Dreams

•Fourteen•

     The way the veins in his hands pumped feverishly, his knuckles a ghostly white as he tightly kept his arms crossed, and most of his face hidden--except for his closed eyes, which were just visible beneath his mass of curls, and above his jacket flap--to me.

     It made me want to know what went on in his head.

     If he really was as arrogant as he came off to be.

     I'd never ask him, obviously. More than anything, it could cause severe issues. He'd probably shut down, or freeze up, or, cast my questions away, reminding me I was nothing than a silly girl.

      Looking to my lap, I played with my bracelet, sighing quietly, truly curious about this man, wishing I could understand him.

     After a solid ten minutes passed, as I mentally contemplated how to approach the brunette in the future hours, to hopefully help him ease his tension- I flipped my bangs out of my eyes, and let my eyesight fall upon the sleeping Bostonian.

     However, my heart nearly stopped beating out of fear, as the singer's eyes were wide open, his brows so deeply furrowed.

     He hadn't moved, I couldn't even tell if he was breathing, being as his chest wasn't rising nor falling.

      He looked absolutely petrified along with severely confused as he stared directly at me.

      His face still hidden, except for those big brown eyes.

     He looked like he just had a nightmare.

      Calvin spoke up quietly, a bit too excited that Steven was awake.

      "Hey! Hey, look, you got a Ma-rl-bo-ro," he sounded out the cigarette brand slowly, with minor stuttering, as he looked up from that damn magazine, to the frozen brunette. "-My pop would smoke those, you know, sometimes in the morning, and even after dinner," he continued babbling on.

      Steven's gaze flickered to Calvin, still wide as ever, and terrifying as it was from the start.

     He didn't respond to Calvin, before he looked back my way- and, all of a sudden, he looked so angry.

    As if, he wanted to lash out. I could see his jaw locking--causing his upper cheekbone, which was visible, to shift, which told me he was locking his jaw--and his knuckles cracked so loudly, I was frightened he'd hurt himself.

     As angry as he looked, the thin veins in his eyes became visible as his waterline became filled with tears.

      "Steven," I looked to him with genuine concern, my voice softer than silk with worry.

       Finally, he moved, and uncrossed his arms, to which, I could see he had pursed his mouth shut--yet, his bottom lip was quivering--and his left cheek was slightly hollowed, which I assumed he was biting on it.

      "Steven," I whispered again, "Honey, did you have a nightmare?"

           xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

     •Tom's P.O.V•

     Once I settled in my--well, Steven and I's--room, I rummaged through my luggage, tossing the few dirty articles of clothing I hadn't gotten washed at the last hotel.