Bare feet pad across cold wooden floorboards. The dark of the night creating huge expanses of shadow in the corners of the old house, but Oliver’s eyes adjust surprisingly fast. He could navigate the house with his eyes closed by now, but still green eyes remain open.
They had fought again, Oliver had stormed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door as he always did, and yet he was surprised when Cecil hadn’t been beside him when he stirred himself awake. His eyes still hurt from the crying, though hours had passed since he had sobbed and screamed into his pillow.
The familiar sight of dull light squeezing through the crack in the door told Ollie that Cecil was still here, he had probably fallen asleep with the TV on again, but that was no rarity.
He crept into the living room and closed the door gently behind him, spotting the form curled up on the sofa, a sad smile twitched across his lips. Slowly, Oliver crossed the room and sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, gently taking hold of the other’s hand which dangled off the side of the cushion, and lacing their fingers together.
“I’m sorry Cec.” Oliver spoke barely above a whisper, bringing his knees up to his chest and leaning his forehead against them.