Midnight Mianders

The moon hovered in an inky black sky, scattered with clouds that rumbled, thick and menacing. It was late, and Hanna was asleep. I wasn't, I couldn't. Not that I minded too much. I had learned over the last ten years that minding only made the nights worse and unbearable. Lightning flickered across the blot of sky I could see through the tiny window with a brief hiss. I liked watching the night turn to day. It was one of the things I did during the nights. I would wander, sometimes, though now less frequently as the summer storm season rumbled its way into the city. I would also read, sometimes not doing much more than stare at a page for hours at a time, thinking instead.

I glanced at a stack of books by the wall, some read, some unopened, and my eyes smiled without my mouth, knowing that they were glowing softly and giving off what little light there was. Luckily, I wasn't easily bored, so the long, wishful nights spent alone weren't as long as they could have seemed. Even when books seemed unable to hold my interest and rain threatened any nightly walks – such as tonight, with the growing rumble and the patter of rain on the window now present – I found things to occupy my time. Mostly, I would tend to watch Hanna sleep. It was interesting, to watch him, his nose wrinkling at something in his dreams, his arms occasionally working in the air, bare feet hanging off the mattress. I could only imagine what he dreamt of, or how vivid his dreams were. Sometimes I could surmise a general theme, sometimes I could only guess as the occasional mumbles melded into non-sequitor hands motions.

As if he knew I was thinking about him and his sleep patterns, Hanna gave off a snort, and I turned to watch him. The twenty four year old was wrapped in his blankets, tossing and turning, burying his face against anything soft and clutching at the sheets with terrifying strength. He let out another sound, closer to a whimper, and flipped over entirely, tangling his entire body tightly in the sheets. His legs kicked at nothing and he murmured something into the folds of his pillow, hand reaching up to grasp and tug at the edge of the mattress like it would save his life. What I could see of his face was contorted in a half formed sort of grimace, brows deeply furrowed. He curled in on himself, letting go of the edge of the mattress, hands formed in tight fists.

I quietly strode over to the bed to watch Hanna a little closer, concerned. Hanna was dreaming, that was certain. What he was dreaming, however, I couldn't quite make out, though I could guess that it wasn't unicorns and frosted children's cereal. A cold sweat shone on his face as he arched away from the bed slightly in his nightmarish throws.

He had nights like this every so often, but too often to be any good for him. I was never quite sure how he managed sleep on those nights, with the apparent nightmares he was having. But that didn't deter his attitude of optimism when he woke, so I gave my concerns no voice.

I pulled at the sheets, untangling Hanna's legs and letting them fall back, and habitually kicking off my shoes, I climbed into bed beside him. He automatically turned over, almost like he sensed I was there, and wrapped his arms around my waist, his nose buried deep in my shirt, back arched slightly, legs curling around mine. He was hot and he was cold all at once, and I ran my hand over the top of his hair. It took a moment, but eventually he relaxed against me, slipping into a less fitful sleep.

I sighed. As long as it helped, I didn't mind being a pillow for a few hours. I would do anything that helped him sleep better on these fitful nights. I had done this before, almost every night for the past week – something had made the nightmares worse, or more frequent, or both, but for the past several days I had to watch him climb into bed knowing he wasn't going to sleep well at all. Climbing into bed with him and letting him hold me as tight as he wanted until the sun broke through the window gave us both solace in the long nights, and when the sun was high enough, I would worm my way out of his arms and head into the kitchen to make breakfast.

"Charlemagne?" I heard Hanna's voice and looked down. He was looking up at me, arms still tight around my waist. I regarded the sleep in his unfocused eyes, weighing them down. This was the first time he had woken when I climbed in next to him, no matter how drowsy he was. "What's goin' on?" The sleep slurred speech came with a hearty yawn.

"Go back to sleep, Hanna." I murmured, running my hand over his hair again. He made a noise in his throat, something that sounded remotely happy beneath the cloud of sleep, and nuzzled his face into the collar of my shirt. I wrapped my arms around his waist and felt his breathing steady against my chest as he drifted off again.

"Thanks." Hanna's voice was muffled, but surprisingly alert. I expected more, but the soft snuffling of sleep told me he would leave it there, heading back into his dreams instead. I rested my chin on his head as the new sun filtered through the window in soft red rays. I could see the sun casting away the inky black of night, and realized that with the night it flung away the nightmares and the worries, leaving Hanna sleeping soundly against my chest. I buried my nose in the shock of red hair before me, and closing my eyes, I smiled.