Under the blanket

      The world is huge.         It is unlimited neither by the limits of our planet, nor by the endless expanses of space. He is merciless in his indifference and deaf to the grief of countless atoms that combine into viable systems and begin to feel. The world doesn't even know about the worthless creatures who imagine themselves to be Gods and arbiters of other people's fate, not even realizing that they have no power not only over the universe, but also over its end — the end of everything, called Death.       However, for some, the world is narrow. Someone limits it to a celestial body orbiting a burning star, someone to a piece of land defined by faraway minds with nominal lines on paper, and someone to their own tiny room in a box made of concrete blocks and metal rods.       But one fact remains unchanged: whatever it is, it is a reality that people can observe, touch and in which they are forced to exist.       Lots of people are dissatisfied with their reality. Some of them try to win in a obviously losing game, others resign themselves, giving their lives to the power of the unknown, while many escape to the so-called fiction — their own little dream worlds, where they can feel safe and free from fate.         Xiao also had a reality that, contrary to its definition, had no clear boundaries with fiction: it ended where disturbing dreams began, comparable only to the nightmares of the real world. His world. A world in which everything is hostile, false and wrong; a world in which you had not to live, but to survive, fighting for the right to exist simply because you were lucky enough to be born. A world that was his reality, whose line with fiction is blurred by horror, tears and endless regrets.         Like many people, Xiao often had dreams.         However, there he could not hide from his own life and Death, which follows him around and catches up with panic attacks in the alleys. Death, which overhang reproach and inevitable doom over the very essence of his existence.       Death, which grabs by the throat and rips out the heart in the most painful nightmares, from which it was not possible to find a way out.       At such moments, he could only scream, cry and beg, but Death was deaf to his moans — she only stared at him every movement, every sigh, every feeling that weightlessly enveloped his sinful heart, the rhythmic beating of which was an unforgivable mistake.       But now, when Death once again put her bony palms and squeezed his thin shoulders, when she scorched his neck with icy breath and forced him to say goodbye to his life — now, at this very moment, there was way out of this nightmare.       And this way out was warm. There were soft touches on his back and hair, there was the gentle whisper of a melodious voice, there were attempts to wrap him in their common blanket — a cocoon separating the darkness of reality and their tiny warm world, in which, for just a moment, the chaos of overly real fiction reigned.       This way out was tremulous kisses on the cheeks, temples and the corners of the eyes, from which the salty tears of experience fear relentlessly flowed. This way out was the hot breath scorching his sweat—covered skin-saving, because it was eerily cold in Mother's arms.       This way out was his Love, his Dream, his Happiness. His Kazuha. Handsome to the point of stupefaction, gentle to the point of unconsciousness, beloved to the point of readiness to give his own life for any moment of peace that fate decides to sacrifice him for all the suffering he has endured.       Kazuha, whom Xiao affectionately called Sun for his sweet smile and fluffy curly hair, resembling a halo of saints In the glare of the sun. Kazuha, whose unfading light has always been a salvation for souls lost in darkness. Kazuha, whose love was an addiction — his personal sweet poison, which suddenly became an antidote in the face of the imminent danger.         Xiao wakes up abruptly in a cold sweat and breathes fast. He wants to wipe away the tears that bother him, but the warm, beloved hands press him closer, as if the slightest distance between them can stretch thousands of light-years in an instant, spreading them across different edges of the ever-expanding universe.       He was trying to recover, to regain his ragged breathing and calm the frantic rhythm of heart. It was terrifying — to the point of madness, to the point of burning despair and the desire to howl from the phantom pain in the rib cage, but Xiao only gritted his teeth and squeezed the clothes on Kazuha's back with his fingers. This desperate gesture was not only a desire to grab onto life, but also disbelief in the reality of what was happening, because in his harsh reality there are no such concepts as "comfort", "love" and "safe".       However, right now, the physical and metaphorical embodiment of all these terms was hugging him, pulling Xiao so close to him, as if their lives depended on it. It was as if Kazuha's desperate touches were saving not only Love, drowning in his own horror, but also himself, because if Death dares to take Xiao away now, he will follow without hesitation.       And Xiao felt it. And he hugged back with the same awe, with the same tenderness and with the same desire to protect and be protected, with which Kazuha buried his nose in his disheveled hair, inhaling the soft scent of mint shampoo and sweet conditioner.       And in this endless horror of real life, there was nothing safer than His cuddle, where breathing calmed down and the pulse returned to its usual rhythm; cuddle where consciousness turned off, allowing him to drown in a stream of infinitely tender feelings and relax for some tiny moments. Cuddle in which only they were — sincere, needy, and utterly in love.       Only in this cuddle the fear began to dissipate, giving way first to emptiness, and then to the boundless light that emanated from his personal Sun.       However, this light not only warmed, but also made him worry that the Sun would run out of energy for his own vital activity, because he so selflessly strives to bestow all living things with his love, which eventually burns down in the fire of its own altruism.       No wonder there were so few people in the world who cared not about their own meaningless lives, but about the well-being of others. But it is also not surprising that Kazuha was included in this percentage, which was tending to zero — it seemed that it could not be otherwise. However, by doing so, he doomed himself to certain death from exhaustion, cruelty, and consumerism towards the kindness of others. That is why Xiao tried to immediately return everything that he had unwittingly taken from noble Sun.         He tried to take care of someone who always cares about others, but never about himself.         These hugs were not a simple touch or a fleeting moment of tenderness — it was the supreme act of love and trust concluded between two souls in a craving to become one.       In a craving to share not only a ridiculous one-bedroom apartment somewhere on the outskirts of the city, but also lungs that can't handle the blood saturation of two hearts beating in unison. In a craving to drown in a whirlpool of changeable feelings, either dying right here and now, or gaining immortality — one for two, always together, always connected.       And at that very moment, they choose the second of two evils, remaining in this quiet world, the boundaries of which are defined by an old blanket, two pillows and the headboard of the bed. Here they are enveloped in eternity and loneliness, in which they enjoy each other as if they had less than a minute left to live — and that was true, because once they leave this fragile peace, their souls will burn in the fierce flames of a life that promises only hardships and obstacles.       So until the cruel reality took away their personal fiction, they were happy, needing nothing more than the sweet smell and warmth of their man, who would gladly give his own heart so that other would continue to beat.       And in this fiction, they fall asleep again. The head empties, body relaxes, and legs feel like lead, leaving them no chance to get out of bed on their own. But on the other hand, where should they go if there is a home here, next to their beloved? What are they looking for in this mortal world if they have already found happiness in each other's arms?       They didn't think about it, because in those very moments they weren't thinking at all, allowing themselves to just be.  

Everything is so calm.

        An anxious night is replaced by the coolness of the morning and the dim light of the rising sun. However, his Sun was still peacefully sleeping somewhere in the neck area, being slightly tired of the struggle with the horrors of his subconscious. And Xiao didn't dare to wake him up on his own, because Kazuha wasn't sleeping when he needed him so much. And now, when more than anything else in the world, his soul longs for just some quiet moments of peace, how can he betray his trust? How could he destroy this fragile life that had so easily handed him his fate?         No, of course not.         The teachers wouldn't stop talking in their absence, people wouldn't miss work, and the world clearly wouldn't collapse without their intervention — that's why Xiao had every right to postpone all business for the sake of saving the only valuable soul in this whole mortal world. That's why he quickly turns off the ringing alarm clock — the signal to return to reality — and puts it aside, making the sleepy Kaedehara only shiver because of the warmth of Xiao's palm suddenly disappearing from the top of his head.         The darkness recedes, and their tiny world expands to the size of a cramped but no less cozy room.         It's dark and a little dusty here because they're too immersed in each other to notice the inconveniences of the accommodation. And they weren't inconveniences either — it was their natural world, consisting of thousands of interconnected components, which would be tantamount to disrupting their fragile idyll.       It smells of decrepitude and crumbling plaster; there is too much oxygen because of the frightening number of flowers on the windowsill; coffee mugs and cans of energy drinks have long been part of the interior in view of the need for both additional energy to fight for their place in the sun.       Here the walls are covered with poems, notes, posters and quite a living ivy; here the shelves are filled with books and icons with miracle workers and martyrs; there are endless wires, lamps and soft toys scattered everywhere.       Here, the spiders weave their uncomplicated webs, and each has an affectionate name depending on the angle in which they are located; here the windows are always open, because the residents are too in love with the freedom of the wind, which avoids them in the maze of city streets, but breaks through the open window.       Here, in the darkest corners of orderly chaos, Death lurks, silently watching over her child, who hopes so much for happiness with Life himself in the face of a young man with a charming smile and infinitely tender gaze. And here, in these very moments, son and mother temporarily reach an invisible agreement: Xiao allows her to just be, and Death, in turn, allows him to enjoy every moment as if her child is not on his deathbed.       Kazuha knows about Mother. And he knows that Xiao is unacceptably close to her, which is why he is afraid to let him go alone, worrying that at such a great distance the light of his nonexistent wings will not be able to scare away the bony hands of nothingness, eager to take away his last stronghold of love and security.       Sometimes he can't sleep if he doesn't feel Xiao's presence — but not only because it's important to him, but also because it's better for Xiao himself. Because if Death did come for him, they would both die here, under the same blanket, where their beating hearts would stop at the same time, binding their lives in the last moments of existence.       But they're together now. And as long as their souls touch so closely that only their mortal bodies prevent them from merging together; as long as they are here in this quiet world, there is no Death.       This is exactly what Xiao says with Her cold amber eyes, to which Mother can only avert her eternally gaze and give her son the much-desired moments of peace and freedom.         And if you ever decide to look into a random window of an old five-story building somewhere on the outskirts of the city, you will be able to notice that here, in this cozy apartment, two poor students are sleeping under a single blanket, whose world does not need money or amenities, because they already have everything they need — themselves.          And while they're together, there's no Death.