Test Fic 1

He held me close while I fell asleep last night. Or at least I think he did. All these memories come and go, washing in and out like the tide and threatening to drown me. Or maybe there was nothing there to begin with. Maybe I imagined Michael saving me and I'm still alone. It would make sense, really, because why would he want to save me in the first place? Yeah. I’m alone. I think I've always been.
Wait. No. That’s not right.

I blink myself awake to see Michael sleeping beside me, but his eyes are wide open. It's taken a while to get used to that. I was worried at first, thinking he spent every night wide awake, plagued by all of his thoughts, but when I asked he was just confused. I didn’t have the heart to tell him in the end. He deserves some peace. God knows he doesn’t get much. From all the time I’ve known him, even before the world went wrong, he has a constant narrative playing in his mind. It doesn’t matter what it’s about as long as it keeps him thinking, keeps him feeling alive. That’s another thing i’ve learnt, actually. If he’s not thinking, he doesn’t feel alive. He tried to explain it to me, once. I didn’t understand.

That doesn’t change much, though. Nothings actually alive, anymore. We’re all fueled by something, and we don’t know what. All we know is it’s changed us, and that the sky is always watching. We live in this cabin, just the two of us, and we wait, and wait, and wait. For what, we don’t know. But there’s a thick fog outside, obscuring our vision. I think it comes from me. Because since this all started I’ve felt cold. And whenever Michael holds my hand, touches my face, hugs me from behind, he shivers like he’s touching ice. He’s changed too, we both have. But this chill in the air… he doesn’t feel it. In contrast, touching Michael feels like touching the blazing sun. Like a ray of light is being burned into your skin but it’s too nice to back away, or to run. It’s like I’m a moth to a flame, whenever he’s around. I can’t help but stare.

I’m broken from my thoughts by the sound of Michael stirring beside me. His big, blonde curly hair spread itself out behind his head as he turned to me. I don’t look back. He’s too bright. ‘Isaac… it’s late.’ He mutters under his breath. I must have woken him. I stare intently at the ceiling as I whisper, ‘Sorry… couldn’t sleep. You know how I get when…’ I trail off, but he nods knowingly, gently holding my hand to his chest. It feels like he’s burning through my skin, but I can’t pull away.

We stay like this for a while until he speaks again, ‘Isaac… I know you don’t want to think about what’s out there. But it’s… the not knowing is keeping you up like this. That, and… I know your memory isn’t…’ I interupt sharply, now pulling my hand back to my stomach, ‘I know.’ He just sighs, rolling back onto his stomach, muttering in an almost defeated tone of voice, ‘You don’t, though…’

I’ve always hated when he’d do this. Act like I don’t know any better, because of all the fog and dust that coats my mind, makes it hard to think, to remember. He thinks I’m fragile. I know he does. I roll over, turning my bedside lamp off. Wait… I don’t have one. We’re in the cabin. Michael’s still on fire. The world’s ending. And I keep forgetting… ‘Goodnight…’ I mutter to Michael. He had watched my mistake closely, though he pretended not to see. I refuse to look at him as he whispers, half asleep, ‘Love you…’ He says that every night. He thinks I forget that too. But how could I ever, when he burns as bright as the sun itself? ‘I love you too, Michael.’ I whisper back to him, still not daring to look at him. I stare at where I thought the lamp was, trying to remember… when did we have one? Did we ever have one? Or am I making things up again? The harder I try, the thicker the fog in my mind seeps into every corner. No. I’m still in the cabin. Michael is still on fire. The world is still ending. And I will keep forgetting these things, for as long as we both live.

I steal a glance at Michael. He’s asleep again. His eyes are wide open, staring right back into the ones which make up the sky. I don’t know how he can see them through our roof, how he can look into their intense gaze as he dreams of everything that is past the fog which I’ve made, which keeps us ignorant. I do love him. I really do. I just don’t know how.