In Too Deep (Dancing With The Shadows)

nine

Sheets rustle and the mattress groans the slightest bit with every toss and turn.

The moon is evidently bright outside, a clear night where the rays break through the gap in the curtains causing a stripe down the windowsill and across the floor.

Clifford's dreaming state makes the bed shift, his limbs jolting with a dream no man is ever understood within dogs.

Louis is tossing and turning, his body aching with the need of sleep but his head fully alert and flitting with more and more thoughts and images and memories that keep him awake. He's tried to fall asleep, is trying but no matter how many times he's able to find a small piece of peace within his brain, it turns on him and he's being consumed with more negative thoughts.

He squints his eyes shut, hoping they'll feel too heavy and consume him into sleep land. But they're light, fluttering with his eyeballs that continue to move around as if they're seeking some sort of positive outcome.

He groans loudly, slamming his fists frustratingly into the mattress, eyes peeling open easily. He stares at the dark ceiling before turning over and checking his phone. The bright light stings his sensitive eyes, a few tears springing to them before they subside just as quickly.

02:03

For God's sake!

He can't lay here like this, it's going to consume him if he doesn't move. His legs itch with the need to just run, run far away from all his problems and leave reality behind.

He grabs his duvet and wraps it around his small frame before standing, grabbing a few blankets from his wardrobe and his pillow. Clifford wakes up with the movement, following Louis with his eyes.

"You stay there, lad," Louis bumbles, pecking him on the nose. "I won't be too long."

He leaves the room with Clifford watching him go. He treds quietly down the stairs and makes it to the boot room door, opening it slightly and the alarm is loud. He winces at the sound, but nothing in the house unsettles. He closes the door gently behind him, shoves his feet inside some sliders and unlocks the back door, walking out into the night.

It's barmy, not too cold but not too hot that the duvet wouldn't be pleasant wrapped around him. He hears a screech owl and watches a bat whizz past.

The automatic light switches on with his movements, lighting up his path before him. He rounds around Orchard Cottage and toward the orchard itself.

He sees the trampoline beckoning him in. He takes his time to walk over there, dew tickling his ankles from where they're exposed from his cotton shorts he's worn for bed.

The trampoline springs groan in protest when he hops up onto it after kicking his shoes off. He arranges the blankets onto the damp trampoline, laying atop of them afterwards, looking up to the stars ahead.

They twinkle and wink, inviting him in with just a glance. The moon is half bright, the other covered in the shadows from where the sun hasn't made its course.

He breathes in the fresh night, letting the breath out slowly. He tightens the duvet further up his neck when he hears the high pitch buzz of a mosquito nearby.

His neck hairs stand up on end when he hears light footsteps padding their way over toward him. He doesn't go to check who it is. There's only three possibilities who it could be.

First being Peter but he would never wake up to the back door alarm because his bedroom is on the other end of the house so he's peaceful.

Second would be Harry which he wouldn't particularly hate to be because, well, it's Harry.