#niknik

no matter how hard he’d tried to make you realize that he is less human than ghost, a collection of old stories piled into a body that he’d tried to change the name of, but shadows are nothing if not persistent creatures. you see, they tend to like following around the light. and they are really very good at lurking. 

“come back to bed.” 

“i can’t.” 

“okay, then let’s stay here.” 

you card your fingers through his hair, press your lips to his forehead, and he thinks, vaguely, that perhaps you could kiss away all his shadows. 

“tell me a story.” 

he peers up at you, his eyes bloodshot. 

“what kind of story?” 

“any kind.” 

he pauses for a moment, letting the gentle tug of your fingers lull his eyes back closed. he relaxes, his head pillowed on your lap, your heartbeat close enough to hear. he thinks that like this, he might be able to relearn the meaning of breathing. 

“when i was little, i was terrible at fencing.” 

“i find that very hard to believe.” 

he allows himself a soft smile. you trace the lines of his face with the tip of your finger. he feels you trail along his cheeks to his nose, down to his lips, where he lets out a soft sigh. 

“yes, well. believe it or not, everyone is terrible when they start to learn something.” 

“but you’re not everyone.” 

your voice is like a light in the darkness, and he wonders if this is why people are so dead set on believing in a religion. because like this, he can see why everyone wants to go towards the light. he understands the pull of the warmth, the brightness, the promise of protection. 

“no, i’m not, but once upon a time, i was.” 

“how scandalous.” 

“hm.” 

“and then what happened?” 

a pause; a breath. 

“i grew up.” 

“debatable.” 

he flutters open eye to peer up at you, a satisfied little grin on your lips. 

“i suppose.” 

he’s too tired to debate with you, but then again, in this in-between of day and darkness, this purgatory of time, he doesn’t think you’re wrong. he thinks you might have him all figured out, and the thought makes him wonder about all the secrets he’s ever tried to keep from the world. 

“tell me another story.” 

you fingers run across his lips. 

he takes a breath. 

“i think i’m in love with you.” 

you smile; you lean down; you kiss him. 

and, he lets you. 

“come back to bed.” 

he nods, letting you tug him up, letting you lead him into the darkened bedroom, where elizabeth is curled up on the large sofa, her tail flickering as she watches the pair of you through seaglass eyes. she lets out a loud pur as nikolai allows himself to be tugged down onto the mattress and tucked into the blankets. 

he curls himself around you, and you settle in his arms. 

he watches you though half-lidded eyes, the exhaustion pulling at the last cohesive strands of his thoughts. 

“tell me a story,” he says. 

you smile, you lean up, you kiss him. 

“i know i’m in love with you.” 

you kiss him again, and again, and again. 

instructions: 

handle with care. fragile. extremely prone to breakage. is scared of shadows, but will never admit it to anyone, not even to himself. will need to be coaxed into and out of things. takes too many unnecessary risks to remind himself what it feels like to be alive. 

no red wine is to be had within a 10-foot radius. do not approach if allergic to cats or overinflated egos. 

run. or, don’t.