Touched by the night

The insomnia came in waves. For three weeks now, ever since the day her termination notice landed on her desk. Ever since her best friend told her she needed space. Ever since the silence in her apartment had become so thick that Lena wondered if she might drown in it.

She stood at the window, her forehead against the cool glass. The city outside was a sea of ​​cold light: streetlights, car headlights, the blue screens in the windows opposite. Berlin in November. The moon hung heavy and indifferent above the rooftops.

And then there was this feeling.

It didn't come suddenly. It was more like something slowly thickening in the space behind her. A presence that made no sound, but made the air heavier. Lena held her breath. Her pulse pounded in her throat.

She didn't turn around.

"You're back again," she said softly into the darkness of her living room.

The answer didn't come as a voice. It came as a temperature. The cold receded. The shadows on the wall moved without the light changing. And then, as if someone had stepped through a door that had never been there, he was.

He wasn't a figure. Not really. More like a condensation of the night itself. When she looked at him, his edges blurred; when she looked away, he was sharper than anything else in the room. His voice was deep, hoarse, like an echo that came too close.

"You called me."

“No,” said Lena, but her voice was trembling.

"Yes." A pause. "You call every night."

She pressed her palms against the windowpane. The cold helped. It helped her remember that she was awake. That this, whatever this was, was real. Or real enough.

"I don't know what you are," she whispered.

"You don't have to."

"I don't want to be crazy."

"You're not crazy." His voice came closer. Not louder. Closer. As if speaking from within, through her ribs. "You're alone. That's different."

Lena swallowed. Her throat was dry.

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing you don't want to give me."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes." A movement into the shadows. "It's the only answer that matters."

She turned slowly. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, cutting the room into cold streaks. And there, between the sofa and the bookshelf, he stood. More than a shadow now. Almost a silhouette. Broad-shouldered. Still as stone. But his eyes, if they were eyes, didn't shine. They absorbed. Black as ink.

"Why do you only come at night?"

"Because you only let me at night."

That hit her harder than she'd expected. She took a step back. Her back touched the windowpane. Cold. Hard. Real.

"I won't let you..."

"Lena." Her name sounded different in his mouth. Like a secret she'd never told herself. "If you wanted me to leave, I would have been gone long ago."

Her fingers gripped the curtain fabric. Black silk. Soft and cool as water.

"What are you?"

"Something that listens."

"A demon?"

"If you want to believe that."

"A guardian spirit?"

"If that's easier for you."

She laughed, a short, ragged sound. "You're not giving me any answers."

"I will only give you the truth you can bear."

The air between them was charged. Electric. Lena felt her heartbeat slow, even though it shouldn't. Her breathing deepened. The fear was still there, but she wasn't alone. There was something else beneath it. Something she didn't want to name.

"You have rules," she said. No question.

"Yes."

"Which?"

He moved. Not like a person. More like smoke, reforming. Suddenly he was closer. Only two meters away. Close enough for her to see whether the moonlight shone through him or not. She couldn't remember.

"I won't take anything you don't give me voluntarily."

"And what do you want to take?"

"Your loneliness."

Her throat tightened. "That doesn't make any sense."

"You wear it like a second skin. It weighs you down. I can make it lighter."

"How?"

"By sharing them with you."

Lena shook her head. "That sounds..."

"Impossible?" His voice was softer now. Almost tender. "You're standing in your living room talking to a shadowy figure. Impossible is relative."

A smile burned in her chest. She suppressed it.

"What is the price?"

"Trust."

"Into you?"

"Into yourself."

The silence that followed was thick. Lena heard her own breathing. Heard the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. Heard the faint hum of the city outside.

“I’m scared,” she finally said. The words came unbidden.

"I know."

"I'm afraid that I want you."

"I know."

"And I'm afraid that I'll lose myself if I want you."

He moved again, and this time he came so close that she should have stepped back. But she didn't. She stood still. Her back against the glass. Her pulse pounding in her ears.

"You can't lose yourself, Lena. You can only find yourself."

"That's a cliché."

"Clichés are just truths that have been repeated too often."

She laughed again. This time it sounded more genuine.

"Can you touch me?"

The question surprised even her. But she didn't retract it.

"Do you want me to do it?"

"I don't know."

"Then no."

Her chest tightened. "Why not?"

"Because wanting has no doubts."

"That's not fair."

"I'm not here to be fair. I'm here to be there."

Lena swallowed. Her fingers released the curtain. She let her arms fall. Her palms were damp.

"What happens if I say yes?"

"Then I will touch you."

"And then?"

"Then you won't be so alone anymore."

"For how long?"

"As long as you call me."

She closed her eyes. The moonlight burned through her eyelids. Red and gold.

"And what if I stop?"

"Then I'll leave."

"That simple?"

"So simple."

She opened her eyes. He was still there. Closer now. So close that she could feel the chill of his presence on her skin, but it wasn't an unpleasant chill. It was like the first plunge into cold water in summer. Shocking. Alive.

"You said you're not taking anything."

"That's correct."

"But you take away my loneliness."

"No. I transform them."

"In what?"

"Into something you can endure."

Lena took a deep breath. Her lungs filled with the cool air of the room and with something else. Something that smelled of rain. Of earth. Of the night itself.

“I want it,” she said.

"What do you want?"

"That you touch me."

"Are you sure?"

"No." Her voice broke. "But I still want it."

He didn't move. But the shadows did. They rolled across the floor like mist, rising up her legs. Cool. Soft. Like silk brushing against bare skin. Lena gasped, but she didn't step back.

The shadows reached her waist. Her ribs. Her shoulders. They enveloped her like a cloak. Like an embrace. Like a promise.

"Breathe," he said.

She did it. Once. Twice. The shadows moved with her. In rhythm with her breath. In rhythm with her heartbeat.

"I can feel you," she whispered.

"I know."

"You are cold."

"Only at the beginning."

And it was true. The cold receded. Slowly. It transformed into something else. Something warm. Something that felt like...

“Like security,” she said aloud.

"Yes."

Tears burned in her eyes. She didn't blink them away.

"Why does this feel so good?"

"Because you finally allow it."

"What do I allow?"

"That someone is holding you."

Her knees went weak. She slid slowly to the floor. The shadows carried her. Gently. Safely. She sat now on the cool wooden floor, her back against the wall, enveloped in darkness that felt like warmth.

"I don't understand what's happening here."

"You don't have to."

"I'm not sure if that's real."

"It's real enough."

She closed her eyes. The tears now flowed freely, hot against her cold cheeks.

"I have lost so much."

"I know."

"I don't know how to go on."

"You don't have to know everything. You just have to take the next breath."

She did it. Once. Twice. Three times.

The shadows held her. Tightly. But not constrictedly. She could move if she wanted to. But she didn't want to.

"How long can you stay?"

"As long as you need me."

"What if I always need you?"

"Then I'll always be here."

"This is not possible."

"For you, yes."

She opened her eyes. The moonlight was different now. Softer. More golden. As if the night itself had changed.

"I'm afraid of you."

"That's clever."

"But I'm more afraid of being alone again."

"You're not alone."

"Not now. But tomorrow?"

"You'll call me again tomorrow."

"And what if I don't?"

"Then I won't come."

"That simple?"

"So simple."

Lena laughed, and this time it wasn't a bitter laugh. It was quiet. Almost tender.

"You're strange."

"You too."

"I like you."

"I know."

"That sounds arrogant."

"That is certain."

She leaned her head back against the wall. The shadows caressed her arms. Her cheeks. Her hair. It felt like hands. Like warm, living hands.

"Can you kiss me?"

The shadows paused. For a heartbeat.

"Do you want that?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know if you're real."

"I am as real as you let me be."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes. It's the only answer that matters."

Lena opened her eyes. He was right in front of her now. No longer just a shadow. Almost human. A face she couldn't grasp, but that she saw nonetheless. Eyes so dark they swallowed all light. A mouth that looked like a promise.

"Kiss me," she said.

"If I do it, you'll never forget me."

"Good."

He smiled. She didn't see it, she felt it. Like a tremor in the air.

And then he leaned forward.

His mouth was cold. Then warm. Then hot. It tasted of rain. Of smoke. Of the night itself. Lena gasped against his lips, and the shadows around her tightened. But not threateningly. Protectively.

The kiss wasn't a theft. It was a sharing. A question and an answer at once. It was gentle, but beneath it lay an intensity that shook her. A certainty that this moment changed her. That after this kiss she would never be the same again.

She trembled as he withdrew.

"What did you do to me?"

"Nothing you didn't want."

"I feel different."

"That's good."

"I feel lighter."

"I said I would bear your loneliness."

"Are you wearing them now?"

"We both carry it. Together."

Tears flowed again. But they were no longer bitter. They were relief. Pure, raw relief.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yes. I have to."

He touched her cheek, really touched her. His hand was firm. Warm. Real.

"You are stronger than you think, Lena."

"I doubt that."

"Not me."

She leaned into his touch. Closed her eyes. Breathed.

"Stay a little longer."

"For as long as you want."

"Until morning comes?"

"Until morning comes."

And he stayed.

The shadows held her. The night enveloped her. And for the first time in weeks, in months, Lena didn't feel like she was drowning.

She felt supported.

Morning came slowly. The light crept through the curtains. Gray. Then silver. Then gold.

Lena opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor, a blanket over her that she didn't remember getting. The apartment was quiet. Empty.

But not lonely.

She sat up. Her body ached a little, but it was a good kind of aches and pains. The aches and pains of someone who had finally slept.

A black feather lay on the windowsill. It hadn't been there when she fell asleep.

Lena stood up. She picked up the feather. It was soft. Light. And when she held it up to the light, it shimmered dark blue. Like the night itself.

She smiled.

"See you tonight," she whispered into the quiet apartment.

And somewhere, in the shadows that the daylight had not yet reached, he whispered back:

"Until tonight."