What is that sound? I thought, hearing something coming from downstairs. I had been asleep, but whatever the noise was, it had managed to awaken me.
“Zelena, there’s a noise downstairs,” I grumbled, reaching over to wake up my wife. I lifted my head and my hand met the cold mattress. “Zelena?”
Suspecting she was the cause of the noise downstairs, I got out of bed and headed in the direction of it. Is that music? It sounded like the Earth music called Jazz she was so fond of.
I entered the kitchen, finding a stereo on the cupboard, playing away at the music on the CD inside. But Zelena wasn’t there.
I approached the stereo, stopping with a start when I spotted Zelena on the floor, her back against the island in the middle of the kitchen, obscuring her from view.
Her knees her pulled to her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around them, and her head was laying in them. I could tell immediately from the shaking of her body that she was crying, but I couldn’t imagine why.
“My Moon, what is wrong?” I gasped, wrapping my arms around her as I joined her on the cold, tiled floor.
She let out a strangled gasped, jumping to her feet so suddenly that I could only stare at her in shock from the floor.
“Solaris?” She asked, seeming to shake herself. “What are you doing down here? I thought you were asleep.”
“I could hear your music from upstairs,” I frowned, getting to my feet. “What is wrong?” I placed my hands on her face, wiping at her tears.
“Nothing for you to worry about, my Sun. Go back to bed.”
“I can’t do that,” I smiled. “Not with you upset. Tell me, how can I help? Why do you cry?”
“It’s nothing, I swear. I just do this from time to time.”
I frowned. “How often?” When she shrugged, I met her gaze. “How often?”
“About once a week,” she mumbled.
I gasped. “Zelena! Why did you not tell me?”
“They are nightmares that wake me, so there isn’t anything you can do to help them,” she explained. “Just bad memories from the past. From the Celestial War.”
I pulled her into my arms, hugging her tightly. Because she wore her heeled boots so often, I sometimes forgot just how small she was. My heart broke to think of the burden she carried on those small shoulders. How heavy those memories must weigh on her.
“I’ll be alright,” she told me, pulling away. “Go back to bed. I’ll be up in a bit.”
“Zelena–”
“Solaris,” she smiled, “it happens. I’ll be alright.”
I glanced at the stereo when I heard a familiar song playing. It had been the fist jazz song Zelena had ever played for me. It was her favorite.
Smiling, I grabbed her hands and pulled her into the open area of the kitchen, swaying with her.
“What are you doing, My Sun?” looking at me as if I had gone mad.
“This music soothes you, doesn’t it? And if I can take your mind off the bad dreams, then the pain will go away, correct?”
“Yes, but what are–”
“Then, My Moon,” I laughed, spinning her around before dipping her low to the ground, “shut up and dance with me.”
I wish more people like my OCs. I wish more people were interested. I would love to see people draw them in their own way, make dabbles with them or just love them the way I do. My gay babies need love too
