The soft thrashing of the sheets was the only sound to break the pristine silence. It stopped for a moment, then resumed, coupled with low whimpers and swallowed cries. Through black silken canopy hangings, a hand shot out, as if reaching for something.

Steel blue eyes snapped open. Chest covered in light sheen, heaving, raspy breathing, trying to calm down. Blinked, then took in his surroundings. Fuck. I hate nightmares. Dark lashes dropped for a moment, then rose again. Probably not getting back to sleep. Lithe legs kicked off the tangled sheets and swung over to the side of the luxurious bed. Parting the hangings, the boy rose and looked around.

There was never much indication of night and day. No clock, first of all. He was free to turn on and off the lights as he pleased, unless he had a Master. The idea of having windows was laughable.

At least in the darkness he didn't see the damnable pictures.

The mirrors gave off an eerie glow in the almost nonexistent light. He reached out and his hand hit the small cabinet. Opening a drawer, he found the matches. Reaching out again rewarded him with the first candle.

With a deft stroke of the match, he lit a small flame, thus lighting the candle. He went from candle to candle, preferring this rather than flicking the light switch. Slowly the room was being illuminated, the warm flickering dancing over the silvery glass in the mirrors. The dark red and oranges licked upwards into the air, the little warmth they gave off was somewhat comforting.

He returned to the cabinet, now able to dimly see it, and returned the box of matches. He threw out the used matches.

Tinge stood in the middle of the room, where there was no furniture. For a moment, he just stood, taking calming breaths. There were no candles near by - he would not knock anything over. The carpet was soft underneath his bare feet.

In slow, practice movements, Tinge began his first kata. Arms and legs and body moved in slow fluidity, melting into the mellow light of the candles. The movement was nearly silent, and he didn't say a word. The only noise was the gentle swishing of the silk pants he slept in, lagging behind his legs' movements in nanoseconds due to air resistance.

The face was expressionless; if anything, there was a look of cool disdain. Directed to what, he didn't know.

Time rolled on slowly but he didn't pay attention. Instead, he focused on every move, perfecting them for the millionth time, finding some sense of peace in the process.

A small smile flitted across his lips for a moment, as he finished and stood stock-still, gleaming with sweat. One hand reached up slowly to wipe droplets away from his eyes. Then it dropped and he stood again, as if waiting for something.

Nothing happened.

He didn't seem surprised, as he made his way to the bathroom. The candles shone cheerily behind him, as he stalked across the room, resembling a panther. Opening the door, he nonchalantly flicked on the light switch, ignoring the chains and rings attached to the walls. Walking towards the bathtub, he stripped off his pants and threw them on the floor. The tub needed no turning on, as there was a constant flow of water.

Tinge stepped in gingerly, making sure he didn't slip onto a ledge. Satisfied that he wasn't gong to crack his skull, he let himself give a small sigh of pleasure as he sank into the warm water. Small waves surged up around him, then quickly settled down in the swirl of the tub.

Wonder when I'm getting a new Master?

The bath water didn't answer his silent musings, and he didn't expect it to. He silently let his toe circle around, poking above the water.

I'm bored. Thus the toe-poking out of the water. A silent snicker followed. Even the silence seemed to echo against the white walls.

His long black hair was half-soaked. Leaning his head back, he allowed it to become completely wet, then lay his head on one of the ledges on the side. Sighing softly, he stared through the ceiling. I should go back to sleep. Maybe. But I'm so comfortable...

The flow of water gently massaged his muscles as he relaxed against the wall of the tub. His hair swirled around him in dark rivulets. They moved as if with a will of their own, although it was obvious they were directed by the water.

He curled up on the edge of the bathtub. I wonder if I could sleep here?

But in moments he realized that it was futile and rather ridiculous. The ledge was fairly uncomfortable and he ran the embarrassing prospect of waking up spluttering with water in his mouth, or even managing to drown. Drown. In a tub.

Pursing his lips, mocking his own idiocity, he rose from the bath and stepped out, reaching for towels. He reached up to squeeze the excess water out of his hair. One towel went to wrap up his hair and stop it from dripping everywhere, the other went to swiftly scrub himself off. With an efficiency of movements that made him resemble a cat, he grabbed his pants and pulled them back on, tossing the towel into the bathroom hamper. Scrubbing his hair gently with the towel, he emerged from the bathroom into the candlelit room. He wondered what time it was.

Time to go back to sleep, certainly, he thought wryly. As an afterthought, he snatched another towel from the rack. Holding the towel with one arm, he slowly began circling the room, to blow out the candles.

His lanky form silhouetted against the flames of the candles, glowing orange again. One by one, he blew out the candles, making his way towards his bed. Halfway there, he threw the wet towel carelessly but accurately at another hamper.

Pale skin looked even paler as he sat down on his bed, wrapping the dry towel around his hair. Reaching over to the last candle, he extinguished the candle with his fingers.

Left in darkness, Tinge sighed, more of boredom than anything else. Legs pulled up, slender feet poked under covers, then slid in. He pulled himself down, adjusted his towel and stared at the canopy above him.

I wonder what time it is? he wondered again. Around 5 in the morning, I know.

Sure enough, he could hear a light clanking in the hallway. Servants coming to light to torches for the early. They always came at 5:20, so his guess had been fairly accurate.

Losing my grip on time, he instead thought, a little ruefully. He pulled the blankets up to his chine and kept his fingers peeking over the edge of the black, contrasting in their whiteness. They curled slightly as he gripped the blanket a little tighter. Oh well.

As the servants hurried around to light the corridor torches, Tinge's eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep.