows, all too pleased. You can see the tips of viper-sharp fangs peaking over his bottom lip. You fear you're going crazy when, instead of unease, all you can conjure up is something resembling cuteness aggression.

When you were comparing him to a cat, it wasn't supposed to be serious; you try and berate your brain in admonishment, hoping it'll listen for once.

"So," you choose to change the subject, wishing to ignore how hot your skin still feels. "You'll be alright for classes today? I haven't completely ruined your school day, have I?"

"No, you couldn't. Even if you tried."

"Is that a compliment or a challenge?"

"Feel free to take it however you wish, Child of Man."

Is it possible to be sick of smiling? Cause you're considering it at this point. Or at least hoping that it will occur eventually. So you can stop feeling like this every time he calls you that stupid title he made, or grins all nefariously, or acts all high and mighty.

You feel itchy, not physically but from within. Something in you yearns to leap out from the very depths of your marrow. To be free from the cover you've put over it.

"Then, should we watch the sunrise?" Is what comes out of your mouth. "Since you bothered to stay for so long, why not make it longer?"

His expression falls, and for a second, you swear your heart stops. But then you're tugging on some shoes and a coat in your entryway, stepping out into the crisp morning air with him at your side.

You can't remember the last time you've done this, or if you've ever done this. You feel lost in your own yard before he steps into your sights with a gesture to take his hand. When you do, you blink and you're on your roof. He already has an arm hovering at your side to prevent any unfortunate accidents your surprise might cause.

"You know, you could always give me a warning first." You comment as he vigilantly watches you sit down. Like a parent waiting for their child to fall.

"My apologies." Call you biased, but you're finding it hard to believe he's really sorry.

"Whatever you say, Hornton."

In your peripherals, his head turns to look at you.

"... You still refer to me with that name."

Ah, you were wondering if he'd ever bring it up.

"I do," you nod, wringing your hands together. "Is that a problem?"

"No," he says. Then really considers the thought before shaking his head resolutely. "No, it does not. I just wonder why you do not call me by my real one."

"Well... I guess..." Your eyes are trained on the horizon, where the faint glow of the sun grows ever more apparent. Despite the cold of the morning, you feel warm beneath your collar. "I don't mean anything bad by it. I mean, you still call me 'Child of Man,' don't you?"

His eyes widen; you can catch it even out of the corner of your vision. "I do, does that bother you?"

"If it did, do you really think it would've gone on for this long?"

He doesn't respond, so you push on before that thing within you says too much.

"So, I guess, that I call you Hornton for the same reason you call me Child of Man."

You force yourself to ignore what hints of his expression you can maybe glean. It's both painful and soothing on your nerves.

Your hands are thoroughly chilled by the time the first flecks of sunlight break over the horizon. You watch raptly as it settles over the treetops, lowers down to the ground, and sweeps across the snow. It warms your frigid nose, and you sigh a breath of visible air.

Like a siren call you can't ignore, your head turns to see what type of expression Malleus holds in this very moment.

He's looking at you. Nothing sharp nor lax about it. It's a new expression you've hardly ever seen on him.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask before your treacherous mind can provide a word to describe what emotion is making him look at you in such a way.