Lennon couldn't shake the feeling off his chest that something was terribly wrong.

Sure, the ravenhead may not be mortal or human. He shouldn't expect him to act like one. But it's been nearly a week since the night ghostie promised to stop by— Do ghosts keep their promises? Are they obligated to? The ravenhead had twisted every assumption Lennon had of the universe. Surely, one small promise wasn't significant enough to go through with.

Then why did his stomach wrench into knots every time Lennon thought of him?

"Did he show up?" Lennon asked his cat softly when he arrived home. It had become part of his routine to look out for the ravenhead now.

Socks didn't even look up. It just curled its body around the boy's leg as he undid his shoelaces.

Lennon exhaled, attempting to clear his head as he patted his cat. "Maybe he already left," he murmured, "Maybe he found his ticket." He found little reassurance in that possibility.

He moved towards the kitchen for a can of soda, popping it open and taking small sips. The ticking of the clock on the living room wall sounded more deafening than usual, perhaps to fill the empty space in the apartment.

Lennon thought about videocalling his parents just for a little bit of company, but couldn't bring himself to deal with their financial questions.

"I wish he told me his name at least," he whispered to no one in particular, scratching under Socks' chin. Its purring intensified. "Now it feels like I just— made it all up." He let out an inanimate chuckle. "Started imagining things to make myself less lonely."

His cat seemed to take those words to heart, finally making eye contact.

Lennon smiled, kissing its petite head. "Of course I have you, Pockets," he added before catching himself, "Oh— Socks." He just jumbled up his own cat's name. "God I must be losing it."

Socks lurched up, pressing its paws against the boy's torso and lapping at his face. Lennon giggled, letting Socks climb onto his back as he hunched over and gathered his equipment. Carefully, he relocated them to his studio room.

"Want to stay with me?"

Socks resting its head on his shoulder and closing its eyes contently was enough to answer Lennon's question.

He changed into a cream-colored hoodie, getting as comfy as he could. Lennon deliberately wore it backward, the hood hanging below his chin for Socks to nest in as he worked on his laptop.

Lennon had online courses he signed up for the summer, but he ended up on his photoshop software anyway, touching up the results from a photoshoot he had at the start of the week. His eye was still set on the contest, but his compass had wavered.

The world delved into nighttime, where the chattering and honking of cars were silenced. Lennon had the room's windows blacked out, so the moonlight couldn't announce its arrival.

The boy lost track of time. His eyes became droopy, sleep weighing on his eyelids until he too slipped into the night.

__________

Kieran didn't understand why he had difficulty breathing. He was deceased for crying out loud. Oxygen was inessential, unlike this stupid boy he couldn't keep his mind off.

It was way past midnight. The air was cool enough to raise goosebumps. And hopefully, the chestnut boy was in bed, nestled warm and in deep enough of a sleep to not notice Kieran intruding into his home.

Again.

The ravenhead barely made it to the hallway when a pair of bright, yellow eyes scared the life out of him— whatever life he has left.

Socks stood its ground, body rigid and staring him down. The darkness overlapped the rest of its black coat.

"Hey— hi," Kieran squeaked, taking a cautious step back, "Can we be civil for once?"

Its stance in particular led the ravenhead to believe Socks was standing guard, protective even.

He controlled his breathing pattern. "I just want to see him."

Kieran had every reason to believe this cat had an intelligent mind of its own. It trotted in a circle as if pondering over its options before heading towards the studio room and nudging the door open wider.

"He's not in there?" he questioned, glancing at the bedroom instead.

Socks moved out of the way.

The ravenhead gave a little bow of thanks even though he could've easily walked through the door.

Lennon was indeed fast asleep, but with his cheek on the keyboard— that was bound to leave marks— and legs crossed under him.

A frown pulled at Kieran's lips.

The boy's position looked awfully uncomfortable but he couldn't carry him to bed or wake him up without feeling guilty.

The laptop screen was still on, the light projecting shadows across the boy's rounded features. He must've worked himself to sleep.

Kieran left the room before crouching down a noticeable distance away from Socks before asking, "Where does he keep his blankets? Or throws?"

The cat led him to take the patterned fleece blanket off the couch and drape it over Lennon. Kieran held his breath, taking the laptop and slipping a pillow under the boy's head instead without causing a disturbance.

Lennon shifted, humming softly every once in a while.

It was Kieran's second time watching the boy sleep— as unsettling as that sounded. And he noted how Lennon would always hum a random tune when he was half awake.

It was odd seeing him like this.

Lennon was a very animated person. He could be crafted from a million joyful tunes, but the ones he hummed in his sleep were monotonous.

Judging by the position Kieran found him in, he had every right to worry if the boy got enough rest— if he worked himself till his bones gave out.

The ravenhead stole a glance at his laptop screen, seeing tabs open for college, photography and scholarships. He snapped it shut, jolting and eyeing Lennon nervously to see if he woke up.

He didn't.

Now the room was truly drenched in pitch-black darkness, but Kieran's eyes had adjusted to the night for around a year now.

Carefully, he sat himself down on the floor next to the desk. The ravenhead didn't have to worry about sound— he was merely air, not a living object. So he sat and the serenity of the room deluged him.

That was the first time he heard it.

Lennon's breathing.

It was quite silly to say. It wasn't something new to him. But the little huffs of breath that escaped the boy's lips winded him— punched the air out of Kieran's chest. As if Lennon was stealing his fair share of breath.

It was like death kissed life for the first time. Like with every draw of oxygen Lennon took, he planted a seed, a flower, in the ravenhead's no-longer-working lungs.

Because breathing was aimless to Kieran. He did it simply because it was an incurable habit. It didn't keep him alive. It didn't do anything for him. But breathing kept the fire going in Lennon, magnified his thirst for his passions and his search for happiness— happiness that the ravenhead had given up on long ago.

Things were different before this boy.

Kieran searched for his past purely because he needed his ticket in order to leave it all behind.

But now, with his forehead leaning against the desk leg and his eyes glued to Lennon's freckled face, he found himself asking different questions.

Why did he give it all up? What went wrong? How could he fix it?

He groaned softly, shaking his head. His thoughts had strayed and Kieran couldn't allow that, so he latched onto the distraction closest to him— Lennon's breathing.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He found himself inhaling and exhaling to his rhythm, monitoring the gentle rise and fall of Lennon's chest. Kieran reached out in a swallow attempt to brush the hair out of the boy's face. He wanted to see him properly, but his breathing hindered when he realized his mistake.

They couldn't touch. Right. Another reason to add to Autumn's list on why he shouldn't get attached.

Pulling himself to his feet abruptly, Kieran pressured himself to leave. But before he could make it out the door, he left behind a farewell gift. The part of himself he had sworn to secrecy. The only piece of himself he felt secure about. His everything— his entire world and identity reduced down to a word. He left it for Lennon.

Inhale.

"Kieran," he exhaled, the name so faint on his tongue it almost felt like it wasn't his to say. And he escorted himself out the door before the walls could suffocate him.

Lennon's eyes shot open.