Nightmares (Enorace Fluff)

Chapter 4

Enoch avoided Horace for the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon, hiding away in the basement. He would have stayed there all day if Bronwyn hadn't marched in and pulled him out by his collar.

"What the hell?! Let go of me you oaf!" he flailed against her.

"You're going to apologise to Olive for calling her a brat," Bronwyn insisted, dragging him into the living room where the other peculiars were sitting. They made loud, false conversation or held up books, pretending not to listen, but were all secretly watching the Enoch-Bronwyn showdown that was unfolding. Olive stood in the centre of the room, her arms crossed and her mouth in an exaggerated pout. Bronwyn released Enoch but blocked his path when he tried to run away.

"Right. Now, apologise," Bronwyn said, nodding towards Olive.

"No," Enoch said flatly. "Now, would you please move so I can go back to my solitude?"

"Absolutely," Bronwyn replied. "Once you apologise."

Enoch sighed.

"Fine. I'm sorry," he said, and Bronwyn smiled. "I'm sorry you're a little tattletale!"

Bronwyn's smiled died.

"Now you're apologising for two things," she said, grabbing him as he tried to make another run for it. The peculiars were openly watching now, snickering. "Quickly please!" Bronwyn raised an eyebrow expectantly. Enoch let out a loud, long-suffering groan.

"Fine! Olive I'm sorry I called you a brat and a tattletale. Happy?"

The peculiars broke into mock-applause and Hugh cheered him. Enoch scowled.

"I hate you all!" he whined, marching off.

...

As soon as dinner was over, Enoch headed straight for his room, collapsing onto his bed.

"Please please please," he muttered to his brain. "Would you just sleep?"

He could practically hear it laughing at him.

He lay with his eyes closed for the next few hours, drifting off, then waking up again every five minutes. He wanted to cry.

Someone else began to do it for him.

Enoch recognised the start of one Horace's nightmares immediately. He could hear the quiet crying and mumbling through the wall already, and he opened his eyes.

Waking up Horace seemed like a better use of Enoch's time than battling his sleep-deprived brain, so he climbed from the bed and padded over to the other boy's door. Horace had just begun to writhe and cry out when he reached him. Enoch sat on his bed without hesitation this time and shook him gently as Horace began to yell and sob. He clawed at the air, grabbing at Enoch's arms.

"Hey, hey stop. Wake up," Enoch was surprised by the gentleness in his voice. Hot shame built up in his throat, and he had the urge to shake Horace harder and yell at him to make up for it, but he didn't. Instead, he kept talking gently until Horace's eyes opened and he sat up, tears streaming down his pale face. Enoch hesitated slightly, then wrapped the boy in a hug as he sobbed against him, and Enoch was beginning to like the adrenaline rush it gave him. He was almost disappointed when Horace pulled away, sniffing and wiping at streaming tears with his hands. His hair fell into his face in a ruffled mess. Against his better judgement, Enoch reached forward and brushed aside a lock that had stuck to Horace's quivering lips, then got up from the bed and passed him a handful of tissues. Once he'd cleaned himself up, Horace watched him with a strange but unreadable expression that made Enoch feel like he could see right through him. He shifted uncomfortably.