Part Ten

Oren sat up with a jolt, eyes wide and body cold as he realized he wasn't in a bed anymore. He remembered falling asleep next to Clayton during a rough storm. Instead of cushion, he found himself to be sitting in a field of black grass. When he tried to stand up, he couldn't move, as if he were glued in place. Then, a voice pierced the frightening silence.

"Oakley, there you are." Oakley..?

"What is it? I just wanna see the stars." a child-like voice erupted from his mouth. He tried to close his mouth and find an escape from this place, but it wasn't to avail. The field cleared and there stood a figure, looking to be about the age of nine. Silver hair lain fluffy over the boy's forehead as dull green eyes stared back at him. His pointed ears twitched downwards, eyes rolling as he scowled.

"Okay, and the others are waiting for you. Come on, little bro. It's late."

Oren stuck his tongue out at the boy, but soon stood from the ground and followed the boy to where-ever they were going. Oren couldn't control his actions. It was like watching a movie, only through someone else's eyes.

When they reached their destination, Oren was brought to a small shack, sitting in the blatant middle of nowhere. The wooden structure was marred to all hell and it looked like a giant had sat on the roof, for it sagged terribly.

The windows were gaping holes for the wind to rush in and out of and the door hung on it's hinges at a jaunty angle. It was a rotting heap, bowing down, subservient to the elements that whipped it. What could be so important about this hunk of soggy wood?

Oren simply approached it, whilst internally he was freaking out, trying to back away from the building. "Let's go to bed, Oakley. Don't keep them waiting." The silver-haired boy said, stepping forward and dragging Oren closer by the wrist.

»»---------««

The elf woke to a dampened voice ringing in his ears. As he slowly blinked, the voice cleared and he recognized it to be Clayton's. "Oren, come on wake up." His voice sounded impatient with a tinge of concern burying beneath the layers. Slowly and reluctantly, Oren blinked, closed his eyes, and blinked again. Streaks of morning sunlight trickled in through the window and nearly blinded the poor thing. As he inclined to sit up, he was stopped by a hand pressing to his chest.

"You have a wash cloth on your forehead. I know it might feel weird, but it's wearing your fever down." Clayton told him, now bringing his other arm over to adjust the cool fabric that was folded against Oren's forehead. It made his hair cold and wet, which he didn't like what-so-ever. He groaned, an itchy feeling welling up at the back of his throat. He threw an arm over his face and coughed.

"Oh right. Hold on, I'll get you water." Clayton quickly stood up and turned around to leave when Oren shot a hand out and closed it around his. The human whirled back around, wide-eyed.

"You don't have to." Oren croaked in response, his hand now beginning to burn as his fingers faltered in a tremor. As soon at the elf saw what caused the burn, he tried to jerk his hand away from the other's... Thin violet vines crawled in spirals around Clayton's wrist, slithering up his shirt sleeve with small leaves placed at the sides of the vine.

"W-What the fuck?! Oren!" Clayton squabbled, trying to pull his hand away from the elf's loose grip. The elf whimpered as the vine slowly unraveled from the hand, seeming stubborn. Clayton leaned over and grabbed a pair of scissors from his nightstand and opened the blades, making Oren shriek.

"No! No, Clayton don't-- please, I'll-I'll--" he panicked, trying with all his might to pry the plant away without hurting himself. Disregarding his pleads, Clayton placed the blades against the vine and--

Snip.

A shock of pain ran up Oren's arm, causing him to yank his hand back with a cry. Clayton wiggled his hand, looking at his wrist with a raised brow. The throbbing pain lingered there for a moment, causing Oren to jolt and squeeze his hand tightly. It was a hot kind of pain; a scorching sensation eating at flesh.

It was making his blood boil and it didn't feel healthy at all. With a groan, he dove under the bed and hid as Clayton stood there, baffled. The human didn't know it would be that painful; he didn't even know what he was doing until he cut the vine free from his wrist.

He knelt down, placing the scissors aside as he pulled the covers away from the elf. Oren was there, huddled in a little ball as his thumb rubbed the palm of the hurting hand. Clayton leaned forward and hesitantly wrapped his arms around the boy's shoulders, their faces inches apart before he turned his head and buried it into the crook of Oren's neck.

There was something so warm, something that felt right, when cradling another person in one's arms. Instantly, Oren let his body sink, muscles becoming loose as he returned the hug. Perhaps this comforting warmth had been there all along, but without some love it was trapped, like crystals etched into a stone. In no time, Clayton was brushing the elf's hair back, with nimble fingers raking gentle paths through short strands of white.

Oren sagged into the body, mind letting loose as he melded into the other boy's figure. Drowning himself in the moment, Oren was unable to realize that Clayton was speaking to him. He blinked.

"--so sorry. I didn't know it would hurt you. How... How can you do that, anyway?"

"Do what?" he replied, chin resting over Clayton's shoulder. With a hesitant pause, Clayton grabbed the hem at the back of Oren's shirt and began to fiddle with the fabric.

"The plant thingy."

Oh. Oren couldn't explain it without going into detail, so he shrugged as his hands traveled over to the soft hair of Clayton's. His fingers strung the blond locks, reveling in the scent. Soon, he felt his palms prickle, as if pins threaded his skin. So he pulled his head away, hand dragging to the sides of Clayton's biceps. He felt the fabric of Clayton's shirt pull towards his palm and he was too late to realize there were dog-strangling vines hooking onto whatever they could.

(Author's Note: If you didn't know, the vine type is literally called "dog-strangling" so I didn't mean they could strangle a dog lol.)

Clayton looked over his left shoulder, hands slipping from Oren to feel the vine crawling up his arm. With an addled expression, Clayton raised a brow and chuckled. In response, Oren looked away, eyebrows drawn and pink lips held between white teeth.

"I'm sorry.. I can't control it." Oren muttered, eyes downcast and shimmering in what seemed to be shame. The human caught onto his note, and pressed a hand to his shoulder, rubbing gently as to soothe the elf's insecurities.

"It's okay. I'll get used to it."

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Thanks for reading Part Ten!