Dream of the night wind

"…I've Been Looking Everywhere For You…" "…someone is looking for me?…" — for some reason that realization warmed me pleasantly from within, and forcing my lead-heavy eyelids open with considerable effort, I made myself focus on what was in front of me. And went completely still — because leaning over me, searching my eyes with anxious intensity, was an actual deity. — Wow… So… beautiful… — the words left my parched lips with absolutely zero input from my brain, and I reached toward him instinctively, only to snatch my hand back at the last moment before it touched his cheek. "God, Rosé… where are your manners?! I understand that you quite possibly have a concussion and heaven knows what other internal damage, but there is really no need to be quite this tactless, for goodness' sake!" All of this whirled through my long-suffering head in an agitated rush — predictably delivered in my mother's voice — but the beautiful boy who had been searching for me appeared to be neither surprised nor remotely bothered by my strange behavior, and was watching me with a barely perceptible smile — soft and somehow… protective — that only faded when I let my hand fall helplessly, having lost the nerve to touch him. He frowned and leaned closer, making me instinctively shrink back — and at that small movement, pain flickered across his beautiful features for just a moment, leaving me thoroughly confused. Why… why was he behaving as though we… knew each other? And why… from the very first glance at his impossibly beautiful face with its fine, aristocratic features, had my heart contracted painfully and reached toward him — just as my trembling fingers had — only to stop halfway, as though it had run headlong into an impenetrable wall of oblivion?… It felt as though I was being hit by the most powerful déjà vu of my life, as though I had seen him before… long ago… but when and where remained a complete mystery to me. And so, no longer able to flounder in uncertainty and torment myself with unanswered questions, I rustled barely audibly — still unable to tear my gaze from his focused, troubled face: — Who… are you? At those words he went still, and I didn't miss the way his sapphire eyes — framed by those feathery lashes — widened in shock, as an entire ocean of emotions surged through them. The foremost among them was… pain — which sliced through my own heart like a sharp blade dipped in acid. But after several agonizingly long seconds of this bewildering anguish, he collected himself, and drawing a deep breath, buried it at the very bottom of those bewitching eyes, answering me in an equally strained and quiet voice: — You… don't remember me? A simple enough question, it would seem… yet I had no answer for it. I could say neither yes nor no — because it felt as though I truly did know him, and yet I couldn't recall even his name. And seeing that I could only stare at him helplessly, biting my lips, the handsome brunette gave a bitter, disbelieving laugh and dropped his head, murmuring at the very edge of audibility: — God… This is simply unbelievable… — Pardon?… — I whispered uncertainly, feeling for some reason a sharp urge to apologize to him for it, and my fingers reached out of their own accord to touch his hand. This time, they made it. Feeling my touch, he raised his head and fixed me with such a piercing, almost desperate gaze that it seemed to knock every last bit of air from my lungs — leaving me breathless from the sheer force of emotions that were a mirror image of those churning in his eyes, barely contained behind his dark lashes. But the feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut to dispel the spell — and when I looked at him again, his beautiful face held absolutely no expression whatsoever, having become a flawless, frozen mask. — You have… absolutely nothing to apologize for, my dear… because this is… entirely my fault, — he whispered in a low, fractured voice, and then leaned down and swept me up into his arms without warning, making me gasp in fright and grip his broad shoulders for dear life. — Shh… — came the immediate soothing whisper against my temple, warming my skin with his breath and making my lashes tremble and nearly fall closed in obedience to that soft command — which was followed at once by another: — You shouldn't have gotten up. It's far too soon for that — you have about as much strength right now as a newborn kitten. Hold on to me. I'll carry you back to your room. And I'll make certain you don't leave it again without my knowledge until you're feeling better. And without waiting for my agreement, the handsome brunette set off with quiet confidence in the direction from which I had come. A hundred questions were still ringing through my head — questions that urgently needed asking, and as soon as possible — but… finding myself in the firm arms of this (un)familiar beautiful stranger, I felt my eyelids begin to grow heavy again, as though a single soft *shh* from him was enough to calm every storm in my thoroughly bewildered soul. But one thing I knew with absolute certainty, though I couldn't have said how: this boy with the gentle eyes… would never hurt me. *** He carried me as though I weighed nothing — one arm beneath my knees, the other warm and steady at my back — and I was acutely aware of every point of contact between us, of the faint scent that clung to him: dark forests and night air and something else entirely, something that had no name but felt like the oldest memory in the world. I watched his face while he walked. His jaw was set, his expression carefully blank, but his eyes — those impossible, star-filled eyes — betrayed him. Something in them was raw and barely contained, some emotion vast enough that even a mask as practiced as his couldn't quite extinguish it. — You're staring, — he said quietly, without looking down. — You're carrying me, — I pointed out. — There isn't much else to look at. The corner of his mouth moved. Not quite a smile. Almost. — How does your head feel? — Like something hit it very hard. — Something did. I absorbed this in silence for a moment. — A car, — I said. It wasn't a question — the memory surfaced slowly, the way things do when the mind has been protecting you from them: the screech of tires, the blinding flash, the dark. — Yes. — And then I was… somewhere else. Somewhere dark. And you were there. He said nothing, but his arms tightened around me almost imperceptibly. — That was real, wasn't it? — I whispered. — It wasn't a dream. He looked down at me then, and for just a moment the mask slipped — and what lay beneath it was something so unguarded and so full of feeling that my breath caught. — It was real, — he said softly. — All of it was real. I wanted to ask more — I had a thousand things to ask — but we had reached the bedroom door, and he pushed it open with his shoulder and carried me inside, setting me down on the bed with a gentleness so careful, so deliberate, that something deep in my chest ached with the inexplicable sense of recognition. He straightened, then — and the mask was back, smooth and perfect. But his hand lingered for just a moment on the cover beside mine. — Rest, — he said quietly. — Everything else can wait. — Can it? — I asked, and met his eyes. Something flickered in them. — No, — he admitted at last, barely audibly. — But rest first. Please. And because there was something in the way he said please — something worn thin with exhaustion and old grief and what sounded very much like relief — I let my eyes close. Just for now. Just for a little while.