Under the thick comforter, Blaine tried to find some peace as he lay awake in bed. If it weren't for the thoughts of his statue crumbled to the floor and a naked angel right outside in the living room all swirling in his head, he would be able to fully fall asleep.

There was no way that happened, right? There's not an angel with black wings and a sexy body out there. In the morning, he would find out Lynsael had been just a dream, the statue would be fixed, and that light he'd installed would be shining down on it, displaying its beauty just as he intended. But what a strange and, even somewhat, pleasant dream.

He tempted himself with the thought of wandering into the living room to see if the creature was still there. Maybe he'd touch Lynsael, pet the side of his long locks, and glide his fingers against the angel's chest to check for a heart beat. He'd have to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

A yawn escaped his lips and he settled his head into the pillow. He had to try to get to sleep. As he stretched his legs against the soft mattress, his feet hit something warm and firm at the edge of the bed.

His head popped up. A shadowed silhouette lay with his knees tucked under him at Blaine's feet. The body was warm, and he could make out two wings extended high above the bed.

“What the...” Blaine sat up.

Lynsael rolled, his legs falling off the edge of the bed.

“What the hell?” Blaine grumbled.

Lynsael bounced up to his hands and knees on the foot of the bed. “There's that awful word again, Blaine. Must you use such obscenities?”

“I'll tell you what's obscene, it's you barging in here uninvited.”

“But I couldn't sleep on the couch, there's not enough room to spread my wings.” Lynsael stuck out his lower lip in a pout.

Blaine kicked the creature in the leg, threatening to push him out of bed.

“Don't be so mean. Isn't the bed big enough for both of us?”

“No. Sleep on the floor if you have to.”

“But it's too hard,” Lynsael murmured.

“You can't sleep here,” Blaine said, still kicking until Lynsael's legs slid off the bed and he had no choice but to stagger back.

“I won't cause you any problems, I promise. Please?” Lynsael knelt back on the bed, and began to crawl up the empty side.

In protest, Blaine pulled back the blankets from the side of the bed. He wasn't going to let Lynsael steal his comforter too, but when Lynsael flattened himself out on his stomach and laid his head down without another peep, Blaine's anger softened.

Lynsael's wings spread wide, the right one stretched the width of the bed and curled on the floor, while his left wing arched down away from where Blaine was laying. His legs trembled with the cold, the spasm working up into his naked ass.

Blaine drew in a heavy sigh, and then tossed the blankets across Lynsael's legs, covering him to his lower back. Afterwards, he laid back down in defeat.

“Thank you,” Lynsael whispered.

Whatever. Blaine curled on his right side and attempted to close his eyes. Minutes passed by; the bed dipped next to him as Lynsael tried to get comfortable. With the warmth of Lynsael's body next to Blaine, and the steady exhale of breath from Lynsael's lips, reality had begun to set in. Lynsael was very real.

“Blaine?”

“What?” Blaine sighed, knowing damn well he wasn't going to get a wink of sleep if this continued.

The bed shifted next to him. “Tell me what happened when you turned eight.”

Blaine turned to his back, Lynsael's black feathers tickled under his nose. He bounced up and pushed the wing away. “Please, stay on your side.”

“Sorry,” Lynsael said, and his wing bent to stretch across Blaine's legs.

Blaine crashed back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “Why do you want to know?”

“It's my job. A guardian should know what happened to his ward,” Lynsael said.

Another exasperated sigh escaped Blaine's lips. He turned to his left side to take in Lynsael's eyes which appeared black in the shadows. “I don't really...” It was hard to come to terms with a past he'd been trying to forget himself. “That was sixteen years ago.”

“I'm sorry to ask...” Lynsael's voice faltered.

Blaine swallowed, he supposed he could try to recall his past for Lynsael, if it would shut him up. “Well, my father died and my mother remarried a year later to some jerkoff.”

“It was cancer, wasn't it?” Lynsael breathed.

Blaine blinked in subtle response. “How did you--? Right. You know all that... He never told any of us; he just let it go like it was no big deal.”

“He didn't want to worry you,” Lynsael interrupted.

Blaine felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. “But why? He could have been saved if he just went through with the treatment.”

“Because the bills were too expensive and he didn't want that burden on you.”

“Now I wish I didn't know,” Blaine whispered. For years, he'd wondered why his father kept his cancer a secret.

Lynsael silenced a moment. He twitched; his wing ruffled and fell flat across Blaine's side, embracing him as if Lynsael was trying to console him. “What else happened?”

“Too much... I don't want to talk about it anymore,” Blaine huffed, flipped to his back and closed his tired eyes.

“I'm sorry. I’d just like to know.”

“Yeah, well, after that my life just went to... hell.” He waited for Lynsael to digress his use of that word, but when nothing came, Blaine sighed, partly in relief and partly in sorrow.

Everything that had happened to him after his father's death was always a bit of bad luck. But he didn't have time to dwell about the past, for it seemingly was left there to haunt him. He had the future to look forward to. Moreover, the fact that his career, his band's career, would get a fitting start at Club Voodoo meant he could turn his piss poor luck around.

As Blaine closed his eyes, the bed rocked, blankets pulled tight between him and Lynsael. That was going to get on his nerves, but he decided against jumping up and letting it be known. Instead, he laid still and tried to rest.

“Goodnight,” Lynsael's voice came from behind.

“Night.”