Chapter5

#Chapter5

It would have been thought that the first night in a strange place would be the worse, but as Sylvester lay in the mystic clutches of the darkened room, illuminated only by the sunshine nightlight that was plugged into the wall opposite his bed — or rather, crib — he found that the second night was far, far worse.

Sly could barely remember the night before. He had been simply exhausted, his adrenaline crashing, leaving his body feeling as though it had been through a boot camp drill, and his mind had been worked long and hard by questions that refused to be silenced, and relished at the chance to shut down.

Tonight, it was far from simple. He had been put to bed over an hour ago; he had been tucked in with a forehead kiss, a bedtime story read to him, and left with the sweet wish for him to have a pleasant sleep. Yet, even with the sound of silence surrounding him, so loud that his ears seemed to ring, he couldn't sleep.

He had tried. He had tossed and turned, wiggling around in the surprisingly comfortable bed, but he had remained unsuccessful.

It was times like this that he would have played games on his phone, or turned on Disney plus and binge-watched as many Star Wars films as he could before his eyes simply grew too heavy to stay open, but that was no longer an option. Part of the contract was that he would forfeit his phone for the entire month that he was with Jackson, for security measures. He guessed that somebody like Jackson couldn't afford for anybody to take pictures of his 'behind closed doors' scene. Sly knew that something like that, if spun the right way, was powerful enough to destroy his career.

Watching Star Wars, which he didn't really need to watch, as he knew it scene for scene and word for word from the number of times he had watched them in the past, wasn't an option, either. His room didn't have a television. Well, his other room, the nice, normal ones that lacked a crib and was granted a bed, did, but he was only supposed to be in there on Saturdays, when it was his day off.

So instead, Sly was left to stare at the mobile that dangled above his head. It was hard to deny that it was pretty cool; rocket ships dangled, intertwined with stars, creating a galactic effect as they twirled to a minuscule orbit. His thoughts were left to be wild, no cages to confine them, no barriers to keep them apart. Like savage animals, they fought, each one desperately trying to be declared the victor.

Why did Jackson Palmer, somebody who was currently quite a high profile name, need to pay somebody to be his baby?

That was the big mama thought. From it, little baby cubs jumped out from it, each one another elaboration on the original.

What did Jackson get out of treating somebody like his baby?

He had said there was a name for it, which meant that surely there were other people interested in it. Why didn't he find somebody who, like him, was into it?

Was it a psychological issue? Had he perhaps lost a baby and was trying to recreate what he had lost?

Was it a game to him, or a power play?

At the end of the month, what would happen? Would they become strangers to each other, and would he be forced to remain silent to the fact that he had met him?

Too many questions, too indecisive of which angle they wanted to take, it made his head spin. Sly could feel the hectic beating of his heart, despite barely moving, and he tried to counter it by pulling the stuffed animal that had been tucked in with him closer to his chest. It was a tabby cat with a sweet smile and shiny eyes. Soft to the touch, he was almost ashamed to admit how much comfort the thing brought him.

He hummed to himself as he held her, fingers parting her fur. As far as first days went, his hadn't been half as bad as he had expected. In fact, in terms of actual work, it was the easiest job he had ever had. He was being paid to be doted on.

It was just . . . overwhelming. Using the diaper had been mortifying, and even though it had only been a wee, he had broken down and cried whilst being changed. Jackson had then soothed him and held him until his tears had dried up, telling him what a good job he had done.

It was the humiliation more than anything. He had spent his whole life moving towards independence, and now he was undoing his most basic of functions. It was hard to let go. It did help that Jackson wasn't cruel about it. There had been no mockery or snide comments, which ruled out it being a power play, as his thoughts had guessed at, just kindness and patience.

He was just . . . he wasn't even sure what he was. He felt almost homesick, which was ridiculous, because he had never really had anywhere that felt like home. The apartment he shared with his roommate felt more like a temporary pit stop, and his parents’ home had been a cold place, lacking love and warmth. It had been as empty as a show home.

But even still, they were familiar, and right about now, familiar would have been good.

Sleep came for him eventually, but it wasn't a kind journey. It was harsh and intolerant, the kind of slumber that exhaustion induced, but the soul didn't really allow. When he eventually awoke the next morning, bright light from the open window seeming to fill every corner of the room, and Jackson's hand gently rousing him, his body felt all the poorer for it. It felt stiff and sore, like he had worked out or ran a marathon.

/"Good morning, baby boy,/" Jackson greeted once Sly's eyes eventually opened fully. He was a handsome man, Jackson, but not in a way that was striking or jaw-dropping. He held a subtler trace of beauty, the kind that started off as average, but seemed to amplify the longer one spent looking at him.

/"Mahno,/" Sly replied sleepily. He had tried to say good morning back, but his mouth had gotten tired halfway through and it had given up on him.

Laughing, a sound that seemed to go so well with the bright, clear vibes that settled over the room, Jackson messed with the crib bar, unlocking the clasps so that the bars that acted as a barrier between them slid down, vanishing and creating an exit. /"Ah, I can see that somebody isn't much of a morning person./"