Call On Me;; Sanha x Reader (Fluff)

Call On Me

    The list just grows.

• Wash the dishes

• Prepare lunch

• Make the bed

• Laundry

• Prepare dinner

• Prepare a meal

• Clean anything

• Just do something

When you cross off the basics, they just reappear in a few hours. You brush your teeth and wash your face in the morning only to have to repeat the process in a blink of the eye. If you manage to do one of your tasks, three take its place. The day ends only for the tasks to overflow to the next.

The listlessness just grows.

Day in and day out, you watch the sun rise and fall. From your window seat, you watch a whole day pass in seconds. Time seems to have abandoned you. There's no other explanation. How else could the stars greet you after a mere blink only for the sun to reappear once you yawn? In this cold, dreary room, the passage of time flows against you.

And so you sit at your desk by the window with your list of tasks and you watch the world pass you by.

Far away, almost as if smothered by the frigidity of your room, you hear the sound of your front door open and close. Keys jangle before being pocketed. Shoes clamour as they are kicked off. The distinct hum of a zipper and the subsequent squeak of the chair that threatens to topple from the weight of the jacket thrown upon it breaks through the silence of your empty home. A low droning follows. It floats outward from the kitchen as your refrigerator kicks into gear, perhaps shocked into overdrive by sudden use after such a long spell of inactivity. The hiss of a soda pop bottle opening follows.

Each and every sound is indicative of life.

Though your eyes remain on the sidewalk and the flowers drawn in chalk upon it, you tilt your head to the side and listen. Gliding in through the stagnant air, the notes collide into a nostalgic melody. It's such a simple tune and yet you had forgotten it.

You've forgotten many things lately.

Moments pass by in a blur only to disappear before you have a chance to seize them. The still lake that once stowed your memories has become a bog that continues to grow deeper and darker. It consumes what you once knew until all that is left is the nothingness of the present.

And yet, through the crack beneath your ten foot tall door and the barricade it presents, the melody calls to you.

It's the song of life: vibrant, energetic and bright.

It's the song of Sanha.

There's a skip in his step as he approaches your bedroom. He pauses. His knuckles rap against the door in quick succession. He pauses. There's a tinge of concern in his voice when he calls your name. He pauses. Worry bleeds into his tone as he knocks and calls again. His voice is much louder the third time and the urgency behind his words almost strikes a chord within you.

The knob turns with a sigh and the hinges creak but before the door can open far, you force out a reply.

"Please go away."

While it doesn't open any further, the door doesn't close either. Sanha shifts his weight from side to side. It's not that you can see him, but rather you can hear the floorboards groan beneath him.