... a familiar voice ...

... Logan ...

From a state of restlessness - another dark realm - to an eerie fantasy. Sure, it is as real as the bed he lays in. Just as true as this place's surrounding walls with their countless imprints of past tenants. They're nothing like what he is, and there's nothing comforting about it. Nothing except this reoccurring moment, this covert meeting.

So he feigns sleep a little while longer. Enough to visualize a door opening. A moment's silence and finally - the soft, soft padding of bare feet. The scent is all natural. He inhales slowly, deeply. Greedily. He's breathing her in, savouring a part of her no one else can share. There's no trace of artificial vanilla flavor, of tropical fruits, berries or anything like it. She smells of salt and wind and sunshine. Of moonlight and water and deep, endless forests . Of hard work, daydreams, sleep and knowledge. Just her.

Logan, she murmurs.

It's her, and it feels like that other time again. It always does. Same setting, same feelings, same characters. Just a different take, he knows. Maybe all this makes him a depraved man, for not telling her to leave. That this is wrong. The words won't come to him. They never do. Only during daylight. He's already heard faint whispers in the hallways, voices calling him an old letch. They're true. No. Not all true, she reminds him. People see what they want to see, Logan. They see you, and then me. The maiden. The innocent girl with no life experience. Someone appearing to be half your age. It is so far from the truth. You of all people know this.

Strands of hair brush his cheek, neck. Gentle, like a lover's caress. Silk against concrete . She'll make life spring from those invisible, dry cracks.

Logan, wake up. Wake up.

I'm already awake, he mumbles, turning his head to finally look at her.

Anna-Marie.

That one word brings a smile to her face. If he could just touch her, feel the pulse beating below her skin, trace the hills and planis that are her. If only.

Anna, he says again, slipping one hand around her neck - carefully protected by her hair - to bring her closer.

When her name spills over his lips it means something else. More.

Her breath is hot against his ear, as full of promise as it is of distance. It's reality every other day, but not now. This moment is about her and him, them. It's him taking care of her, Anna-Marie, this woman with the strangest of mutations and a smile that makes the darkness within evaporate like morning mist.

James ... James ... James ...

She'd never call him by his real name like that, not in front of other people. Just like hers to him, his is a precious gem.

There's a rush of air, warm and moist, against his mouth. Fine threads of sleep mixed with toothpaste - herbs and mint - slip inside him. An invisible lifeline. Despite the dim lit room, he can make out her eyes, the thoughts and questions in them, that smile again, as there's the faintest brush of lips against lips.

It's not how he wants to kiss her, or her him. But it's a kiss just the same. If it's all there is, then he's taking it.