“breathe it all out
as stardust
and art.”

When I woke up, I was almost on the floor--which wasn't really a surprise--and found myself grinning from ear to ear when I picked up my phone from the nightstand. I had a text.

Alas: thank you for last night.

Even Luce couldn't help and notice the way I was so less grumpy than usual this morning.

"Wow, you seem absurdly happy today," She commented before swallowing a spoonful of her cereal. "May I ask the cause? I'm curious."

I rolled my eyes and dropped the smile, though I still felt light and warm from the inside. "Nothing that should concern you, Luce."

"Ouch." She scrunched up her nose at me. "I thought we were close?"

"Are we?" I raised my brows and sat down on the couch, switching on the TV. "Oh my, it's a rerun of Sherlock. Guess who's skipping a day of volunteering?"

I saw her standing up from the kitchen stool. "You, of course."

I looked up at the TV screen with wide, excited eyes. "I actually really love this show."

"Isn't it surprising that I've heard you say this like a hundred times already?" She asked in what I assume was sarcasm.

I just grinned in response. My cheery mood must've been contagious because she picked up on it quickly.

"Whatever, Lia." She smiled before picking up her coat and shrugging it on. "I'm leaving. Make sure you eat something. And call me if you need me."

I nodded and waved her off. She was almost out of the front door when she stopped again, coming into view.

"Also, don't stay in front of the TV for too long. You know how--"

"God, are you my mum now or what?" I shouted exasperatedly.

She grinned. "That's the morning Lia I'm familiar with."

******

It was almost evening when I left the comforts of the couch and got out of the apartment. It took a lot of me to convince myself of how much time I was wasting, sitting inside the apartment when I was indeed on a vacation, and when I could be outside, enjoying the beautiful weather which was often very rare back at my hometown.

A casual stroll was what I opted to do, but then I found myself thinking about the leather journal Alastair gave me and whatever that I had read in it yesterday.

That's exactly why I went to the library and busied myself with one of the working computers. I could've done the same on my own laptop, but it was back at the apartment and I had promised myself to get out of there. So I chose the library computers. See? Progress.

Mrs. Hutchins was more than happy to see me since, once again, the library was mostly empty. She reassured me that not many people would be coming at this time and if they did, that'd be after an hour or two for the book club.

I think she had somehow figured out that I hated people. That was one of the many reasons why I loved Mrs. Hutchins.

Once I was alone with the web opened in front of me, I realized that I didn't really know what exactly I was here for. I started searching out random things then, all of which miraculously led to one thing; the incident back at the Hawthorne mansion.

To my surprise, loads of articles popped up. There were images too, but most of them were of the mansion, from the outside. It didn't really look like a mansion. It looked more like a Victorian castle from medieval times. Beautiful, yet what happened inside those huge walls was the opposite of it.

There were a few pictures of the crime scene, of the swimming pool. But it was just that. No blood, nothing that screamed murder. It was almost...too clean. Or maybe the pictures were taken after all the supposed evidence was removed. Who knows?

A heavy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach when I slowly realized how Alastair was directly involved with this. They were his parents. 

Where was he when this had happened? How old was he when this happened? 

I didn't even want to imagine what he must've had to go through. And even though he had already told me that he was never really close with his parents, it still didn't convince me how lightly he stated it. As if it truly didn't matter.

I backed out of the images and opened up one of the articles, leaning back in my chair and blowing out a strained sigh.

It was a little bothering that they didn't know who murdered Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne. And even more bothering to know how long they worked on this one case and still decided to shut it down even after all that effort, choosing to just let it go. How?

More importantly, why?

The sun gradually started setting as I stayed there, opening up article after article, my eyes darting across the same description of the murder scene, and the trashed Hawthorne mansion, and all the same, sad details.

It was the last article I clicked on that seemed to spark an interest within me.

Someone had questioned one of the people who worked in the mansion. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The questions were all intrusive. The answers were all clueless. That wasn't what caught my attention though. It was one of those same questions and its answer that made me frown in confusion.

"...Mr. Smith denied any close contact with Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne during the days before they were found murdered in the mansion. Upon asking about his close thoughts of the family, he said, 'they were already involved with too much. Too much like that ends up in death. We all knew that. They were good people--and God let them rest in peace--but not all good. They didn't treat their boys well. Those two boys were the nicest kids, but they were too young to be involved in shit that their parents...' Mr. Smith apparently stated mistaken information during the interview which was soon proved out to be wrong..."

I stopped and read the last few sentences again.

The Hawthornes had two kids? Alastair had a brother?

He never really mentioned anything about a brother.

Mrs. Hutchins came up to ask me if I wanted some tea, breaking me out of the mess of questions circling in my head. I realized then that I had been sitting there for hours, searching and searching and falling deeper into this...mystery.

While walking back to the apartment, I got a call from Maria.

"Hey," I answered as I continued walking down the street, looking up at the orange sky as the sun set down and darkened it all up.

"Lia." I couldn't help but notice the strangeness, almost a little fear in her voice.

"What's up?"

"I...I'm good." She rushed out and sighed. "Lia, do you by any chance happen to know where Al might be right now?"

The frown didn't leave my face as I stuffed my free hand in my pocket.

"Alastair?"

"Yeah."

"No," I murmured. "Why? Is something wrong?" I couldn't help but feel a little worried. Alastair hadn't sounded fine last night. But he did text me this morning.

"No, no, everything's fine." She sounded unsure. "I just...I just asked him to meet up with me, because we haven't had a proper conversation about things. I just wanted to, you know, catch up. He said he'd be there but he wasn't there outside the dormitory hall. I tried calling but he's not answering. He's not even in his dorm."

The more she talked, the more obvious it became to me how worried she actually was. It was slow but quite evident. It made me feel like I should be worried too. And just thinking about that twisted something in my gut, in a not-so-nice way.

"He probably just needed some time alone," I suggested as I neared the apartment, realizing that I was trying to convince myself just as much as I was trying to convince her.

"I know." I heard her sigh again. "I'm trying but...it's hard to not worry about him."

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying the obvious words. Yes, I know.

"So, yeah," She whispered after a while. "Let me know if he gets in touch with you, okay?"

"Sure," I murmured. "And...you let me know if he comes back too."

She hummed in agreement and I hung up.

When I got inside the apartment, I figured that Luce was still not back. The house was still empty, the empty that I truly hated after the sky went dark outside. I found myself recalling Maria's words and sat down on one of the kitchen stools, looking around the empty lounge. 

I had to always make sure the entire apartment was lit up whenever I was alone here at night. It creeped the fuck out of me sometimes to be alone here. New places did that to me and I was trying to get used to it.

With a sigh, I took out my phone and found myself scrolling through my contact list. And then I called Alastair.

It rang and rang and then it went to voicemail. Surprisingly, even that was full to leave a voicemail for him. I ended up texting him.

Me: hey, call me back when you see this.

And then I concluded that he probably won't even see this with the amount of missed calls and texts he'd had by now, judging by the full voicemail. I added in another text anyway,

Me: if you see this.

I wasted the next hour waiting for him to see my texts, or even call me back. He didn't, though. It worried me a little and I was still too caught up with all the stuff I had read back at the library. My mum always told me to not think too much over stuff that bothered me. Because that's exactly what'll happen then, she'd say. I still did it though.

When Luce came back from work, I was sprawled on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"Have you seriously been here all day?" She questioned as she took off her coat and hung it up on the stand beside the front door. She looked beaten up with exhaustion.

"No, dude." I rolled my eyes and stood up, dragging myself towards the kitchen stool again. "I'm hungry. Can we order some pizza?"

She shrugged and went into her room. I heard her muffled reply just a few seconds later, "Sure."

I ordered some pizza and it arrived after another hour.

"So," Luce started as I opened the pizza box and started stuffing myself with it. I moaned out loud and closed my eyes in pure pleasure, shrinking back against the couch and munching loudly. Luce surprisingly seemed used to it since she completely ignored me. Progress. 

"We're going to this art exhibition tomorrow evening. Actually, Jim invited me." She told me.

"What?" I opened my eyes and stared at her, chewing much more slowly now.

"You don't like art exhibitions?"

"No, no, that's cool!" I beamed at her, surprised that she agreed to go out with him after all. I knew Luce, and Jim had been right when he said that she rarely went out on dates. How did this happen then?

"I know." She smiled back and took another bite. "It's gonna be great. We can spend some time together too."

"We?" It was my turn to sound confused. "As in we we, or you both we?"

"You and I," she said. "Jim's gonna be there too."

I pushed my pizza aside. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?" I couldn't help but laugh out loud at that, genuinely. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nuh-uh, dude. I'm so not being a third wheel."

She frowned. "It's not a date, Lia. He knows I don't--" And then she stopped, her frown morphing into a look of surprise. "Oh."

I snorted out another laugh. "What?"

"He didn't say it was a date." She looked miserable. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh God, this is hilarious," I commented before picking up another pizza slice. "You're a weirdo. A weir-dough. See what I did there?"

She gave me a shove. "Hilarious, Lia."

I rolled down from the couch on the carpet and I was still laughing.

"Why didn't he say that he meant it as a date?" She was still frowning.

"Because he's a nice guy?"

"But he knows I don't do such things."

I got up from the carpet and leaned against the foot of the couch. "It's just a date, Luce. Lighten up. Besides, you clearly need some time off your work."

"But I thought you'd like to come with us," she said.

"No, thanks." I rolled my eyes with a grin. "I hate being the third wheel. You don't know how awkward it gets being the only person who can't feel the sexual tension. If you know what I mean."

She let out a grimace. "That was unnecessary."

"I think you should give him a chance. I mean it when I say he's nice." I told her truthfully.

I heard her mumble something incoherent under her breath.

Luce called it a night and retreated to her bed right after we had cleaned up the mess and washed the dishes. I retreated to my bedroom too, but didn't really sleep. 

Now that I really had nothing to distract myself from, I kept on thinking back to those images I had seen on the web and those articles. I kept on thinking about Alastair and how he still hadn't read my messages. Maria hadn't called me either.

I was clearly too occupied with my thoughts to sleep at that moment. So I picked up a novel I had borrowed from the library and curled up on my bed, letting the moonlight and my bedside lamp bask my entire room with a soft glow. 

Soon enough, I found myself indulged in the piece of fiction in my hands. Books always helped.

I don't know how long I read, but after a few hours my eyelids drooped shut and I fell asleep right there, curled up at one end of my bed with the opened book still clutched over my chest. 

I slept for a while, I think. All I remember was feeling cold, like really really cold. Almost as if someone had locked me inside a freezer compartment. Or like I was on top of one of those snowy mountains, the ones they showed on TV. It made me wake up with a sudden jerk and the book fell down from my hands.

I frowned at the cold sensation and rubbed my face, trying to adjust my eyes around the dark room at the same time. Then it slowly crossed my mind that I had most definitely not closed the bedside lamp. But it was switched off now. 

Maybe Luce came in when I was asleep.

That didn't explain the cold, though. And the chills I was getting. Even the windows were closed. My room had never felt this cold if the windows were properly shut.

My thoughts, however, diverted just as quickly when I saw my phone screen flashing. Someone was calling. I didn't even bother checking the name before answering,

"Alastair?"

Thank the Lord for saving me from the embarrassment at such an ungodly hour of the morning. 

"Hey." It was him, though I could hardly pinpoint the strangeness in his voice. "Can you come outside?"

"Outside?" I found myself repeating, blinking back the exhaustion. Then I squinted up at the wallclock. It was around 3 in the morning. And it didn't seem like I was dreaming.

"Yeah." His voice was quiet.

"It's like, the devil's hour right now, Alas." I found myself muttering. "You do know how creepy shit happens at this hour of the night, right?"

He was silent for a while, then I heard a soft, breathy laugh from his end. 

"No, I really don't. I don't even know what you just said. Can you...please just come outside?" The strangeness soon sounded like desperation and it seemed like he was trying so hard to hide it.

I frowned.

"Yeah. Okay. Sure." I found myself nodding and got up from the bed. "I'll be outside in a few minutes. Be right outside the apartment doors, okay?"

When I ended the call, I quickly got up from my bed and momentarily forgot about the strange cold sensation I had woken up to. 

Quickly walking out of my bedroom, I scanned the lounge and was glad that the kitchen lights were still on. As quietly as I could've, I opened the front door and crept outside. 

I was just in a hoodie and yellow printed pajama bottoms, and it felt really cold outside (colder than my room), especially when I stepped out of the elevator and very slowly made my way towards the small reception area.

There was no one there. I saw the guard outside the doors, but he was paying me absolutely no attention whatsoever. Wrapping my arms tightly around myself, I stepped towards the doors and was glad to spot Alastair right there.

I walked over towards him. 

"Alas," I spoke up in a loud whisper.

He looked up and I could practically see the sleep deprivation on his face. The questions came tumbling out way before I could've stopped them, "What are you doing here? It's three in the morning." I frowned. "Wait, did you talk to Maria? She called and she sounded worried. Where were you? Are you all right? I tried calling you too but you didn't pick up. What happ--"

I stopped quite abruptly when he easily bridged the gap between us. It was when my back pressed against the apartment wall that I realized Alastair was hugging me. He had his arms around me, and his head buried in the crook of my neck, and the softness of his hair tickling the side of my cheek, and he was...trembling.

I blinked in surprise and stiffened. My first instinct was to squirm out of the hold and just place distance between us. But then I realized, as seconds passed by, that I actually loved hugs. And this one was really warm.

I didn't even have to force myself to lean into it, just because I found myself enjoying this a little too much. And it was scary at first, but I had just woken up exhausted and I was so not in the mood to think about things like such, at least not right now.

I slowly placed my hands on his arms, not really pushing him away, and waited.

"Alas?" I whispered after a while. He responded by tugging me closer and that made something lurch inside me. "Are you all right?"

"No." It was a small whisper, muffled against the starting of my hood. "Can I stay at yours tonight?"

I didn't know what got into me. I really don't know. It wasn't me talking. I was pretty sure something had possessed me when I didn't even think twice before replying, "Of course."

The reality actually sunk in when we both were safely inside the apartment and in my bedroom. I told him to take my bed and I settled down on my desk chair, with my opened novel clutched tightly in my hands.

"Where are you gonna sleep?" He asked me. He sounded confused. I was confused too.

What was I doing? Why had I let him in my room?

"I don't really feel sleepy right now," I told him, which wasn't exactly a lie. I felt pretty wide awake. "I think I'm gonna read this for a while."

He was clearly too exhausted to argue, and I was glad that he didn't. I would sleep on this chair if sleep came at all. 

Not too soon after, I glanced over at him and he was sound asleep on one side of my bed. I couldn't help but stare.

"What's happening to me," I whispered, feeling a little too overwhelmed and a whole lot confused. I hadn't thought twice before letting him in. I never thought twice when it came to him. But why?

I think I spent the next hour reading the book I had in my hands. Nothing seemed to make sense, yet I still kept on reading. Just so that I'd stop overthinking. It was too late by then and I knew I couldn't pull an all-nighter. Luce would notice the lack of sleep on my face.

Luce. God, what will I tell her in the morning?

I pulled up my knees against my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I felt cold. And I didn't think I could sleep on this chair. I thought about sleeping outside on the couch, in the dark, all alone, then decided otherwise.

Sleeping on this chair sounded way better than sleeping outside in the lounge. Not really sure why, though. Maybe it was the tall glass windows out in the lounge, right beside the couch, that creeped me out a little--especially when they had a view of the street in front of the apartment, all dark and isolated at this time of the night. 

Creepy, like I said. 

I laid my head down on the cool surface of the desk and closed my eyes, feeling the heaviness behind my eyelids. I slowly started drifting off but couldn't really ignore the neck cramps. And when my back started aching, I decided that no, I could most definitely not sleep on this chair.

So I got up, trying not to stumble as I reached over Alastair's sleeping form and grabbed one of the huge pillows. For a second there, I glanced over at the space beside him--empty and oh-so-inviting. But then I dropped the pillow on the floor, right beside the bed, and slumped face-first onto it, groaning lightly into it.

The floor wasn't soft like my bed. And it obviously wasn't warm like I imagined my bed to be right now beside Alastair. But I sucked it up since I was knackered by then.

And then I dozed off.