I laid awake that night. I'd hardly consumed anything besides a few sips of water, and even that had drained the energy from my body. But sleep never gifted me with its forgetfulness of reality. The room was utterly darkened—I'd shut off the main light and stifled the lamp, and not even a wisp of moonlight gleamed through the thin curtains shuffling over the balcony doors. I hadn't changed out of Chrollo's t-shirt and the lacy underwear from the other evening, apart from slipping on a pair of his sweatpants, but even though his blankets were all piled on top of me, my body was freezing, rigid goosebumps prickling my skin and leaving me more exhausted than before. Still, sleep never came.
His absence was everywhere. The sheer length of his departure was a weight which forced me into a numbness unfit for words. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so terrible if I had never met Kurapika, and didn't have such conflicting feelings regarding him and every threat he posed, but it was too late to indulge in wishful thinking. Physically, it was too late to indulge in any kind of accusatory thinking—I could only truly feel the emptiness of the bed I rested in, the way tumbling currents of lonely wine washed over each of my surroundings and left them dull, vacant, uninhabited.
If I had thought I'd yearned for his presence once before, when he'd left for only ten days, I had been sorely mistaken. There was no adequate method of describing how my body ached for his touch, for his reassurance. But all that was left of him seemed to be a shadowed brush of his lips against my forehead, his fingertips beneath my chin, and a last, fading glimpse into his ethereal eyes, sensations I would be without for sixty dragging days. Even his soothing voice would be enough, if just for the moment, but he hadn't called, or responded to my message—I knew from what he'd previously told me that such was the case due to spots with no service, and that he would reply as soon as he could, but it still hurt.
Everything hurts.
Perhaps, in the back of my mind, I was afraid to fall asleep. Without any comfort from Chrollo, comfort I'd become so accustomed to and so expectant of, I feared the nightmares would be wayward again, especially after loosening the unconscious grip I held my emotions with, and releasing those terrifying feelings one at a time. Surely they would come back to destroy me in even slumber, and this time, I would have no arms to run to, no safe place to drown such fright in. At this point, I wasn't certain that sleep would be its usual forgetfulness, not that it necessarily mattered. Either way, I couldn't drift off, once more despite the exhaustion in my body.
My eyes felt stuck open drearily, as if closing them would only serve as more effort expended, and I stared expressionlessly at the occasionally flowing gossamer curtains, hardly able to make out their minuscule movements in the darkness. It was raining outside, gentle taps hitting up against the glass of the balcony doors and the roof and settling down on the dismal grounds beyond the house. I'd never before experienced a rain quite like this, metaphorically as well as literally—it was mourning, as though the sky was releasing the tears I could no longer shed from soft, lazy clouds, unperturbed by violence or hastiness. In simple terms, the sky seemed sad. I'd only ever known torrential rains or thunderstorms, earthshaking and exposing to a young woman escaping hell without shelter or guidance. How fitting it was that such a despondent downpour would visit me in a moment like the present.
Another shiver wracked my form, and I balled tighter under the heavy blankets, waiting for the clock to tick on into morning. Or, in technical terms, it could've been morning—it felt as though I'd been lying there for days, but I knew it had only been several hours. My gaze traveled to the velvet chair I'd brought in before the rains began, lingering on what I could visually decipher of the ash tray and remembering the countless evenings I'd spent on Chrollo's lap, listening to him speak quietly about the Troupe or philosophy or the sweet little complements he always attributed to me while he drew every so-often from an expensive cigar. I'd never taken any of it for granted; moments with him were only spent with full attention, unless I was too weary to keep up proper attentiveness. But he knew when I was overcome with tiredness, and encouraged me to rest my eyes, promising that he would continue talking if it helped me fall asleep.
YOU ARE READING
Lucilfer (ChrolloxReader)
Fanfiction*ChrolloxFemReader* (Y/n) is a powerful exorcist, running from a fate bestowed upon her since childhood. She isn't looking for anything besides a way out, even if death becomes the answer. She comes into contact with Chrollo Lucilfer, a man who's N...
