13

Distraction

Reo

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The soft repetitive rhythm of my pen tapping on the smooth wooden desk in front of me was the only sound in the small dorm room I shared with Elliot. The tapping, which was such an insignificant noise itself seemed to grow and echo harshly in the surrounding silence.

My thoughts were drifting, though not to any place in particular, as I listened absently to the disjointed pattering created by the pen I held loosely between my fingers. I slumped forward in the uncomfortable wooden chair, the armrest poking painfully into my side. I was in a state of pure exhaustion, halfway between consciousness and sleep as I stared vacantly out the chipped glass window before me.

My eyes trailed along the hair-line crack in the transparent windowpane. The crack was the result of Elliot becoming distraught and frustrated over his most recent piano composition. I had not been in the room at the time, but I had been the one who bandaged Elliot's bleeding knuckles.

I sighed softly and absentmindedly shook my head, dark hair spilling into my eyes. Distractedly, I stopped drumming my pen against the desk at which I was seated, and my fingers moved to the cap. With deft fingers I pulled the cap off halfway before quickly sliding it back into place. I repeated this process again and again, causing the room to be filled with the incessant clicking created when the cap snapped back onto the pen. And so, the persistent tapping was replaced by a far more obnoxious and unrelenting sound.

Click. Click. Click…

My thoughts floated away again, until I felt as if I somehow hovered far away from my own weak body, far enough that the relentless clicking created by the small pen between my preoccupied fingers faded away entirely. I was left in a blank world, like a forgotten bare canvas, and my thoughts seemed to waft through the air like endless thin tendrils of smoke.

I was tired. That much could easily be deduced from my delusions. My body was weighted down by fatigue, and my mind was so worn out that it had easily succumbed to the somewhat-conscious state I lingered in. I leaned forward on the desk, letting my cheek rest on the flat polished surface. My gaze fell from the cracked window, where it had been latched for the past hour. Had it truly been an hour? It felt that way, at least. I let my eyes slide shut, permitting myself a moment of leisure.

Why was I so tired?

I strained to remember, but my mind was so fogged by weariness that recalling the reason for my exhaustion was nearly impossible.

Ah, yes…Elliot…

I was tired because…Elliot's nightmares had continued to haunt him. As much as he tried, he could not hide it from me, not when he spent the entire night thrashing and crying out in the bed only a couple paces from mine.

The first couple nights I had tried to block out Elliot's muffled yells and his desperate struggling. I was truly a terrible, horrible person. How had I sat by and listened to Elliot sob in fright? How could I, when Elliot's suffering was my fault? I had been unable to sleep, and instead I endured the torture, forcing myself to acknowledge the severe mistake I had made, the life I had destroyed.

I shuddered, knocking my head against the desk painfully as I remembered Elliot's terrified voice, crying out in the forlorn darkness of our room. I did not know what Elliot saw that alarmed him so, but I knew who held the blame for his nightmares.

And sometimes…when Elliot's whimpering and flailing became too much for me to bear, I would wake him. He would cling to me hopelessly, taking gasping breaths and shivering uncontrollably. Usually he refused to open his eyes, but when he finally did, Elliot gazed at me with empty, broken eyes. I had presented him to the darkness on a silver platter, and now, in the time I was not under Elliot's scrutiny, I wallowed piteously in my guilt. I remembered, with painful accuracy, those dreadfully tormented eyes.

I looked down at the pen trapped between my fingers, the sudden increase in speed pulling me mercifully from my trance.

A groan from the other side of the room pulled me entirely out of my thoughts, and I nearly tipped over in my chair. The pen slipped from my fingertips, and clattered against the stained wooden floorboards before rolling unnoticed beneath the concave desk.

"Reo! What the hell? Stop with that annoying noise!" Elliot roared from his sprawled-out position on his bed. I glanced at Elliot, noticing vaguely that his arms and legs dangled comically off the edges of his bed.

Oh…I forgot he was in here too…

Elliot's yell was punctuated by a sharp growl, and a moment later I felt something collide with the base of my chair. The initial impact was followed by a resounding crack as one of the chair legs snapped, and I jumped out of the chair quickly to prevent tumbling onto the ground with the unsteady furniture piece.

I looked down at the broken chair in surprise, my mind slowly registering the damage, and then I glanced at Elliot, who was using one hand to pull himself slowly off of his bed.

Well I'm awake now…

I watched as Elliot sat up and yawned, covering his open mouth with his arm.

I sighed, resigning myself to yet again falling prey to Elliot's sleep-deprived rage. I placed both of my hands firmly on the desk behind me, and utilizing my elbows as leverage, I lifted myself onto the desk's smooth surface with a single upward push.

Once seated casually atop the desk, I glanced at Elliot, preparing to be victimized, as this time I was the source of his awakening. Elliot slid off of his bed, furious glare fixed on me.

"Can't I ever get any damn sleep!" Elliot snapped, though his rage seemed to be diffusing, not from lack of anger (no, Elliot was never short on anger), but rather his current exhaustion denied him the ability to maintain his wrath.

"Sorry," I said flatly, knowing that I did not sound at all remorseful.

Elliot looked at me strangely, an odd emotion flitting across his features. In the fleeting glimpse I caught of the expression, I almost thought it was concern. It could not be though; this was the rarest of all emotions to be seen on Elliot's face.

Elliot watched me from his position beside his bed, stretching his neck with a grimace, and unconsciously running his fingers through his sleep-mussed light brown hair. He carefully readjusted his white uniform blazer, which had become skewed during his afternoon sleep session.

After a few moments of this absentminded tidying, Elliot curled his long fingers into fists and shoving them roughly into his pockets, he crossed the room in three long determined strides.

He stood directly in front of the desk, peering up at me, obviously annoyed by the sudden height difference.

"Are you okay?" Elliot asked, to my surprise, and he tilted his head sideways so that he could catch my roaming gaze. Elliot stared up at me intently, and from the sudden closeness I could tell that his expression was indeed one of deep concern.

As I looked down at Elliot from my somewhat elevated height atop the desk, I realized that I had almost forgotten the true color of Elliot's eyes. I was so accustomed to his turquoise eyes being squinted and dark with anger, but now, with his eyes innocently wide, I could see that the color was actually a stunning almost-teal.

"Why would you think I was not?" I asked warily.

"Usually you are not quite so blunt and stoic with me. You've been acting sort of weird, and you look tired," Elliot said.

I wondered absently how Elliot could tell that I was tired when he could not see my eyes, or the bruise-like circles gradually growing darker beneath them.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, not wanting the sympathetic attention to be for me, my guilt could take no more of it without collapsing. "You are the one who looks tired."

Elliot smirked faintly, but even his small smile could not hide the unhealthy redness of his eyes and the dark half-circles underneath.

I noticed abruptly that his attentive stare had wavered, and he was no longer looking into my eyes. His gaze had traveled lower.

Wandering eyes show what a person desires.

Oh…

I shivered slightly, realizing that Elliot was fixedly watching my lips. His turquoise eyes seemed to dance, as if lit from within by some iridescent silver light. I wasn't sure whether to be scared or stirred by the playful glint shimmering in the blue-green depths.

"Elliot…umm," I said, hoping to startle him out of his daze, but not truly knowing what to say. I was far too tired; I could not deal with Elliot's raging hormones in my current flustered and drowsy state.

Elliot leaned forward, bracing himself by placing both of his palms flat on the desk on either side of my thighs.

I moved backwards quickly, nimbly avoiding Elliot's sudden advance, and I gently placed my fingers over his smooth lips.

"Feeling a little too playful today aren't you, Elliot? Are you sure you're completely awake?" I chided, pressing my fingers more firmly against Elliot's mouth.

Elliot growled menacingly, and I could feel the gentle vibrations of the unvoiced threat pulsing through my fingertips.

My dark hair drooped messily over my eyes, and I carefully considered my options. I could stop him from proceeding, and then for the remainder of the day I would have to put up with an exceptionally irritated Elliot. Or, I could allow him to carry on despite my guilt.

Despite my guilt? The thought was so drastically selfish that I nearly choked.

It's not like I don't want him to continue…

This final honest thought assisted me in coming to a decision.

"Just make sure you do not do anything you will regret later," I said softly, allowing my fingers to slide away from Elliot's lips and fall back to my side.

Elliot gruffly whispered something that sounded much like 'I wont' before leaning forward once more. This time I did not pull away.

I looked down in mild surprise as Elliot hooked one of his slender fingers through the white silk bow knotted at my throat, and I waited breathlessly for what I knew was soon to follow.

I did not resist, and in all honesty I eagerly accepted as Elliot pulled my lips down to meet his.

The kiss was gentle, not violent and needy like our last, and I decided, shivering softly, that I much preferred this tenderness.

I tensed slightly when Elliot's fingers abruptly brushed against my thigh, but I relaxed when I realized the action was accidental, and the wandering fingertips moved to my waist.

My mind fogged over, but for quite a different reason from my earlier comatose daze. My thoughts became muddled and incoherent as Elliot caught my lower lip between his, tugging teasingly before releasing. All the while my hands remained firmly planted on the smooth wooden surface beneath me, serving as a means of backup support for my body as my mind floated out of my reach on a churning cloud of bliss.

Elliot eventually broke the kiss, releasing his loose grip on my bow tie and straightening. After one more feather-light kiss placed gently on my still parted lips, he slid away from the desk and turned.

I could only watch, entranced, as Elliot marched back to his bed, for I was still rendered motionless due to my recent loss of conscious thought.

I shook myself mentally, forcing my mind to clear, and I observed Elliot as he knelt beside his unmade bed.

He lifted the corner of one of the light blue sheets which were thrown carelessly in a tangled mess across the mattress, and he reached underneath the bed. With careful precision, Elliot pulled my somewhat-empty luggage bag from beneath the disastrous bed, placing it carefully on the hardwood floor.

"What are you doing?" I inquired, confused.

"I wanted to ask you something, Reo," Elliot said, his tone expressing a sudden solemnity, and when his gaze met mine, his eyes were somber.

"…What?" I asked hesitantly.

"I had to ask if you were alright, because the other day I opened up your bag to look for a book to read, and I found this," Elliot said, and in one swift movement he reached into the deep front pocket of my bag and pulled out my borrowed handgun.

Elliot held the gun comfortably, his fingers encircling the grip, entirely at ease with the gleaming weapon. "Reo. Why do you have this?" Elliot asked, and I saw concern once again lighting his eyes.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "You have a weapon too, don't you?" I motioned accusingly towards the violin case leaning innocently against the wall. I knew Elliot's sword was concealed within the deceptively harmless casing.

Elliot seemed taken aback, and I watched, mildly amused as he considered my words before speaking again.

"Yes, but why do you have one?" Elliot asked, and then he glanced at the firearm in confusion. "And where did you get a gun anyways?"

"Gilbert gave it to me," I replied, stifling a yawn with the back of my hand.

"That idiot, doesn't he have enough common sense not to go handing out weapons to just anyone?" Elliot grumbled, running a hand through his light brown hair.

"You shouldn't speak that way about your brother."

"Adoptive brother," Elliot said sharply, and the room fell silent. I knew that Elliot cared for his elder adopted brother, Gilbert, quite a lot, so I was surprised by his suddenly harsh tone.

"You never answered my main question anyways," Elliot said after a moment.

"And what would that be?" I asked, though I knew exactly what his question had been.

"For what reason do you need this?" Elliot dangled the gun lazily from a single extended finger and twirled it once for good measure.

I took a moment to contemplate my answer. What would Elliot believe? Would the truth make him angry? I decided to be as least specific as possible without actually resorting to dishonesty.

"For protection, obviously. What else?"

Elliot examined me for a moment, but he seemed to here the truth ringing in my words, and content with my response, he dropped the glinting metallic weapon back into my bag.

I sighed in relief.

Elliot had failed to ask the key question: 'for whose protection?'

Elliot's of course...

Yes, I would use my bare hands to keep him from coming to further harm, but wouldn't it help to have a more intimidating threat to back me up (no matter how useless it was in my possession)?

"Can you actually fire a gun?" Elliot queried, looking up at me with one eyebrow raised, plainly conveying his skepticism.

"No," I said honestly, shoving my glasses harshly up the bridge of my nose and feeling the rim bite sharply into my skin.

Elliot stared at me for a moment, and then the mood in the room took yet another dramatic swerve as he burst into uncontrollable contagious laughter.

"You make no sense sometimes, Reo."

It was sometime early in the morning when I was awoken by a soft knocking at the door.

Thankful that such a quiet sound would not wake Elliot, I reluctantly shrugged off the pleasant warmth of the soft blankets that encased my body and pulled myself out of bed. Unsuccessfully attempting to straighten my creased night clothes, I stumbled blindly through the dark room. I was careful not to make any noise, skillfully evading the squeaky floorboards, so as not to wake my exhausted (and easily angered) roommate. I felt along the wall, reaching sightlessly for the doorknob.

A feeling of dread slowed my fervently searching fingers.

No good ever came of a visit in the middle of the night.

Hesitantly, I closed my fingers around the cold metal knob and opened the door, preparing myself for whatever lay on the other side.

A middle-aged woman stood in the hall outside our dorm room entranceway, her grave expression informing me that she did not bring good news. The only light in the dimly lit hallway was that of the single candle the woman held. The flames cast eerie shadows along the wall and across the woman's lined face, only furthering my panicked feelings.

"Are you Elliot Nightray?" the woman asked quietly, and her fingers pulled distractedly at one of the gray wisps of hair that had fallen out of the sloppy bun pinned stiffly to the back of her head.

"No," I responded in a faint whisper. "I'm Reo. Elliot is asleep, can this wait until morning?"

"I am afraid not, we have just received word from his mother about a rather tragic…" The woman trailed off, her eyes locked on a point over my shoulder.

Before I could turn, I felt a warm hand press against my back.

Elliot, I thought, tensing in shock. I did not hear him get up.

"What has happened?" Elliot inquired from behind me, his voice neither irritated (as it normally would be) nor curious, but frighteningly calm.

The hand on my back moved, and I felt Elliot's fingers trail down my spine, asking me wordlessly to relax, before coming to rest comfortingly on my hip.

He is trying to reassure me when he is the one receiving bad news!

I wiggled slightly, trying to shake off Elliot's hand, but the consoling fingers grasped my hip even more tightly, dull fingernails biting cruelly into my skin.

"Ah…" said the woman before us, and I was grateful that from her position she could not see Elliot's possessive hold on me. "You are Elliot Nightray, then?"

Elliot did not say anything, but I assumed that he had nodded because the woman continued.

"Your mother has requested that you return home."

"Why?" Elliot asked, and I could plainly hear the surprise and wariness in his voice, though his tone remained impassive. "We have only recently arrived."

Elliot's fingers pressed more harshly into my hip bone, causing me to hiss softly.

And finally I understood. Elliot's rough grasp on my hip was not only meant to reassure me, it also served to keep Elliot calm despite his rising panic.

The woman shook her head, placing a faintly wrinkled hand over her mouth and closing her eyes. "Please get dressed and report to the headmaster's office. He will explain."

"What happened?" Elliot asked again flatly.

The woman shook her head once more and turned, with a swish of her long brown skirt, sputtering candle held aloft, to retreat back down the long dormitory hallway.

"Wait!" Elliot cried, his unruffled façade falling away and revealing the alarm beneath. His grip fell from my waist, and his hand instead claimed my own, his fingers intertwining viciously with mine. Elliot dashed after the withdrawing woman, dragging me forcefully along behind him. He reached out, grabbed the woman's wrist, and pulled her to a sudden halt.

"Please, just tell me what has happened," he whispered, hopeless anxiety shining in his eyes.

The woman turned to look at Elliot, with sorrow etched into her already somber features. "Your brother…Fred Nightray, has been killed."

The hand in mine went slack instantly; the painful grip was gone, replaced by one that was limp and lifeless. Moments later as the weight of those words crashed down on him, Elliot's legs gave out, and he fell heavily to his knees.

AN: Sorry for the wait! I had surgery on Monday and I was kind of brainless all week (which is probably why Reo ended up being spacey for a good percentage of this chapter). Bleh :P

Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited the last chapter!

So, anyways, my friend Shawn (who reads everything I write, even if it's terrible 'cause that's just the kind of awesome guy he is) asked me what kind of music I listened to while I wrote this story…the conversation went something like this:

Shawn: Heyyyyyyyy Dusty, do you listen to music when you write stuff? (Dusty is a terrible, terrible nickname of mine that many people call me… it is the result of my little sister being unable to say 'Destery' (pronounced Des-tree just in case you didn't know, and just to clear something else up, no 'Void' is not my real last name ~duh))

Me: Mhmm (Always)

Shawn: What do you listen to while you're writing from Reo's perspective? (Reo is his favorite character)

Me: Never Shout Never! (that's a band, for those of you who don't know) *starts singing (poorly) at the top of my lungs*

Shawn: So then what do you listen to while you're writing Elliot's point of view? (He doesn't like Elliot much, he thinks Elliot is too aggressive. I on the other hand absolutely adore Elliot)

Me: Hardcore screamo…

Shawn: *man giggle*

~Wow longest author's note ever, sorry. It's at the end for a reason xD only important stuff goes at the top, of course.