Monday Flash Fics used a photo I adore this week (you totally should check Dan Skinner out). And of course, the first think I thought of was Light, with my telekinetic, telepathic (and sparkly!) semi-superhero Kieran Quinn. Spoilers for the book, of course. And this wee piece takes place after the novel ends, but not too long after.
Working half-days while I recovered wasn’t fun, but one of the few benefits was definitely letting the blue-haired barista at Bittersweets hand me off something sugary and terrible for me without Sebastien seeing me eat it.
Oh, and having an after-sugar snack nap.
I choose Sebastien’s place—it’s closer. I have keys now, and Pilot needed a walk and… Okay, look, Sebastien’s bed is a four-poster and is way bigger than mine and super, super comfy.
So, one cup of tea later, I crawled under the blankets and took a well-deserved (okay, a sort of half-ass-earned) rest.
And I dreamed of him.
A hospital bedroom. Sebastien and myself. My housecoat.
And a man. In a bed. Asleep.
It wasn’t like it was, though. Here, I could hear him screaming. Begging. Raging.
It’s not real. Some part of me knew that, and some part of me even knew I was asleep in Sebastien’s bed and—more importantly—that what I’d done? It might not have been the right thing, but it had been the only thing.
But that still didn’t make the dream any less horrible.
I came to with a gasp, near the ceiling.
Seeing my glasses float, and the latest book Sebastien was reading, and even my tea cup? That wasn’t new. But the whole bed, mattress and all? The bedside table, too?
The room was lit with sparks of light in every direction, in every colour.
I sat up. Which was monumentally dumb because I hit my forehead on the ceiling and had to lie down again.
Right. Floating at the ceiling.
Lowering the bed slowly was task number one. Then the bedside table. Then the book, my glasses, and the tea-cup.
I sat up, and exhaled.
That was the third time this week. And wow was it a problem.
Sebastien narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”
I smiled. “I’m fine.”
“Did you push yourself today?”
He was so darn good at reading me. Man it was annoying. “I came home half-way through the day. I even had a nap.”
He smiled, and leaned in for a kiss.
“We don’t need to practice today,” Sebastien said, pulling away.
“I can still—“
“No.” Sebastien shook his head. “Besides. I can’t get more than a foot past me.”
“I know, but—”
“And I can barely read thoughts without your help.”
“I know, but—“
“And you’re going to tell me we I can get better with practice.”
“Yes, I am, and—“
“But there are limits..”
“I know, but—”
Sebastien held up his hands. “I might not have hit my limits yet. But we don’t have to find out today. You just got out of the hospital. We can wait.”
I exhaled. “When did you get so smart?”
Sebastien shrugged. “When I got hit in the head by a float, maybe?”
I kissed him again.
“How long did it take, for you?” Sebastien asked.
“How long until you hit your limit?” Sebastien took my shoulders. “Thirty pounds?”
I worked hard to put a smile on my face. “Thirty-five, mister.”
“Sorry. I may not get further than a foot away, but I can already do more than thirty.” He winked. “Sorry, thirty-five.”
I swallowed. “You really do enjoy being able to lift more than me, don’t you?”
“It’s a leather daddy thing. I like being stronger.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Want me to prove it?”
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded.
He scooped me up and carried me back to his four-poster bed.
For the record?
That bed weighs way, way more than thirty-five pounds.