Author's Note: I would like to apologize for the sloppily short and uninteresting imagine, howsoever, I opt to brighten the early Christmas holidays with something promisingly adorable work for everyone who are reading it! Anyway I hope you like and enjoy it as well! :))

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The late night slowly but surely, wonderfully roared through the small city of Massachusetts' sky, tinging with realistically dark shades that embodied sheerly the evening's majestically luxurious vista.

It was the very first night after you no longer populated with your very presence the dilapidating, nefariously old mental hospital where you were imprisoned against your will and without a rationally logical motive. Due to your former friend's false charge of insomnia and severe depression shortly after you sluggishly struggled to overcome your mother's abrupt demise, consequently your new fleet home destined to sinisterly rot until your last days was Briarcliff. The sound of the infamous mental hospital of the small city of Massachusetts laced eerily bitter on your tongue.

Even though your fleet imprisonment inside the old mental institution for criminally insane and being a handful of times canned by the head nun Sister Jude for headstrongly breaking the rules, nevertheless, the double shifts in the bakery weren't a promising child's play for you at all. The sole people whose treatment towards you was far cry from barbarously undeserved inflicting afflictively you physically and mentally were the security guard Frank, the sheerly innocent Sister Mary Eunice, the falsely accused as the notoriously hair-rising serial killer Kit Walker, Shelley, Lana, Grace and most of all Monsignor Timothy Howard.

Unconditional betrayal and melancholic sorrow submerged your sleepless-contoured complexion. You couldn't even obscure any wee inkling of insomnia or despondence overall readable across your facial features. The excessive lethal weight hypodermically encumbering your muscles and sedating your flimsy bones, functioning incessantly to steady your anatomy.

The friends were always there for support, unconditional love and murderous warmness and rationally wise advice, not for disowning their friendship with counterfeiting one another's health condition under false diagnoses of mental illnesses.

Unlike the other staff members and pious members of the diocese, the ambitious Monsignor's aroused interest to discover your backstory even to get to know you graciously personal not only profoundly touched you, moreover nuked the pit of your stomach, resembling a searing rattlesnake crawling beneath your abdomen.

In spite of the fewest times when the ambitious Monsignor's daringly benevolent nature urged him to spend modicum of his leisure time with you and freeing you earlier from your shift in the bakery, throughout during his stay and refilling the patchy hollow of your sinisterly unwelcoming, austere solitude ghosted your company alarmingly comforting even sharing sufficient of personal facts about his backstory, background and nowadays life in general.

He was the sanest staff member or rather part of the dominating sanctum of the nefarious madhouse under the potent, superb iron fist of Sister Jude reigning behind the dully lifeless walls.

Within the elapsing days, calculated in an ethereally eternal lethal century's progress, the more you interacted to Timothy, the more you got quickly attached to each other, despite the relentless circumstances of trading mutually brightly bleak contrast of occupations in the general population. Unlike him serving diligently meek in the diocese and partnering affably, logically with the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer, you're just like the majority of the nobodies in the enormous mass of general population. Just a mere occupant of Boston. Just a plain one of a kind with extraordinary, celestial dreams, tantalizing frequently your hurricane of thoughts to saturate the thoughts in a divinely scintillating, extremely intrusive reverie clouding your vision to envision explicitly life-like prospects tinting past the absolute reality.

Even if Timothy was the only person to aid you somehow with gathering the entire compound of remarkable paraphernalia from memorable childhood-reminiscence-clad items up to garments, he was the only person that genuinely cared about you in the whole world, adulterating with crude coldness contaminating each living being and society's attitude towards the outcasts, regardless their occupation, interests, background and plenty of various of factors.

You lost your family no longer than a couple of months ago and the only friend you've ever had in your life abolished you from the divinely ethereal, immensely craved freedom with the subsequence of imprisonment inside the dully lifeless walls of the most ill-famed facility for criminally insane in the small city of Massachusetts. Briefly, a destined trustlessness battered your flimsy heart and unceasingly constructed throughout the advancing time of your dynamic roller coaster, full of tribulations, full of memorable and futile scenarios.

After taking a fleet, refreshingly lukewarm shower and slowly but surely, perpetually adapting to the British aristocrat's two-story mansion, privately owned in Boston's isolated woods from the other part of the countryside, you donned up in one of Timothy's old, almost eerily unworn large-sized, certainly casual shirts, guarding your nubile flesh from exposure and its hem flaring across your mid-thigh eagerly with each flexible motion. It's been awhile since you've collected lavishly adequate nutrients through its healthily luxurious meals and hygiene, smartening your physique along with your physical and mental health and regulating your dynamic sanity. Even though the almost former man of the cloth's culinary skills weren't amidst the best, nevertheless, collaborating in the dinner's preparation was amidst the pettiest things that passionately brought you together and gradually developing your platonic relationship not just as an ex-patient and ex-clergyman, howsoever, as friends.

You didn't have any idea, nor Timothy how much your relationship may alter for an entire day compensating the galore of regular visits you earned by him either in your austerely poor-furnished ward, the common room or the bakery.

A sultry storm loomed outside with its ruthlessly lusty thunder bolts clapping and subsequently quivering the frail ground even jingling alarming tones into your vulnerable ears as you've already crawled in your double bed in the guests' room for a half an hour, scarcely bubbling with its bleakly bland motivation to drift off asleep at last. A late autumn heavy rain profusely poured in the middle of the night and nurturing sympathetically the stark-crowned trees and everything outside, slapping shamelessly ferocious the shut doors and windows and ocean of translucently crystalline, sticky rainy beads swarming the fragile surfaces of window glasses, walls and doors' plies.

The more the storm's tension escalated, the more plummeted down the chances of drifting off asleep sooner than later even immersing an abysmally apocalyptic somber sea of nightmares your hurricane of thoughts.

Childlike vulnerability envenomed your very being of barely having any intentions of collecting extra night sleep hours throughout the advancing nocturnal episode on our own. You felt like a vulnerable, little and weak child that was even afraid of the sheerly indiscernible, pitch-black darkness fogging your optics.

When your E/C optics pinched broadly opened at the partly dim lit guests' room with its glowing artificial light emanating from the nightstand's lamp to bestow you with generous layer of divinely gilt light, obscuring the very darkness spreading like plague in the profoundest corners of the sites after another aggressive clap of a lighting bolt, in first place you straightened your spine to sit on the edge of the double bed for a split second, perkily fashioning into balled fists your elvish, creamy glossily creamy hands to rub your groggy eyelids for a split second and reconsider each nightmare's tempest wave clouding your thoughts momentarily, whereas muffling an ordinary yawn, fanning gently your flesh. Opting to sort your mind during the tough night which was the very first that has been awhile since you've slumbered peacefully even confiding your figure into a conveniently feather-soft sanctum to provide you bountifully with its necessary rest, thereafter without thinking twice even daring to hop up in cozy slippers, you dashed out of the room and stepping inside the sufficiently long hallway of the second floor, the incessant medley of whispering ill-famed squeaky footsteps against the oak wooden floor hopefully didn't wake up the former aspiring Monsignor as you thought or at least tried your best to bet.

Your mop of freshly silken strands curtaining your full profile bounced rhythmically at each step escorting your progress until you gingerly, timidly manifested your elvish, creamy hand to encounter the doorknob until it was twisted sheepishly demure and you peered through the offered small gap providing you additional source of acknowledging the older gentleman whether if he's already asleep or on the contrary struggling to overcome his insomnia like you. You tried your best to not wake him up even sadistically bulk his mild aggression and hostility in you even when he wasn't in condition to move a single muscle or participate in a bland heated discussion. Despite his benevolently nonchalant nature sharply accenting his actions, manners and utterances he delivered out pretty natural, sometimes the furious adrenaline urged his anger to pulsate under the form of leaking his current humor and intentions starkly.

As soon as you set a foot inside the former holy priest's bedroom with bashfully warily shutting the door behind you, consequently you tiptoed gingerly towards his king-sized bed as he was turned recklessly on the other side, his back facing your E/C cabochons with its honed spear of gaze.

Slamming your lower cherub roseate lip between your front ivory, firm teeth to nibble the raw discreet spot recurringly on coy reflex, a weak, childishly girlish smile tugged at your mouth unforgivingly sinister, spearing with your gaze the motionless older gentleman.

"T-Timothy!" Clash of vowels and syllables fighting for potent, constant domination in your throat, thus exceedingly elaborated the stutter sloppily dripping from your mouth, attempting to draw the British compatriot's attention in no time, in spite of the timidness of your vocal tissues to maintain the whisper's vulnerably coy decibels. "Timothy!" Attempting to increase slightly its decibels of addressing informally Timothy was an efficient try to draw his attention lastly, turning onward as he wrenched his partly blinking eyelids to stable his smoky quartz gemstones to pursue for yours.

"Is everything okay, Y/N?" Groggy English lilt rusted his enquiry, serenely gracing you with warm comfort and paradoxally icy shivers coursing through your muscles and fleshy tissues.

"I can't sleep all alone. Is it a problem to join?"

"Of course not, Y/N! Come here!" Featherly-soft, honeyed coo emboldened your very company to participate boldly into the king-sized bed as he unwrapped partly the empty bonus space and thus wrapping sympathetically straightforward its duvet to blanket your dainty shoulders and lower body.

"I had nightmares and the storm is coming a bit too much for me." Conjugating the blatant confession with its coy whimper searing your wet, strawberry-coloured tongue, you amorously snuggled into the larger frame as his mammoth, masculinely veiny hands clawed firmly, sweetly your loins and bracing kindheartedly the embrace you traded mutually onto the bed sheets. Restraining to bud its fresh crystalline tears to burn your lower eyelids was the toughest challenge for you, stilling your shy smile.

"Don't worry, my bird! Everything is going to be fine. We'll persevere!" When the British aristocrat registered to lean down past your complexion, consequently he pressed an affectionately smooth, promising peck on your well-sculptured, chubby cheek, spookily spiking its pinkness to mischievously tickle your cheeks and sweltering heat crawling beneath your unblemished facial skin. In the meanwhile, you buried your face in the crook of his toned, pyjama-sleeved-clad arm shortly after bewitchingly magnifying the myriad of consolation you desperately covet more than anything tonight. The friendly, amorous nickname zapped your frail heart and skipping series of unsteady beats with its intensifying afflictive heart pulsations hammering into your ribcage.

"I didn't mean to bother you at all, Timothy!"

"You aren't bothering me. If you need me, I'm always there."