Side Story (4) - Chapter 2
The first touch of snow fell softly from the sky, blanketing the backyard in delicate flakes that melted upon landing. The familiar world around him seemed transformed, quiet and magical, the trees and bushes dusted in white, their branches stretching out like welcoming arms under the weight of winter's first touch.
Young Raze barely noticed the cold as he darted around the backyard, his breath puffing in quick bursts in the crisp winter air. His short, messy black hair bounced freely, letting the coolness brush against his face. A cozy, thick scarf—slightly too long and wrapped twice around his neck—trailed a bit behind him as he ran, adding a playful flair to his movements. He was bundled up in an oversized green jacket that once belonged to his grandpa, its sleeves rolled up clumsily to fit his smaller frame. Despite its worn look, the jacket felt like the warmest thing in the world, wrapping him in the familiar comfort of family and the love he felt in every stitch and fold.
"Look at you go, Raze! That snow isn't going to catch itself," his grandpa called from the porch, laughter in his voice.
Raze paused to look back, a wide grin lighting up his face. He cupped his hands together, catching snowflakes as they drifted down. He watched, fascinated, as the tiny crystals melted against his skin, vanishing into drops of cold water. Each flake was unique, his grandma had told him, like the people he would meet someday. He remembered her gentle voice, her stories, each word comforting like the scent of fresh-baked bread in their kitchen.
In that moment, everything felt timeless. There was no rush, no pressing fears, just the soft snowfall and his grandparents' warm presence behind him. His grandpa, sturdy and calm, watching with that quiet pride, and his grandma, fussing inside about making sure he had enough hot chocolate to warm him when he came back in.
Raze ran toward the old oak tree at the edge of the yard, where a small bird feeder hung, laden with snow. He carefully brushed it off, just like his grandpa had shown him. The birds would come later, he knew, as they always did. Life felt simple, every action filled with purpose, even something as small as tending to the birds.
As he turned back, his gaze fell on the cozy house, with smoke curling gently from the chimney and light spilling from the kitchen window. Through the glass, he saw his grandma bustling about, her figure blurred but comforting. She turned, catching his eye, and waved. He waved back with both hands, almost stumbling in his excitement.
He wanted to hold onto this moment forever—the warmth of family, the feeling of being loved, the promise of hot chocolate and stories by the fire. Back then, he thought life would always be like this, a simple, unbreakable bond that time could never touch.
But even at that age, a part of him sensed how precious these memories would become. He tucked them away, like keepsakes, within himself.
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The room was still, wrapped in the deep silence of the night. Snow continued to fall softly outside, the flakes drifting past the window in the dim glow of the streetlight, casting a gentle light over the room. Solace lay on Raze's couch, her mind restless and wandering through fragments of thoughts that refused to settle. She'd tried everything—counting breaths, closing her eyes, and focusing on the rhythm of her heartbeat—but sleep just wouldn't come.
From across the room, a faint sound broke the silence, barely a murmur, and Solace's eyes opened. She glanced toward Raze's bed, her gaze narrowing as she strained to listen. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling in a stuttered rhythm, and then, barely audible, he mumbled something—a few indistinct words laced with an unmistakable wistfulness.
She sat up slightly, her eyes adjusting to the soft shadows over his face, and she caught the faintest glimmer on his cheek—a tear, slipping down from his closed eyes.
The sight tugged at her heart. She could feel the weight of his dream in the quiet air between them, the lingering sadness and nostalgia that must have filled his mind. She wondered what memories he was caught up in, what pieces of his past still haunted him, even in sleep. From their conversations, she knew he held memories of a time that had felt lighter, simpler, when he was surrounded by love and warmth that seemed worlds away now.
Without thinking, she rolled over, propping herself up to get a better view of him from where she lay on the couch. The thought crossed her mind to call his name, to bring him back from whatever memory had him ensnared, but something held her back. Maybe it was the way he looked so vulnerable, or the sense that he needed this—needed to feel, even in his dreams, that connection to a part of himself he often kept hidden.
A faint, almost whispered phrase left his lips. "…It was… easier then…"
Her chest tightened at the rawness in his voice, even in his sleep. She'd never seen him like this before, so open, even if only unconsciously. She wondered if he'd ever feel comfortable enough to share these parts of himself in waking life, to trust her with the burdens he carried beneath his calm exterior.
For a few moments, she simply watched him, feeling a surprising tenderness swell within her—a quiet, unspoken promise to be there, just as he'd been for her. She lay back down, her own worries settling, softened by the silent understanding growing between them. And as she drifted into a lighter sleep than she'd hoped for, she found herself feeling less alone, knowing they both carried shadows from the past but that maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't have to carry them forever.
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The first light of dawn filtered through the blinds, casting a soft, muted glow over the room. Solace stirred beneath the blanket on Raze's couch, the oversized, worn sweater she wore—one of her favorites—bunched slightly around her elbows. She'd wrapped it tightly around herself the night before, like a shield against the world. But now, as her eyes opened and adjusted to the morning light, she realized something unexpected: she'd slept better than she had in weeks.
She wasn't one for deep sleep, not since she was young and her mother had impressed on her the importance of rest as a tool for control and success. But here, in Raze's small apartment, she'd found a rare sense of ease—something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time.
As she glanced around the room, Solace picked up on the details that defined Raze's space. It was tidy, but not overly so; there was a comfortable kind of clutter here, like the pile of art supplies stacked in one corner, the half-finished sketches that lined the walls, and the stack of vinyl records on a low shelf beneath a small, vintage record player. These personal touches made the place feel warm, lived-in. The walls were painted in a calming shade of blue-gray, and Solace could almost feel the quiet solace they offered Raze in the otherwise chaotic city.
Across the room, she noticed him in the kitchen, already awake and moving quietly, careful not to disturb her. He wore an old T-shirt, the fabric soft and worn, stretched slightly across his shoulders, with a small tear near the hem. Dark joggers hung loosely around his hips, and his favorite hoodie, faded from countless wears, was slung over a chair nearby. Seeing him like this, dressed down and relaxed, she felt as though she was seeing a more vulnerable, unguarded version of him—one that not everyone got to witness.
As she sat up, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands for warmth, Raze glanced over and noticed she was awake. A gentle smile spread across his face, the kind that made her feel strangely at ease, as if this moment between them was as natural as breathing.
"Morning," he greeted her softly, his voice carrying the warmth of the freshly brewed coffee he held in his hand. Beside him on the counter sat a cup of tea, steam curling softly from the rim—prepared just the way she liked it.
Solace swung her legs over the edge of the couch, her thick socks padding softly on the floor as she crossed over to the counter. She wrapped her hands around the mug he'd made for her, feeling the warmth seep into her palms. The room was quiet, filled with the mingling aromas of coffee and tea, and for a few moments, neither of them spoke, savoring the stillness.
"Sleep well?" Raze asked, taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes curious yet gentle.
"Better than I usually do," she admitted, tracing the rim of the cup thoughtfully with her finger. "I don't know… your place just feels different." Her voice softened as she spoke, and she didn't quite meet his gaze, feeling a little vulnerable in the admission.
He nodded, glancing down into his coffee with a slight, understanding smile. "Glad to hear it," he replied, a warm sincerity in his tone. "You're welcome here anytime, you know."
She felt a flicker of something unfamiliar in her chest—gratitude, maybe, mixed with a kind of quiet relief she rarely allowed herself to feel. The sweater she wore, usually her own personal armor, felt lighter in his presence, as if it didn't need to be quite so protective here.
Raze leaned back against the counter, watching her with a thoughtful expression. "I, uh… I don't mind if you stay over more often, if it helps you sleep," he said, almost shyly. "Or… if you just want company."
The offer was simple, without pressure, yet it felt like a step forward, one she wasn't sure she was ready for but found herself wanting to consider. She glanced at him, taking in the quiet comfort of his worn clothes, the soft look in his eyes, and the little personal details around his apartment. Each item told a story: the way the artwork on his walls captured fleeting emotions, the slightly crumpled pillow on the couch where she'd slept, the carefully arranged vinyl records that hinted at his taste in music. In his own quiet way, Raze had created a sanctuary here—a place that felt safe.
"Thanks, Raze," she murmured, her voice sincere. "I… I might take you up on that."
They sipped their drinks, the warmth of their mugs mirroring the warmth settling between them. She watched him reach for his hoodie, slipping it on over his T-shirt with a practiced ease, as if the garment itself held memories of quieter times. The subtle gesture made her feel a strange sense of comfort, like they were sharing something intimate yet unspoken, a piece of their lives that didn't need words.
The morning light continued to fill the room, illuminating the small details—the faded fabric of his shirt, the steam rising from their cups, the sketchbook resting open on the table as if he'd been drawing late into the night. These small moments, these quiet connections, felt like they were building something between them—a bridge across the silence of their respective struggles.
And as they sat there, wrapped in the stillness of dawn, both Solace and Raze felt that, perhaps, they had found a small corner of peace in each other's presence.
The soft quiet lingered between them, comfortable and unforced, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Solace sipped her tea, savoring the warmth, letting the silence settle as she observed Raze. She wasn't usually one to make idle conversation, especially in the early hours when everything felt so... vulnerable. But something about the way Raze had looked last night—so at peace, yet so heavy in his own dreams—made her want to say something.
She ran her finger absently along the edge of her mug, watching the steam curl up, almost disappearing in the soft light of morning. After a moment, she looked over at him, her gaze lingering on his face as if searching for the right words.
"You know," she said quietly, her voice barely above a murmur, "you talk in your sleep."
Raze raised an eyebrow, taken aback, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I… I do?"
She nodded, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. It was... faint, though. You mumbled something... sounded like you were talking to someone from a long time ago."
Raze looked away, his expression shifting, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. He didn't know he talked in his sleep—at least, no one had ever told him before. And knowing that Solace, of all people, had heard him... it felt strange, oddly intimate.
"What… what did I say?" he asked, his voice softer, almost cautious.
Solace shrugged, keeping her tone light. "Something about the past… how things used to feel easier. Lighter." She tilted her head, watching him, as if trying to read the emotions that flickered across his face. "I didn't catch all of it, but it sounded... peaceful, almost nostalgic."
Raze's gaze dropped to his coffee, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he absorbed her words. "I guess... I was probably dreaming about my grandparents," he murmured, his tone distant, touched with a hint of sadness. "They used to have this old countryside house. I'd stay over sometimes, and it felt like the world slowed down there, you know? Like... none of the stuff outside mattered."
Solace listened quietly, her expression softening. She could sense how deeply he cared for those memories, how they anchored him in a way his present couldn't quite match.
"Must have been nice," she said softly, her voice carrying a touch of wistfulness. "To have a place like that, even if it was just for a while."
"Yeah," Raze replied, his smile faint but genuine. "It was." He looked back at her, and in that quiet gaze, she saw an unspoken understanding pass between them—a shared recognition of the weight they both carried, the way they clung to memories of a simpler time.
"Sorry if I... woke you or anything," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish.
"You didn't," she assured him, a faint smile touching her lips. "Actually... it was kind of comforting. Hearing someone else... dreaming."
They let the moment settle, the quiet between them feeling more like a connection than an absence of words. And for the first time, both Raze and Solace felt that sharing even the smallest pieces of themselves might be enough. In this small, quiet corner of the morning, they weren't just two people dealing with their own pasts—they were each a soft echo of comfort in the other's life.