Beanies

Despite the noise from below, it never distracted you from what was above.

Ever since you had moved into your apartment, it had done you wonders; starry nights were never a fairytale to you. You would stare at them for minutes—hours if you weren't responsible enough to set a timer—back pressed against the steps of the fire escape, counting each speck of white without a care in the world.

Your active imagination made small tales for each one you viewed.

The large star that pulsed purple was one full of aspirations, the will to grow bigger.

The pale yellow star was someone who wished for something new and exciting.

The twinkling cerulean almost slipped your gaze. At the sight of it, you couldn't help but sigh. You were doing good at least, but there was no stopping the brain from thinking about Mugman again. The thought alone unintentionally puts a frown on your face.

It had been some time since he had last visited casually and without trouble on the heel of foot. That day consisted of cooking dinner and popcorn reading; when he wasn't giving his all out there, he was in your home, foot playfully kicking your ankle when you "mispronounced" foyer.

The thoughts in your head swirl, your imagination working its hollow wonders. Had he not been in this... "profession", he'd be behind you with his arms around your torso, voice whispering in plea for you to come back inside for bed.

'Stop sneaking out this late... come back to bed with me.'

It's a reality you doubt would come true, even if you attempted to wish for it upon the night sky. A whisk of wind litters your arms with goosebumps, making you rub your hands up and down in an attempt to keep warm. You almost imagine Mugman being the one trying to keep you warm. Almost.

Wishful thinking, your pinnacle menace.

Each star clung to a piece of your dream, each tale being a wish for something to come true. You knew that the moment the sun would begin to make the sky pink, those dreams would fade. But maybe it was for the better.

"You should go back inside," A voice warns from above. You jolt in surprise and turn to look up at the wide gape of the fire escape. Blue eyes stare back at you with serenity. "I heard the temperature would drop tonight."

A low, hesitant laugh escapes your lips. "That would be my fault for not checking the weather tonight."

Mugman expertly hops down to your level. He thankfully keeps mind of the noise, his feet careful on the metal bars of the escape. He was wearing mostly dark colors and a hood over his head, blending himself with the night. A knowing agreement to keep his presence on the down low.

"Why are you up so late?" He asks.

"The stars are out. Brighter. Shinier." You answer. "Why are you up at this hour?"

Mugman scratches the back of his neck. "Couldn't sleep."

"Neither of us can," You shake your head, "But now's probably the best time."

He walks over to your window and lifts it open, sighing out a hopeful, "Yes, please." as he enters your apartment. He turns back around and holds his hand out. Your hand automatically finding its way to it, allowing you to be guided back inside to carpet floors and warmth.

Everything falls into something out of a coordinated play: Practiced placement of Mugman's shoes, turning off any lights and electronics inside, and him changing into more comfortable clothes than the previous wear to hid his identity. Wordless agreements and movements that synced for a night of peace and fluff.

"I figured you'd be able to help... just like last time." Mugman suddenly says as the two of you lay underneath the covers. "They don't stop. I still experience those draining visions." He swipes his hand down his face, exaggerating his eyebags.

You take his hand and hold it against the pillow. "I wish I could do more to help you, I really do."

A tired smile is what you get.

"You do enough." He assures. "I don't think you need to go wasting your wishes on something like that. You do enough as who you are now."

"Oh, you..." You rub your eye against your pillow cover, leaving a tiny wet mark, "I don't wanna cry tonight, please."

"I'm sorry." He breathes, voice velvet.

"Don't be. Never be sorry with me." You push yourself closer to his hold. Arms take hold of you as you tuck yourself near his collarbone, warmth spreading across your skin.