That afternoon, Flash retired to his room "early," per the usual. Or—at least—he attempted to. It made some lethargic sense that his dominant roommates didn't fight his typical habits that evening. He had—after all—humored them in going out to the soccer games, even if his presence contributed zip to the overall social scene.

But the moment he fwomped down onto his bed, surrounded by the sepulcher shadows of a domain enmeshed in dust and darkness...

...he couldn't sleep within it. He couldn't even pretend to. Flash had his usual distractions for dozing off: an iPad that he always propped up at bedside so he could binge Youtube while sleep approached. But this did nothing to assist him. The typical distractions that he subscribed to weren't properly humoring or stimulating him either. It was like he was attempting to take a nap in broad daylight. Yes, his room was dark as a coffin and the sun beyond the black curtains was going down. But—to him—it was like a bright beacon was illuminating the room from beyond, and exposing it for all of its disgusting and decrepit details.

Her smile.

Her voice.

With such beauty in the world, what was the divine purpose of veils?

Flash couldn't sleep. He couldn't even relax. It wasn't anxiety gnawing at him—or the usual dread and ennui which he had become accustomed to like a second blanket.

But rather, it was a new form of energy. Immersive and invasive. Sending shivers up and down his body.

He couldn't lie still. He couldn't sit still. He couldn't...

So—with a burst of energy—he got up and left that room. He felt like running laps around the house. After a bit of pacing, he ran into a mess in the kitchen. It simply wasn't orderly. So he tackled it.

This—naturally—was to the overwhelming joy of his roommates. They complimented him on doing the dishes, and even Twilight lent a hand (or a telekinetic wave or two) after Flash was already five minutes into it. After the dishes were squeaky clean, Flash took out the trash. Early. He knew that garbage day was over forty-eight hours away, but suddenly the world was filled with innumerable chores and he had four limbs to toss at them. He even took Spike out for a walk before the roommates—chuckling—could stop him. Spike spent the entire time chatting, except for the two twenty-second moments he spent squatting in the grass. Flash listened... somewhat. As the sun set and gave the world a gold sheen, the boi thought of the bands in her hair. The rosiness in her cheeks as she complimented him on his own. Then Spike resumed rambling and Flash slowly and dutifully walked him home.

When it was time for Flash to take a shower—he noticed how filthy the tub was. In truth, it was long overdue for a clean, but since it fell under his charge it was no wonder that it never got tackled.

Until that night. Flash scrubbed the tile and the flooring. He even gave the faucet handles a rundown. He couldn't reach the shower head itself—he was just too damnably short. He had to stop his naked self from asking either Sunset or Twilight for assistance. By then, he realized the buzz had nearly consumed him. When he actually showered showered, he tried turning the faucet to its coldest setting—just to yank him back to sanity. That lasted for a whole ten seconds before his sissy self switched it to warm-and-steamy. He relaxed under the stream, feeling accomplished, feeling cozy.

Feeling like he was worth something. If not to his roomates and their dog, then maybe to someone out there who...

...adored his blue hair.

And when he came out of the shower and stared at his naked, dripping self in the mirror... for once he actually agreed.

It was adorable. And shiny.

If he could believe that about his hair, then how much of a stretch was it for Flash to appreciate the rest of his body. The body he was given... after the blackout...

It was then that he felt it. The first frigid stab of the age-old melancholy he had grown so used to. But instead of suckling on it, he pushed it away with the last vestiges of warmth still lingering from that afternoon.

She had such royal violet eyes. And smooth bubblegum pink skin. And a voice that could melt diamonds.

And she liked his hair.

Something escaped his lips as he got dressed for bed. A squeak? A giggle?

Whatever it was, it lulled the energy to a gentle hush in his veins. The sun had set, and he laid down in bed with the windows open for once. A soft blue haze drifted over the sleepy suburbs, and a gentle breeze wafted in past the curtains to kiss him. He switched on his iPad and loaded a compilation of video clips from his favorite Youtubers—stuff he had seen a million times over—only now they tickled his heart with a new found joy. With every thing he saw and heard, he imagined that she was hearing them too. That she was sharing it all with him—the things that he loved—and she held him close and laughed and hummed and smiled with every wave of comprehension and nostalgia being milked from his core.

It was a silly thought. A selfish thought. He barely knew her and she owed him nothing.

But he dreamt about it anyway, and the smile on his face drew him into the toastiest slumber Flash had experienced in months.

"Hmmmm... heeheehee..." He hugged himself under the sheets as the low volume of the iPad resonated against everything and nothing. "...babysitter..."

And he was out like a light.

Author's Note

Act Two:

Mall Trips and Sushi Lunches

Coming Soon...