The hardwood floors washed silver with moonbeams, She crept quietly into the room. The window was open, a lullaby of crickets, tree-frogs, and an owl, floating through and dancing about the silent bedroom. There was a man on the bed, though she knew that he wasn't asleep. The bed, king-sized, consumed the room, only allowing space for a book-shelf and a very cluttered bedside table.
She padded her way across the room to sit in a stretch of moonlight on the quilt, then crawled lightly to the man at the far side of the bed so as not to disturb him. He did not acknowledge her presence even though she could hear his breathing stagger. She knew she shouldn't be there, but she only wanted him to be happy, or at least comfortable. She laid down next to him, her front to his back, her fingers tracing the curve of his neck, letting them find their way down his shoulder. She heard a sigh that seemed to be restrained.
Feeling his breath catch, she brought her hand slowly back up to the nape of his neck, gently pulling at the curls she found there. She knew his resolve was wearing down, knew that she was winning.
"You know I'm not for you don't you?" came his rough whisper as she pulled his shoulder, forcing him to lie on his back. She nodded, a smug look on her face, but he couldn't help but notice how lovely her eyes were, or how much he shouldn't find her as pretty as he did. She raised herself up on an elbow, pressing a finger to his lips and then letting her arms fall to his hips.
"I am aware of you thinking that's so," she pressed her lips to the side of his mouth, "but that's not what I believe."
"Oh?" he managed as her mouth met his collarbone.
"You wouldn't react this way if you weren't for me," she said into his collar-bone.
"I'm damaged goods," he provided, knowing that he shouldn't allow her to be kissing his neck like that.
"But I'm here to repair those goods," she moved the hem of his oxford up a bit, her fingers working the buttons. He wished he were stronger. "You're worth more than you think."
He wanted to believe her, wanted to just let it feel good, but he couldn't. He didn't want to break her, didn't want her to be damaged as well. He didn't want her to have the same apathetic expression in her lively green eyes that was in his brown pair; she was too young.
He let his eyes close, keeping the image of her face out of his mind to regain logical thought; it didn't work. He saw her heavy-lidded eyes betraying how sad she was when she saw him like this. He felt her pull away and a noise, almost completely inaudible, lept from his lips; he would never admit how much he needed her.
However, she heard that noise, and he could feel the smirk she was wearing when she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, "I'll just go to bed then, shall I?"
She was out of the room and down the hall to the couch without giving him the chance to respond.
She unlocked the door, shushing him as he giggled into her hair. She manouvered him into his room, sitting him on his bed.
"I'm 'nebriated," he slurred, another giggle setting itself free.
She smiled at him, "I know. Are you going to take off your coat?"
But he was just staring at her as if she had said nothing at all, as if in a trance, beaming at her, his eyes shining, " 'M happy."
After shedding her own coat and shoes, she took his off and laid down next to him on the bed, "I think I should go now, okay?"
He continued to stare at her, "Oh? But I want you here."
She smiled and pushed him on his back and he giggled a bit more, his unfocused eyes trying (and failing) to leap with the laughter that burst from his mouth, "I can't stay. Remember the last time I did that? Your mother was so upset that I was even on the couch."
"Ah, but you've never cared about what she has said or thought before," he said, hurt painted sloppily on his face. Petulantly, he rolled to his side, turning his back to her; she sighed and walked over to his bed and sat on the edge.
Upon feeling her hand run through his hair, he turned to face her, catching her hand. She let him hold it, turn it about in his own, close his eyes.
She finally responded to the childish remark when he started to pull her down to the pillow next to him, "I have to be the adult tonight though."
"No you don't, I'm older. I'm the adult; I want you to be a child for as long as you can," he pressed his mouth to her temple, then her cheek, down her neck.
"You aren't thinking straight," she sighed as she felt him pulling back her cardigan. "You wouldn't do this if you were."
"But everything's so clear," he slurred, working on getting the ribbon out of her hair; he loved carding his fingers through it.
She tried to protest the kisses he trailed down her jaw and neck, but was too busy trying to understand how this was finally happening to take responsibility.
"Don't think," he whispered against her ear, "you do that too much."