Sleepwalking - 1 - { quicksilver x reader }

The room still didn’t feel like your own.

That was to be expected, though. You gazed out the window, head pressed tiredly to the glass — dusk was falling fast on the street, and the houses all yielded a warm, grey glow. You had seen that same view a grand total of four days in a row, and you still weren’t used to it, and you still felt about just as tumultuous and uneasy as you had when you moved in.

A soft knock at your door startled you; it echoed through the room too-loudly, since your belongings scarcely filled it. “Mae, I’m going to bed. Be sure to check on your sister before you do, alright?”

“Yes, Mom,” you called back. “G’night. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

She would. Your mother had always been a sound sleeper, which had led to years of late-night adventures between you and your little sister, Annie, and cousins who were staying over. A real smile appeared as the memories of playing hide and seek in the attic and sneaking cookies from the pantry flooded your head, but your eyes caught something bright and past the window, headlights coming from a car down the road vanquished the thoughts.

You frowned deeply, and looked down at your shirt hem, rubbing it with your fingers. Because you wouldn’t get to do those things ever again. No, the next however many years of your life would be spent here, hundreds of miles from home, so, you surmised, you needed to stop dwelling on what you had, and focus on what you have.

But...

The faint light that filled your meager room showed some boxes, a dresser, desk, bed, and barren walls. Past your door and down the hall were your sister and mother.

And that was it. That was what you had. Your family was elsewhere. Your friends were all back... home.

You clenched your fists, pursed your lips, and decided on not crying. No, taking a walk was a much better idea. Distracting yourself! Acquainting yourself with the neighborhood. You quickly found your shoes and threw them on your feet, tying the laces tight and then heading vigorously towards the front door.

You took care to close it softly behind you, and as the door shut with a muffled click, the cooling night air rushed against your face. You inhaled, and it was so much fresher than the musty air inside your room.

“Okay,” you breathed out, eyes scanning the road. “Where to...”

You chose right, deciding to just walk aimlessly and see where it took you. You took in your neighbor’s brick house as you passed — a quaint, normal yard, a mailbox that stated Maximoff — and then went by. But before long, the frustrations of being cooped up in the house, dusting and unpacking and taking hours to fall asleep had taken its toll. What started as a casual stroll turned into a brisk gait, which soon turned into a light strides, which soon turned into a full-blown sprint with your hands in tight fists as you ran.

Your feet slammed against the concrete with power, and it felt amazingly good. The wind hit your face, and your hair whipped all around it, too, and for the first time in ages, you felt really alive and beamed.

The pounding of your run fell into a rhythm, steady and quick, and your heart thrummed loudly in your ears. The street had long lost any sort of familiarity after a few minutes, and the subdued clouds gradually began to reveal the half-moon. The pace began to exhaust you, which you were grateful for, but let your legs slow to a more comfortable jog and pushed back your fluttering bangs with your wrist.

And then, somehow, you knew there was something there. There was nothing, and then there wasn’t.

You gasped, and gave an unexpected start. Suddenly, the beautiful flash of colors and blurring movement around you vanished and your ankles went out of sync, leaving you to stumble in shock. The world seemed to move as slowly as you fell. Still in slow-motion, your head snapped left, and wide-eyed, chest heaving with breathlessness, you looked up into the face of a boy, who couldn’t have been much older than you, with silver hair and a smile that was nothing less than taunting. He was racing right alongside you, except you were still falling and you remembered to bring up your arms in an attempt to break your imminent, violent crash.

The whole thing had lasted no more than a second. Just as quickly as the boy had appeared, he had also put himself between you and the concrete. It all had lasted a mere moment; a blip, but your mind reeled and your legs trembled and you became aware that you were clutching onto something warm and fabric.

“Easy there, Hermes! Don’t get yourself killed now.”

The voice was deep and melted right into you from the proximity. The speaker’s voice rumbled gently in his chest, which you felt through your fingers, and you composed yourself enough to pry open your eyes and look up at him.

There it was — a mocking curve of the lips that almost constituted a mocking smile, a raised, mocking brow that was the same color as his hair. Yep. Still him.

You tried to open your mouth to reply, and tried to accuse him of a hundred different things you didn’t know, tried to ask him who he was, or why he was there, or apologize or thank him, or... Or any of those things. But your lungs felt like they were on fire, and you were struggling to even get enough oxygen in your blood to get the stitch out of your side that you hadn’t noticed. You couldn’t manage anything except a dry, weak cough.

The strange boy’s expression changed minutely, barely noticeable in the faded light that came from porch lights of surrounding houses and the night sky, and when he spoke again his voice held a tinge of concern.

“Are you alright? Here, sit down, you need to breathe.” There was no way to protest. His hands were on your shoulders, carefully prying you away from his shirt and pressing you to the sidewalk. You flumped down gracelessly, coughing more as you did, and pushed your hair out of your face with a shaky hand.

‘This is ridiculous,’ you tried to think resentfully, but the anger just wouldn’t come as you attempted to take even breaths. But you were distracted again as the boy knelt beside you, head tilted as his eyes examined you all which ways. Probably wondering if you were going to pass out on the side of the road.

His gaze on you made your neck tingle strangely and your chest tighten. Ignoring it, you finally managed to get out, “I-I’m not going to die. Stop looking at m-me like that.”

He obviously wasn’t expecting you to say that. But watching the emotions flit across his face was entertaining, somehow. His eyes went a little wider, his eyebrows perked, and his smile became a subtle smirk.

“No, you’re not going to die,” he agreed. “But what does that have to do with me looking at you like how?”

“It’s... I... B-because... Ugh!”

“Because?” The boy was smiling broadly now, like you were the funniest thing in the world. Embarrassment colored your cheeks redder than the already were from exertion, and for a moment, the mounting frustration combined with all your troubles left you on the verge of tears.

“B-because... You’re the one who... who...” You were intending on reaming him out for appearing out of thin air and startling you into this stupid position, but the accusation would have to wait. Your parched throat cracked and it turned into coughing fit with renewed vigor. The ache in your chest hurt badly, and your tongue screamed for the soothing taste of water.

Something moved against your arm, and you vaguely noted that he hadn’t taken his hands off of you since lowering you to the ground. Normally this would be some serious discomfort on your part... but instead, you found that you didn’t mind it at all.

As a matter of fact, his hands were practically burning up, and felt delicious against the chilly night air.

Then his hands were moving, and as he hunched over you, he rubbed soothing circles on your back. “Telling me off can come later. Did you know you’re burning up? How long had you been running for? Nevermind, don’t answer that. You don’t look like much of a runner. Okay, do me a favor and keep taking deep breaths and breathing out real slow.”

He had spoken so quickly you barely managed to catch what he said, and you weakly rested your forehead on your knees. The only thing you said was a feeble, “Water.”

A sudden gust nearly made you go toppling backwards, but the hand just pressed to your back and balanced you again. And then, blinking, you realized he was holding a glass in front of you.

“Here,” he said with firm earnestness. “Drink.”

You didn’t have time to question the fact that he had a glass of water on hand. Instead, you hurriedly tried to take the glass into your hands, but he did most of the work and pressed it to your lips, letting you begin to sip before drinking more deeply. The water filled your mouth in the most beautiful way, and your eyes slid shut and a soft sound of relief hummed from the back of your throat. The glass angled higher and higher until you had finished off the entire thing.

“Ahhh,” you sighed, feeling perfectly dreamy. “That was the best water in the whole world...”

“Think so?” The silver-haired boy quipped. He finally drew back, though he still kneeled in front of you, and for whatever reason, he was just barely biting onto his bottom lip. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

You smiled, nodding appreciatively, before your mind slowly began to work again. Sitting on the ground, you finally got a better look at the boy in front of you. The darkness made it rather difficult. A glance down and up: extremely faded Converse with shredded laces, black jeans, a blue t-shirt with yellow sleeves. Then you properly looked at his face for the first time.

His hair seemed to be, in fact, just as silver as you thought it had been. It was ridiculous. You’d heard of people going grey early, but this just was crazy. You wondered if he dyed it, but weren’t sure, as you noticed that his eyebrows and eyelashes were just the same hue as his hair. His skin looked very smooth, pale, and he had one single freckle on the tip his nose.

And then you realized, as your eyes flickered to his, that he was only a few inches from your face and was staring back at you with an expression that bordered on amused curiosity.

The proximity surprised you, and you immediately shifted backwards. He opted to let you go, and your heart sank dully into your stomach.

“Careful,” he warned, but he didn’t move closer.

Then, feeling much more awake and hydrated, the questions came.

“When did you start following me?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“I was running, and I didn’t see you, or hear you, and suddenly you were right there. How did you sneak up on me?”

“You were running pretty hard, you probably just didn’t hear me. Anyway, why were you running down my street?”

The real reason made you feel very childish, and you bit back, “None of your business. Free country, it’s not your street.”

And then he leaned in close — very close — and his eyes were bright and his smile was almost threatening.

“Yes,” he corrected lowly. “It is my street.”

For a moment, your heart went silent, and you forgot how to speak. But indignance boiled fresh in your blood, and you snapped, “Okay, and you’re a tool. Did you actually follow me with a glass of water?”

He rolled his eyes and you felt fluttery and fuming, and you attempted to move away with discreetness from the impossible boy who was making you feel like your insides were coiling into knots. And you did move back an inch or so, but a downward flick of his eyes told you that he definitely noticed.

Suddenly, his entire face lit up, and he grinned like a child. Instinctive dread passed through you.

“Am I making you nervous?” he asked, voice saturated with childish glee. He was enjoying all of this, wasn’t he? Again, a hundred conflicting feelings battled in you, moving quickly from astonishment to infuriation to mortification until your throat felt tight and you wanted to punch him and go home and cry in your pillow.

‘No! No, Maisy, no no no! You will not cry in front of this stupid dumbass! Come on, you are so much better than that!’

You managed to take a shaky, slow breath, and you replied simply and evenly, “No.” He didn’t look like he believed it, but his gaze softened and his smile sharpened.

“I’m very flattered,” he admitted, and quickly continued, “and you are very angry. Were you heading somewhere?”

It was obvious that he was changing the subject, and you found yourself mumbling before you could stop yourself, “No, not exactly. I... just wanted to... run.”

He was silent for a beat, then said with surprising sincerity, “I know the feeling.”

The silence stretched on between you for an indeterminate amount of time. No cars passed by, but the clouds did begin to clear, and the moonlight illuminated his peculiar hair brilliantly, and you couldn’t help your mouth quirking up at the corner at the sight. He seemed to be tilting his head, observing you with a thoughtful expression, and you made yourself very interested in the blades of grass sprouting up from the crack in the sidewalk underneath you, twirling it between your fingers. It wasn’t until you yawned that the boy spurned into action, standing up so fast that you nearly had a heart attack.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” you sputtered, but he seemed perfectly fine, and was holding out his hands, obviously expecting you to place your own in them.

“It’s late,” he shrugged. “I should get you home. It’s not a bad neighborhood, and I wouldn’t let anything happen to you anyway, but you look like you could use some sleep. Now come on. I won’t bite.” His eyes flashed at his last words and made the back of your neck prickle almost pleasantly.

You hesitated, then delicately you placed your hands in his. And you weren’t sure if you imagined it, but it felt like static had shot straight up through your fingertips to your spine, and you inhaled sharply under your breath and hoped he didn’t notice.

In one easy pull, you were on your feet effortlessly and he let you hold tight to his wrists while you wobbled and then kept your balance.

“G-good?” he asked, sounding oddly somewhat breathless.

“Good,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

He let go a little later than he meant to, and then shoved his hands into his pockets almost immediately. A pang of worry hit your stomach — maybe he didn’t like being touched? It would explain his stutter and the action that followed... You instinctually took a step backwards and looked away to some house across the street instead.

“So where d’you live?”

‘Oh. Ugh... Think fast...’ “Um, you don’t have to walk me home, I’ll be fine. It’s no big deal.”

You had barely finished your sentence when he instantly replied, smoothly and firmly, “Nope. Walking you home. How far away do you live?”

You turned to check the way you came, and everything looked unrecognizable. A frown turned your lips, and you admitted half-heartedly, “I don’t know, I’ve never been this far down the street.” You bit the inside of your cheek and fingered the hem of your shirt again.

“You live on this street?” He sounded curious, and you realized dumbly, ‘Yeah, he must live here. He was running down here, too.’

“Y-yeah. I just moved here.” You absently scuffed at a stone with the toe of your shoe. “But if I go back the way I came, I’ll be fine. How close do you live from here?”

He ignored your question. “Did you move in on Thursday?”

‘...What did he just say?’

Confused, you looked up at him and said, “Yeeeah? How’d you know?”

The silver-haired boy positively lit up, his mouth melting into the biggest smile yet and the brightness of his stare was almost overwhelming. When he spoke, his voice was nothing short of giddy, like a kid who had just been given the whole candy store.

“You,” he enunciated very carefully, shoes tapping on the ground with excitement. “Are my neighbor.”