The Prey of Truth

First Aid and Pomegranate Picking

Atticus awoke the next morning feeling refreshed. Stretching his limbs, he flinched when his foot came into contact with an object. Dianthus was fast asleep on the end of the bed, sleeping in a semi-fetal position, facing Atticus. Atticus observed the sleeping male, noticing a serenity he had never seen before blanket Dianthus' face, his measured breathing exuding peace. His bubble gum pink hair reminded Atticus of Japanese cherry blossoms during Spring. However, upon further inspecting his hair, Atticus noticed that his roots were brunette.

'So, he's a natural brunette,' Atticus thought.

He realised that Dianthus' hair colour made perfect sense; the mix between darkness and light, the mix between a demon and an angel. Briefly glancing at the clock, Atticus thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw it was already noon. He rolled out of bed, covering Dianthus with the blanket, and started on a belated breakfast of bacon and eggs while softly humming a tune to himself. Within a few minutes later, Dianthus awoke and trudged into the room, taking a seat on one of the chairs. Atticus noticed that Dianthus appeared considerably more well-rested than he had looked all week.

"Good morning," Dianthus mumbled.

"Actually, it's lunchtime," Atticus corrected.

"Is it?" Dianthus asked, baffled, peering at the clock on the microwave. "Damn, the whole day's gone,"

"Well, not the whole day," Atticus mused, placing a plate full of freshly cooked food in front of Dianthus.

"Mm, thank you," Dianthus said gratefully, digging into the meal.

"You're right," Dianthus replied, in return to Atticus' comment earlier. "We're going out today,".

"Where to," Atticus asked, swallowing his food.

"Pomegranate picking," Dianthus declared.

~

Straight after their delayed breakfast, Dianthus and Atticus got changed into casual clothes in the closet. As they were getting changed, Atticus looked over at Dianthus by chance and caught sight of the red swollen gashes on his back. Atticus was instantly reminded of his dream in the early hours of the morning; however, Dianthus seemed to take no notice of them, and pulled his shirt on, fastening the buttons that ran down the design. Dianthus turned around, moving to walk out of the closet when he noticed Atticus' eyes fixated on him in concern.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"No, you're hurt," Atticus said, finishing getting dressed.

Dianthus clenched his hand inside his pocket, "Oh yeah, don't worry about that," he said, brushing the topic aside.

Atticus frowned, "No, I am going to worry about it, they'll get infected. Come on," he gestured for Dianthus to follow him as they walked out of the closet.

Atticus went to search under the kitchen sink for a first aid kit, and said to Dianthus, "Go lie on the couch on your stomach." He hesitated before saying, "And take off your shirt if you don't mind,".

Dianthus shrugged, following Atticus' orders, not going to complain about being taken care of. Wandering back to Dianthus once he had found the first aid kit, Atticus began to tend to his wounds. To Atticus' surprise, the first thing that he noticed upon closely looking at Dianthus' back were two small stubs, protruding around both the shoulder blades.

Atticus softly traced his finger over them, asking, "What are they?"

Dianthus replied, his arms folded underneath his head, "They're angel wings", he pauses, "They don't work, of course; the demon half of me is suppressing them.". Dianthus laughed hollowly, "I'm essentially a flightless bird,".

Atticus lightly slapped Dianthus' shoulder, "Don't say that. Don't put yourself down for something that isn't your fault," he huffed.

"Sorry," Dianthus replied softly.

Atticus first flushed out the wounds using saline solution, earning a hiss of pain from Dianthus.

"It's okay; that was the painful part," Atticus said, rubbing Dianthus' shoulder kindly.

He then applied the gauze and bandages to each of the deep cuts marking Dianthus' back, muttering words of encouragement and apologies whenever Dianthus whimpered.

"All done," Atticus said, after what felt like an eternity.

Dianthus pulled his shirt back on, whispering a soft thank you.

The pair then set out for a day of pomegranate picking.

~

They arrived at the familiar, organised pomegranate fields, Atticus picking up their subtle scent. Atticus then asked a question he had been pondering internally for a while:

"Why are there only pomegranates grown here?"

Dianthus, who was picking up two wooden baskets and two knives from a metal box, explained, "Well when Persephone was trapped in the Underworld, she ate half a pomegranate. And when you eat food in the Underworld, you're not allowed to leave. So, Persephone is now bound here for half the year."

"Why half?" Atticus asked.

"Because she ate half the pomegranate?" Dianthus reiterated as if the concept was elementary.

"Oh, gotcha," Atticus understood.

They strolled along the pomegranate fields, and Atticus realised that as they were walking, the quality of the fruits seemed to only improve. Nearing the end of the column, Dianthus stopped.

"These are the best ones," he said, kneeling in front of the luscious fruits, Atticus joining him.

Dianthus handed Atticus a knife, expertly showing him how to properly harvest the fruit as if he had done this a copious number of times. Once Atticus got the hang of it, he started to pick the pomegranates himself. Atticus noticed that he didn't even have to search for the best quality ones, as they all looked equally mouth-watering. When they had each filled their baskets to the brim, they began their walk back to their apartment. Making use of their hard work, Dianthus cooked pan-seared fish with pomegranate salsa for dinner, which was new to Atticus, but he soon decided it was one of his favourite meals he had tried in the Underworld.