Alastair

The couch, though comfortable, lacks any room for maneuvering. One as short as Morgan could easily rest here, but not me. Even while laying on my side, I teeter over the edge. My knees hang off the cushions in order for my feet not to dangle. I’m already getting the tingles through my legs. Perhaps Morgan is of average size in this world and I am almost giant like?

I miss my bed. I miss the quiet tick of Barny’s peg-leg on my bedroom floor before hopping into bed with me and demanding I make space by attacking me with her claws. I miss the cool sea breeze humming through stone halls and having a drink with Jaxon on the balcony overlooking the waves. How oddly sentimental.

I must be missing home because I’m unsure if I’ll return…

No. I refuse to drown in such negativity. I will return. One way or the other, I’ll break this spell and return to my rightful place as the future king of Etria. For my people. For myself.

But until then, I refuse to sleep on this child-sized sofa unbefitting of my grandeur!

What if we’re suddenly attacked? I need my strength, especially if I’m to be expected to protect Morgan. He is my only way home, after all. He’d sooner accidentally stab himself than the enemy. I can’t risk my creator bleeding out on the floor.

Jolting to my feet, I make a path to Morgan’s room. Suddenly, a loud noise from nearby garners my immediate attention. A battle horn?!

I grab Artheno from where it was resting on the coffee table. The battle horn cries a second time, yet there are no further familiar sounds, such as the stampeding of horses or harsh cries of the damned. Then the battle horn roars once more. It’s coming from the window!

I lurch forward, ripping open the curtains in search of any in need of help, but what greets me are towers of brick and steel. Countless lights shimmer from within the towers, and below, on a black river slithering through the buildings, are ships moving faster than I’ve ever seen.

“A liar,” I whisper, pressing my face to the glass. “This is most certainly sorcery.”

The likes of which I’ve never seen! And if there is sorcery, then Artheno should be functioning properly. Morgan must take me to meet the boatmen. No doubt they have powerful enough magic to send me home. In the morning, we shall go. Until then, I will get my rest in a bed built for one of my size.

I leave Artheno leaning against the couch since Morgan has expressed his discomfort at me wielding a blade. Opening the bedroom door, I approach the slim boy curled beneath the covers like a sleeping caterpillar, except when he wakes there won’t be a butterfly—just a still tired caterpillar.

“Morgan,” I call, shaking him.

He awakes with a start, poking his head out of his cocoon to reveal swollen eyes, crazed hair, and slight drool. I suppose I understand why he remains single. This would be unsightly for any partner.

“Ala...stair?” Morgan groans, sitting up to rub his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. I am too large for your couch. There is no telling when I may return to my world. It could be at random! I must be properly rested, which I will not get on that miniature sofa.”

“It isn’t miniature, you’re just tall.”

“Or you’re too small.”

Morgan scowls, knowing I am right.

“The bed is big enough for two,” I state, moving to the other side.

“What?!” Morgan clutches the blankets when I attempt to slide beneath them. He tugs as if he believes we’ll have a match of tug of war. I find that an acceptable way to duel for the bed because I’ll win. Ah, but it would be unchivalrous for me to take advantage of one so lanky. Do I prefer my honor or sleep?

“We can’t share a bed!” Morgan adds, burning so bright that I clearly see his blush in the darkened room.

“Why not?”

“I, uh, this…we’re both guys!”

“I do not see the issue. I’ve shared beds with many men.”

Morgan whimpers, sounding somewhere between pain and amusement. What a peculiar combination.

“Have you never shared a bed with another man?” I ask, making him whimper a second time.

“Um, wi-with a friend before, but that was when we were kids.”

“Think of me as a very large and muscular child if you must,” I say, then rip the blankets from Morgan. He curses as I accidentally throw him off the bed. He rolls over the floor, landing cowered in the dark corner.

“My apologies, you’re so abnormally tiny that I know not how much strength to use,” I say, wondering if I’ve perhaps caused serious injury because he hasn’t moved.

“It’s not a problem,” Morgan mumbles, although that tone states he is extremely troubled.

The bed is far more comfortable than the couch. Dare I say it, it is leagues above even my own bed. This is what it must be like to sleep among the clouds. However, Morgan has yet to return or move from his fetal position in the corner.

“Are you injured?” I inquire, sitting up.

Morgan suddenly rises, keeping his back to me. “N-No!”

“Then are you not going to join me?” I pat the open space where he once laid.

Morgan shuffles around the bed, all the while keeping his back to me. Is this some manner of sleeping ritual particular to this world? How idiosyncratic, like a crab on the beach. I must ask if it’s a way to appease the gods of this world. I do not wish to bring about any heavenly anger. One time, in my youth, I forgot to pray to the Gods, and the very next day I tripped into the stables to land face first in horse shit. Sometimes, I think I can still taste the dung.

Morgan drops onto the bed, laying straight as a nail along the edge. There’s enough space between us for another to lay, well, unless we go by Morgan’s stature. Two Morgan’s could fit between us or one me.

“Sleep well, Morgan, for tomorrow we will truly begin our work to procure you a lover,” I say, peering at him through the dark. Red simmers at the tip of his ears brighter than a falling star.

“R-Right, uh, good night,” he mumbles, shivering. I toss the covers over him since he made no move to do it himself.

“Bundle up and start wearing thicker layers to bed. You will catch a cold sleeping like this,” I chide, moving closer to ensure Morgan’s covered. For some reason, he hides his face behind his hands. “As feeble as you are, a cold may be enough to put you in an early grave.”

“Tha-thank you for the co-concern, but I’m, uh, a bit overheated.”

“Likely from the cold you’ve caught. Sweat it out. We have work tomorrow.”

With that, I veer away from Morgan to sleep, or at least try to. He tosses and turns, sighing heavily twelve times, clears his throat three times, and squeaks when his foot grazes against my leg five times. Then he rises like the undead vampire I sometimes suspect him to be.

“Where are you going?” I seek, watching his bony frame pass through the open door.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says and never returns.

I didn’t mean to kick him out of his bed…

At least now I may sleep as I wish!