"Adam", I say, and I watch him. His face in the mirror looks back to me, eyes wide awake and aware and shining with light. His hair, as always cut short to stop every attempt of curling at the beginning, gleams like a sealīs fur in the faint sunlight that penetrates the dirty windows.
He brushes his hair, with carefully measured movements, and I watch the long fingers work, the sinews move on his wrist and hand, a familiar sight.
He turns around to me and smiles, and his eyes lighten up to that golden brown I love so much. He holds out his hand, and passes me the brush without comment, but I see the sparks dancing nonetheless and I grin, despite myself.
"Donīt take too long", he advises while he grabs his gear, and then he heads to the door.
In my mind I say something.
"Adam", I say, and I watch him. His face in the mirror looks back at me, and his eyes are wide awake and aware and shining with light.
In my mind I say something - every time.
I say something to make him stay and not go out that door so he wonīt get shot and the bullet will not hit his chest.
And then I wake up.