Wandering Spirits

Chapter 16

The moon hung like a silver pendant in the quiet evening sky when Storm yawned and ran his hand through his tousled red hair. "Should we go to bed?" he asked, his eyes half-closed with fatigue.

Freja, who sat curled up in the corner of the couch with the animated movie dancing in the reflection of her deep brown eyes, nodded without taking her eyes off the screen. A smile line appeared in the corner of her mouth.

"Wait a bit before you go to the bathroom," he said and disappeared into his bedroom. He rummaged through the shopping bag from earlier on the day and pulled out a small, but meaningful gift. Back in the living room, he held it out to her: a toothbrush, along with a tube of toothpaste.

"Look here." He waved it as if it were a magic wand.

Freja's gaze slipped away from the TV and fixed on the shiny new toothbrush. A childlike joy spread across her face when she saw the color. "Turquoise," she exclaimed and eagerly reached for it. "My favorite color!"

With a bounce that could be envied by any kangaroo, she jumped up from the couch and landed lightly on her tiptoes. She held the toothbrush as if it were a precious treasure, and with a big smile that had rarely found its way to her lips, she happily bounced out to the bathroom.

Storm leaned against the door frame for a moment and watched her as she disappeared around the corner. There was something about her simple joy over a toothbrush that made his heart beat a little faster, as if he had just handed out a prize in a fateful lottery. He shook his head, partly at himself and partly at how easy it was to make her smile.

"Maybe I should start collecting toothbrushes," he muttered to himself, a crooked smile curling his lips. He knew it wasn't the toothbrush that was magical, but the small moment of shared humanity they had. And for a man like Storm, who often found himself wandering in the labyrinths of his thoughts, it was a nice reminder that sometimes it's the little things that matter the most.

Storm went with heavy steps to the bedroom after his evening routine; his heart was beating a little too fast. Freja was already under the duvet, her form soft and inviting against the sheets. Her eyes, big and brown, caught his in the dim light of the room.

"I... uh," he began, but the words seemed to disappear in the presence of her gaze.

He slowly lay down beside her, conscious of every smallest movement. Freja's breathing was calm, but as he got closer, she without hesitation snuggled into his arm. The warmth from her body seeped through the thin fabric of his nightshirt, and he could smell the scent of shampoo mixed with a hint of forest and fresh air.

Storm let his hand rest lightly around her, his fingers almost imperceptibly stroking the fabric. "This is not quite by the book," he thought as he looked down at the blonde head resting securely against his chest. She hid her face there, as if she could hide her entire self from the world around.

"Can't you say something nice to me?" the sound of her voice was so low that it could barely be called a whisper. He was seized by an unexpected emptiness in his stomach. The uncertainty in Freja's tone painted a picture of a girl carrying more than what the simple words could make up for.

"Of course," he replied, letting his fingers slowly glide through her hair. It was this simple question, so charged with the need for affirmation, that made him realize how deeply the scars of the past could run. He held her a little tighter, as if he could protect her from the shadows of a past she had not yet shared.

Storm felt the hesitant words weighing heavily on his tongue, but he had to say something. He wanted to be a source of comfort for her, to give her what she needed. So he began, the uncertainty in his voice with each compliment he gave, "You are kind," he started softly, and noticed how she moved closer to him.

"You are tough," he continued, and could feel how her posture stiffened slightly, as if the words gave her an inner strength.

"You are talented," he said, and a smile lit up his face as he thought about all the progress she had made since she entered his life.

"You make me happy," he added, and a warm light filled his eyes as he looked down at the blonde top of her head.

"And you are cute," he concluded, almost in a whisper, and felt something lift inside him by uttering these words.

At every word, she reacted as if she had just received a gift of great value. Her feet kicked under the duvet, a childlike joy radiated from her movements. She clung tighter to him, her hand gripping the fabric of his shirt with an intention as if she never wanted to let go.

"Freja?" Storm's voice gave way to a new layer of silence in the room. "What is it?"

"I... I have never been so happy before," she replied, and her voice carried a weight of honesty so pure and fragile that it made his heart skip a beat.

In that moment, Storm realized that his words could mean the whole world to someone like Freja. Her joy, so exquisite and vulnerable, was a reminder of the power of human connection, even in the small things. And he, with his tousled red hair and dreams of simple happiness, could give it to her, just by being there, by sharing his care and by giving her the words she needed to hear.

His heart beat in a pattern of restless care as he studied Freja's face, where she lay curled up in his arm. She looked peaceful, almost as if the waves of forgetfulness had washed over her previous sorrows. He felt a pang of regret at the thought of how little it took to fill her with joy, a thought that grew into determination.

"It's truly a shame," he said softly, more to himself than to her. "Because you deserve the very best." The words were a vow that lingered heavily in the emotional room, an unspoken promise to be a source of happiness in her life.

With soft and gentle movements, he stroked her hair back from her forehead, his finger movements as rhythmic as her breath. Storm listened to the steady in and out of her breathing, and felt how each gentle inhalation seemed to pull him deeper into a responsibility he didn't quite understand the extent of.

He lay awake for a long time after she had slipped into the realm of sleep. In the darkness, where time became invisible, he allowed himself to think about the future, about what it could hold of sorrows and joys. A smile played around the corners of his mouth at the thought of Freja's playful feet, a simple manifestation of pure happiness that he had witnessed just moments earlier.

So, with a caution, he lifted his phone gently from the nightstand. The screen illuminated his face in a blue glowing aura, revealing traces of worry hidden behind his clear blue eyes. Messages from friends flickered by, each of them a thread to a world outside of this small sacred space.

"I haven't been feeling well tonight," he typed, his fingers gliding over the touch screen. "I've slept away the whole evening. Don't worry anymore; I'm fine."

The words were a half-truth, for he was more than fine - he was in a place deep inside a feeling of purpose and presence.

The light from the mobile phone died out as Storm placed it back on the nightstand. He took a deep breath and looked down at Freja, who was already caught in the generous embrace of sleep. Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful pattern, and a loose lock of hair daringly lay across her forehead.

He couldn't help but wonder about the strength in the slender arms that had previously clung to him, about how much life and power could be hidden behind such seemingly fragile facades. For almost two days, she had been his unexpected house guest, and he had seen her transition from shy and cautious to this oasis of calm.

Storm reached a hand towards her self-cut blonde hair, but stopped halfway, afraid of disturbing her rest. He observed the small wrinkle between her brows. "What kind of nightmare have you escaped from, little friend?" he thought quietly.

The room was filled with silence, only broken by the steady sound of their shared breath. Storm gave in to the urge to make sure she was truly safe.

"I wish you could tell me," he muttered, his thoughts drifting back to the forest where he first found her, to what must have driven her to a life among the trees. It was obvious that Freja carried a story, a saga colored by more pain than anyone should endure.

He stared up at the ceiling, the dark surface now acting as a canvas for his thoughts. "Maybe it's here, right here next to you, that I will find my way," he whispered in the room's silence, allowing himself to smile at the thought.