Written for the 2-Day Drabbles challenge on the discoveredinalj livejournal community

A hundred thousand lights glint off his hair, orange and red and bronze under the streetlamp. They make him an angel, though he's got a dirty face, and there's no good at all in the way he's looking at me. There's no good in the way his body pulls at mine either, without touching me, just by standing, canted, being. And his lips are innocent-pink, but not the way they're smiling at me, just before he speaks, he whispers, he says it out loud.

"Come to bed, Bodie..."

And me, I can't move, and I can't say anything at all.

-- THE END --

September 2007

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