✧ 68 | Sleep Time ✧
Beast's laughing fit finally stopped. He ignored the talkback and slap he got from Ilya and, instead of getting angry, he said:
"Leave everything there, Elliott. Let's eat."
Beast knelt in front of the dead deer.
"You can go eat that cake Billy promised you." He pointed. "You earned it, kiddo."
He dug his claws into the deer's gut and tore its heart out before sinking his teeth into it. Blood streamed down his forearms to the elbows, while crimson splattered across half his face.
Ilya fought the urge to vomit at the horrific sight. He covered his mouth and turned away, his gaze landing on the chocolate cake he had won. He didn't know if he could stomach a single bite after what he'd just witnessed, but if he wanted to avoid another crash in his blood sugar, he had to eat.
Shivering in the bitter cold, he walked to the trophy trolley and tore off a piece of cake with his hands. The rich scent of chocolate filled his senses with a brief taste of normalcy. It carried him back to his favorite coffee shop—the last place his mom had taken him before she died.
His eyes welled with tears as he brought the cake to his mouth. He chewed slowly, the sweetness mingling with the salt of his tears.
Beast watched the shivering teenager and chuckled without an ounce of sympathy. There was something amusing about seeing a human reduced to such a miserable state, broken in both body and mind.
And that boy had been through hell and back.
When he was done mangling his meal, Beast stretched his arms overhead and let out a long yawn.
"Time to sleep, girly boy."
That stung, but Ilya's hurt feelings were the least of his concerns when Beast gestured for him to come closer.
He wants us to cuddle?
A cold shiver ran down his spine. He wiped his hands on his apron and just stood there, playing dumb.
Beast sighed, clearly tired of waiting. Then he strode over, seized Ilya by the arm, and dragged him toward the mattress. Blood from Beast's hand smeared across the boy's milky skin.
"I said"—he shoved Ilya onto the mattress—"time to sleep."
Before Ilya could register what had happened, Beast snuggled into bed with him.
Ilya froze. Beast settled behind him, spooning him, invading what little space he had left. Warm breath stirred the back of his neck as Beast buried his face into Ilya's fluffy hair like the freak he had always been.
The trembling spread through every inch of Ilya's body; not only from the cold, but from the creepy touches and the sudden intimacy of Beast.
He was between his arms, struggling to make a move.
His eyes stayed wide open, even though he was exhausted.
Even breathing felt wrong, as though the slightest movement might make everything worse.
After what felt like an eternity, Beast's arms went limp, and loud snores rumbled through the room.
Only then did Ilya dare to breathe. Warmth slowly returned to his numb body, and little by little, the fog of panic began to lift.
Think.
His mind, clouded by terror for so long, finally grasped at a single question:
What do I do now?
Then it hit him.
All he had to do to feel safe again was bring Billy back.
But how?
His exhausted mind clawed through every terrifying memory since arriving at this cursed hospital. Every game. Every word. Every strange thing Billy and Beast had said or done.
Then his eyes widened.
There was a pattern.
The last time Beast disappeared and Billy came back, it happened after Beast looked at his face. Not just looked—He met his eyes.
Eye contact.
Ilya's pulse quickened.
The eyes.
That's it.
The answer was right in front of him. He had to remind Beast of Ned. To do that, he had to look Beast straight in the eyes—the scariest thing he could possibly do.
You can do it.
Slowly, Ilya rolled over to meet Beast. The rough stubble on the man's jaw brushed against his delicate face.
Asleep, Beast looked almost like Billy. Less frightening. Human enough to give Ilya the courage to go through with his plan. He didn't know if it would work, but he had to try.
"Beast," he whispered.
Beast's eyelids twitched, but he didn't wake.
"Beast."
A sleepy hum escaped him.
"Huh...?"
Ilya carefully slipped out of Beast's embrace and cupped his face.
"Beast?"
"WHAT?"
Beast's eyes flew open, hard with anger.
Then they softened.
Staring back at him were wide green eyes. Golden flecks bloomed around the dark pupils, melting into rich emerald irises. Delicate freckles scattered through them as though painted by hand, while faint rings stretched and contracted with every heartbeat, giving them a quiet, living rhythm.
They reminded him of a meadow in early spring—fresh, bright, untouched.
There was something impossibly clear about them, as though he could look straight through the emerald depths and into the boy's very soul. They were gentle without being weak, warm without losing their innocence.
Only now, their faces an inch apart, was Beast able to make out their true colors.
And that was when he saw him.
"Ned?"