Time Slip

Sweet Dreams

Chai holds you as tight as he can, a soft murmur of your name against your chest. His body lays limp on top of you, metal fingertips upon your stomach. His touch is like a glacier resting on your skin, thawing with the warmth that is your body under the blanket the two of you share. You return by threading your fingers through his chestnut strands, tugging ever so gently on the knots he never combs out. He calls your name once more as his cheek presses further against your abdomen; he drools, but insists otherwise when the proof is nothing tangible. A twitch of his hand and you are called with urgency, and your response is a hum that coalesces with white noise. The walls seem to grow in length as your eyes remain on the ceiling, sun catchers glistening with the streetlight outside.

"Babe..." He nuzzles against you, one of his legs thrown over yours. "Stay... stay behind me..."

Another one of his dreams again... nightmares, more like it. You figure his past wasn't favorable, considering his best friend peeks her head out of her living space to eye at your attempts for flirting. The times you meant to inquire about the source of his right arm, she raises an eyebrow and shakes her head as if to say: don't . Peppermint seems to be the better suited of the two of you to handle Chai, and yet she really, really likes when Chai decides to stay the night. Korsica, he tells you in passing, is testing the waters with the Vandelay sister and cannot take her seriously when the wannabe rockstar is jamming out in his room and blasting songs he relates to no one but you. He nods a convinced nod and affirms this with a, "I think Korsica's jealous that we're past the talking stage and they are not!"

Their romance was but a rosebud, beginning to blossom through shared trauma and the desire for what's right in the world. Perhaps not all will be lost to you, clues found in various sources like scattered newspapers and perks of being the girlfriend to the campus hero. His portrait is the first to pop up inside a device gifted to you to enhance your communication skills, cell phone in one hand with the pointer finger of the other scrolling up or down to read... Wikipedia? Chai's Wikipedia? It is all so simple, to have access to all of the information needed on one page, to be able to know more of Chai than Chai knows himself. However, like Peppermint once said: you don't even know the half of it.

Yes, you're very much out of the loop; months following your meeting and you're quick to notice how passersby stop and stare, and how they raise their thumb, pointer finger, and pinky in solidarity to the defect turned savior of Vandelay Technologies. You are beside him as the off-tune and off the beat component of a life that snaps to his own rhythm whether you like it or not. Still, you can't help but smile when his heart beats under your fingertips, the cuts to different genres on different radio stations becoming a tune worthy enough of a song. If you rile him enough, if you excite him well enough, you pass by sunflowers in the windows of your shop that sway and follow his movements. It's as if he's pulling a rabbit from a hat before your eyes; he is magic itself, so much so that Chai is lightyears ahead of you that you can't ever catch up.

The jolt from his slumber pulls the sheets off your bed, you from near unconsciousness. He awakes with a snort, hands untangling from your waist to grip at your shoulders, and his exhales grow hurried and unrelenting. Droplets drip down his forehead, past eyes wide but not wet with tears. A wince is what draws you closer to him, your palm atop his as he gasps for air. His grip is as strong as black and blue hues, and you blink until you have returned from another plane of existence. He shrinks under your gaze, his chest nonetheless expanding with every long and drawn out exhale of his. Your own deflates with the burden of the unknown, sinking as long as you continue to lose him, but your hand is held out to him through exhales that level his breathing to your own.

"Jeez, Chai," you begin, shaking your head, "you alright, babe?"

"Wow, that—" He pauses to retract his hand, too swift for you to reach out to him. His shoulders stiff, he twiddles his thumbs, callouses from his guitar under his scrutiny. "Crazy dream, that's all!" The blanket then falls from his body, clawing at what contact is left behind as he is missed. "Totally did not mean to scare you like that... that definitely won't happen again!"

Your attempts to close the distance is met with a cold shoulder, his arms wrapped around himself with an " I'm fine, " to strengthen the divide. His back is to you, downcast eyes behind the shadows that creep up to him, too much to be said or understood. That is when you've lost, becoming another reminder that you're the one left behind. You frown, observing his preference to fiddle at the t-shirt that makes him less of a defect, instead of sharing the vulnerability that draws him closer to humanity. With a step backwards, you fall against the bed, the springs underneath a screech to the lack of communication the two of you share. A silence so cold, so biting, the spinning of the Earth's axis becomes an echo; the breeze prods at your curtains as proof, past your eyelids as they threaten to grow wet with your tears.

Chai is without words, far from grasping a hint of apologies. He cannot even begin to explain the self-loathing, the insecurities, the thought of losing you becoming quite the burden to bear. He finds his spot beside you on the bed, shoulders yet brushing against yours, and his hands find his knees as he paws at the pills of his cotton pajama pants. His breath escapes his lips, erratic and scarce of peace, his body cold without your warmth to linger upon his own. Not a minute later are you wrapped up in his embrace, his head resting atop your shoulder as he relaxes his eyes and basks in the moment. You're okay. You're still here.