Duskwood Legends [English Version]

Following his tracks.

"Stay here ... please..."

I turn around trembling and holding my breath. I lower my gaze to him: his face is so beautiful, barely illuminated by the light of the moon and the street lamps, coming in through the cracks in the shutters.

The rest of the room is completely dark. The rest of the house is completely silent.

His black hair is mussed on the pillow, pitch black, in contrast to the ivory pillowcase.

I'd like to caress them.

His eyes lit up by the dawn are like a magnet, from which I cannot look away. His hand on my wrist is not overbearing. It's a delicate, gentle, light grip.

I turn back, moving closer to the bed. I don't answer, simply i lift the covers and i lie down beside him. I rest my head on his own pillow, sharing it with him.

My face turned towards his.

Our gazes getting lost in each other's eyes.

He rests a hand on my hip, sliding it forward and locking onto the end of my back. He pulls me towards him, only to let his head rest in the hollow between my chin and my chest. He stays there, simply hugging me tightly.

His breath tickles my skin.

I slide a hand forward along the sheet, stopping it at his bare hip. I caress it, moving my fingers along the Nymos inscription.

How much I owe to this tattoo.

I move my hand gently down his back, brushing against his shoulder blades.

His skin is so warm.

So hot.

"You're all flushed... " Levering on my elbow, I raise my upper body slightly. I retract my hand from under his pajama shirt, bringing it over the covers to brush his hair away from in front of his face. I lean over him, bringing my lips to his forehead.

"Jake, you have a fever..." I whisper, looking up into his face: Eyes closed, features relaxed, deep and regular breath.

He's fallen asleep.

In fact, he literally collapsed.

Sleep well Jake, you've more than earned it. You can finally get your energy back and get yourself together, without having to worry about my safety anymore.

I smile and lie down, resting my head back on the pillow, in a position where I can look him in the face. His hand is still around my back, holding me close to him. His leg, slightly bent, is resting on top of mine. He holds me still and pinned, unable to leave.

And I don't dare to move, for fear of waking him up.

Just a few centimeters away, I can finally look at him closely, without intimidating him or seeming indiscreet. I only now notice the slightly visible freckles on his cheeks, just below his eyes. They appear more pronounced on the back of his nose and gradually fade at the tip, slightly upwards, French-style nose.

I shift my gaze to his lips, which are thin and little chapped from the cold.

But still, they're soft...

I stroke his hair, moving it gently to the side, still uncovering his forehead. It's long, or rather, medium length. Nothing like Phil's, it just looks like he hasn't cut it for a couple of months.

Actually, I don't think the barber shop was one of his priorities during his escape.

I giggle silently at the thought.

I tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, revealing a piercing on his lobe, made of black metal.

It must be his favorite colour, black.
I wonder if he has any clothing that isn't that colour.