"Be careful."

"I got it," Thomas grunted as he squeezed himself between the wall and bookshelf with a candle in hand. Artie slipped in effortlessly after him.

"Are you sure you can finish the drawing like this?" he asked, gesturing to the flickering candle. She took it from him and lit the others around her.

"It'll be fine," she said, waving nonchalantly. "Get in the same pose you were in before."

Thomas folded one leg in front of him while bending the other off to the side. Immediately, he felt more exposed than he did in the open courtyard. Instead of the gray overhang and brick buildings surrounding them, they were enclosed in candlelight and warm tones reflecting off the wooden bookshelves. Artie's eyes appeared darker in this light as they glanced between him and the paper. They seemed more intense, and Thomas secretly wished they were back at the courtyard where her eyes were not the only ones watching him. 

"You seem nervous. Are you okay?"

"Umm how can you tell?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Your shoulders are tense." 

He made an effort to relax them. 

"I hope what I said yesterday...doesn't change anything. I'm sorry that I dumped all that on you."

Thomas shook his head, remembering his hand holding hers.

"It didn't bother me."

"But," she searched his eyes, "there is something bothering you." 

It wasn't a question. Thomas grasped for words that might describe what he was feeling, but they all seemed contradictory. Safe yet vulnerable. Happy yet wanting.

He shrugged. 

"I'm fine. Who taught you how to draw?" 

Artie regarded him for a moment, disbelief evident in the way her mouth twitched to the side. The action reminded Thomas of a rabbit.

"No one taught me. A family skill, I guess. What about you? What do you like to do?"

His past inventions rose to the surface of his mind like bodies in water.

"I like to make things. I've made toys but I'd like to try my hand on something...bigger. Something that can make a difference or improve life in some way."

"I didn't know I was drawing a future genius. Maybe this portrait will fetch me a fortune someday."

Artie smiled and held her sketchbook closer to her as Thomas made a move to snatch it. Their laughter echoed in the cavernous library. Thomas immediately felt more relaxed as though laughing made his insides lighter. He watched the moonbeams from the window creep closer towards the candles' halo of amber light as Artie's hand moved almost rhythmically across the page. The sound was soothing, and his eyelids became heavier. He slumped to the floor, startling her.

"Whoa! What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Thomas breathed, his eyes closed and his voice teasing. He chuckled before opening his eyes up at Artie. Her smile is just as lovely upside-down. She disappeared from his sight, her book making a soft thump on the floor. There was some shuffling. He turned to find Artie's head next to his, her hair pooling by his neck before flowing around her shoulders. Thomas' heart pounded so hard in his chest that he was sure she could feel it through the floor. She seemed to be looking past the ceiling as though she can see the stars. 

The way they were laying reminded Thomas of something. Their feet pointing in opposite directions. Their heads fitting alongside each other. His black hair and her white hair. A fuzzy image of a circle with black and white halves. Yin and Yang. Yes, that was the symbol found in one of mother's books. He shook his head, clearing his mind before something else can emerge from its depths. Sapphire eyes turned towards him.

"I'm sorry," Artie bolted upright. "Is this making you uncomfortable?"

"N-No. It's fine. I just...You're alright. I promise."

The word slipped out of his mouth so easily that he wondered if he imagined it. The only time he has ever said it was to Lucille. He felt a sharp stitch in his chest. Am I breaking that promise now?  

Artie lowered herself down again. Thomas focused on his breathing and hers. A comfortable silence fell over them as one by one the candles sizzled out, leaving them to bathe in the moon's light. Even though his thoughts have calmed, his emotions have not. 

It felt like he could finally breathe when he's around her, but there's always the fear that everything he has kept hidden will claw up his throat and leap off his tongue if she were to ask about them. Would he ever be ready for her to meet the corpse in the bathtub, to smell the blood and rot, to reach for his filthy hands? Would she?

Guilt always accompanied his short bursts of happiness. Like the shadow of a butterfly, faint but always present. He didn't deserve to be happy. Not with her. Lucille was the only person who loved him when no one else would. She was his ghost. How could he rest in peace with this girl? What frightened him more was the sense of yearning he felt at the pit of his stomach. It wasn't carnal. It wasn't starved, desperate for touch and temporary relief. It wasn't something he knew. This wanted to give as much as receive. It was the feeling that drove him to hold Artie's hand, natural and selfless. It wanted connection for connection's sake, not to fill a wound or a grave. Just the act of touching her hand felt sweet, rich, and filling without needing much, similar to honey. He didn't have a name for this, but he wasn't ready to let it go. 

Thomas took a deep breath, counted as high as he could go, and then let the air whisper out between his lips. It has been four years since he saw Lucille. Maybe it was time to let the ghost go and let some light in. Slowly, he turned. Artie's head was tilted towards him, her lips slightly parted as she breathed deeply, her hair glowing with moonlight. Her dark lashes fluttered infinitesimally on her cheeks while her eyes occasionally moved side to side, watching her dream unfurl. Her chest rose and fell like the tide. Thomas smiled. The sweet timid yearning arose in him again. He placed a lingering kiss on her forehead.

"Good night, Artemis."

He fell asleep within a few breaths, content.