sweetdreamstimaeus asked: this is an ask
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I find myself doing this more and more these days.
Sneaking into Ben’s room.
Sitting at his computer desk.
Watching him as he sleeps.
It’s so wrong. So, so, so, absolutely fucking wrong. But I can’t stop myself. There’s nothing inside of me to tell me I shouldn’t be doing this. Just the little thing in my head telling me it’s wrong, but to do it anyway.
I looked over to his alarm clock. It read in big red numbers; 3:00 A.M. Fuck. I need to be up in three hours. I need to go home. I need to go to bed. I stood up, and pushed in the chair, when I heard him say something quietly;
I turned to face him.
“Stop- Don’t go.” He said again. His eyes were closed tight, and he wasn’t even facing me, but if felt like he was talking to me.
I know better.
I know better. He is not talking to me. He’s talking to his dream. But I’m retarded.
“I’ve gotta go, Benji.” I whispered quietly, cautiously walking up to his bedside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I reassured him.
He couldn’t hear me. I know he couldn’t. He’s asleep. But his voice- fuck that voice- was so, pleading. I almost wanted to stay. To curl up in that twin bed with him, and stroke him reassuringly. Promising to never leave.
But I know better.
But not much better. I leaned over and kissed his forehead and smoothed a stray hair back to the side.
He seemed to calm down. A smile spread across his lips. “See you.” He mouthed before drifting further into his peaceful sleep.
I jumped out his window, struggling to close it before I hit the ground one story below.
I’m a monster.
That’s what I think. Really, a fucking monster.
And in more ways than one.
Always in more ways than one.