FicWad

On the nights I stayed at home he would always sneak under my blanket, close to my chest. He would wait until I'd gone to my bed, made it warm, and then he would come pattering with light bare feet over the cold floor, the Persian carpet, and climb up into the bed without a word. I would close my arms around him, feeling his hair tickling the skin under my chin as he buried his head on my chest, and he wouldn't object when I kissed his forhead goodnight. I knew there was nothing sexual whatsoever in this from his side because he couldn't feel any sexual urge at all. He would smile and whisper to me as if to sing me to sleep. He would tell me stories, what he felt, how it was like to be him, though he knew I wouldn't understand, because no one could understand.
His hair touched my nose, making me want to sneeze.
Then he would come to his senses again, like he often did, like a doll coming to life. He would clumsily place a kiss on my chin and rest his face against my bare chest again, his wet eyelashes tickling me.

He was standing barefoot in the kitchen when I woke up. Looking at the bubbling water pouring down in the coffeemaker, his head slightly tilted down revealing naked skin that wasn't covered by the shirt, skin that glowed in the sunlight falling in through the glass of the windows. "Morning!" He sounded happy.
I yawned, muttered a reply, and scratched my belly.
He smiled, taking out breakfast supplies from the fridge.
I continued looking at him as he slowly took out the butter and the cheese and milk for the cereals. He was usually quite slow in the morning, but in those mornings he wouldn't talk either. He hadn't slept at all, because his blood pressure wasn't low like it should be.
"Ayah..."
"Yes?" Still the same happy tone, as if this was a movie and we were one big happy family. Then his expression melted, turning into fear. Insecurity pulled a shadow over his face. "Can we...go out today...?"
"Go to bed," I told him. Not commanding, but not asking him either, simply telling him to go to bed, leaving no room for questions, begging or complains.
The anger made Ayah's cheeks flush, he gritted his teeth, not looking at me.
"No, you take your pills now and go to bed."
He said nothing, just slowly rose his head, his eyes wet as always. His frailty was killing me and I knew he was cursing himself, feeling insufficient, feeling he's not good enough.
Beautiful Ayah, made of finest crystal, crushed into nothingness. The image of his empty staring eyes forever burnt on my cornea, those eyes that looked through me, never at me. Those eyes which saw into another world, a world that scared me, a world he couldn't exit. Those eyes that would never see me, never understand anything in this world, no matter how much they sucked everything in.
He took his pills, walking past me and into the bedroom and flopping on the bed. He curled up on his side, forgetting the blanket. Sunshine hair brushing against the back of his naked pale neck, making my heart race. I bit my lip to resist. There were butterflies in my stomach like in some youth passion, and I felt foolish. I was too afraid to touch him, afraid to hurt him further, afraid to loose control, afraid to loose his blind trust in me. I didn't dare go pull that blanket on him. There was a hard pulse in my crotch and I felt the blood run through my veins. I hurried into the shower.