ShadeOfSilver

Mix was asleep. He was exhausted, to the point he had skipped his shower. He promised to take one tomorrow. His soft bed seemed to envelope his entire body in comfort he had long since forgotten about. However, he was awoken by the sound of thundering footsteps headed in his direction. He turned in his bed and pulled the duvet over his head, hoping that whoever that was would run straight pass him. He sighed when those footsteps stopped right in front of his room. He heard his door creak open quietly, letting in a stream of light from the corridor. “Mix?” A small voice called, “Are you asleep?” Mix did not respond. He continued pretending to be asleep, but apparently that did not stop the other bean from creeping into his room. He heard the door shut with a gentle click, and the other figure crept towards him slowly. He felt the shifting of weight on the bed, the tell-tale sign that this intruder had climbed on his bed. He felt her cold skin brush against his own warmth, and he

“Mix.” “Nimmer.” The black bean placed a hand on the brown bean’s shoulder. It was a quiet day at the bar, a Sunday night, where most beans were home to prepare for a working Monday. Mix had been playing a game on his phone, but Nimmer was bored. Metronome was out to do some deliveries and had not permitted him to follow, and he had been trapped in with Mix for the past three hours. Now, he had a smile that made Mix decide to lock his phone screen and pay full attention to the black bean. Nimmer, having successfully gathered Mix’s full attention smirked. He said; “Mix, don’t you know how to massage someone?” “Massage?” Mix repeated, tilting his head to the side. He was quiet for a minute, then said, “I mean, I guess?” “Come on, Mix, Metronome said you could do anything!” Nimmer said. “I don’t think he literally meant ‘anything’” Mix said, then flinched when Nimmer stretched out his hand. Mix looked at it, and tilted his head. “This is…?” “Hand massage. Come on, I will

Food. Money. A few set of clothes. ID card. That should be all he needed, Mix thought as he closed the bag. He looked around his room once - he had been here for six years, after all, but found that there was little he felt nostalgic about. He crept out quietly into the empty corridor, dimmed lights lighting the way as it always did. It was quiet, and rightly so given the price of the room compared to the facilities on offer. He walked down the stairs silently, down to the sitting area of the bar. The chairs had all been lifted up onto the tables, the floor swept and mopped, and the counters wiped clean. The light at the bar was always left on. Sometimes he travelled late at night, or came back in before dawn, so it had became a habit of Metronome’s. He walked to the door which was locked, as usual, and reached into his coat pocket for keys. The door opened, letting the summer heat into the cool interior, even though it was already night time. There was a hint of moisture in the air,