A Coffee Hating Prophet

Tears Flowing

Still in a state of battle, Temp quickly jumped up from his hospital bed, the clinical smell of medicine and perfume blessing Temps' sense of smell, the smooth blanket enveloping him in warmth violently thrown off, his oak brown eyes darting across the marble white room. He failed to realise the innocent young woman who had been peacefully sleeping on his previously unmoving thighs.

Lucia jolted awake, equally startled. Grabbing the wooden staff resting beside the sturdy hospital bed—almost comically taller than she was—she instinctively began to chant Fissure, her hands wrapped around its shaft.

A chill shot down Temps spine, hairs on the back of his neck shooting up, a cold beat of sweat rolling down his pale face. With no delay, he haphazardly lunged at her in a dive, launching his entire body at her slender frame.

In just a few seconds, the calm ward burst forth with life. The once organised layout of the empty room with its 3 beds arranged in a straight line parallel to a wall was upended, pushed back by Temp's sudden movement. The small side table situated beside it toppled over onto its side, the pot containing a plant with striking yellow petals shattering like glass, shards scattering all over the wooden boards. Amidst the chaos, a pair of students laid on the floor, one above the other, in a rather compromising position.

Returning to his senses once again, Temp opened his eyes to be greeted with a welcome sight. Somehow, while barreling through the air, he had managed to rotate the two such that it was now Lucia who was on top of him. Staring at her ch-, face, definitely her face, his eyes traced a path from her defined and slightly angular chin up towards her supple red lips, and further up towards her delicate nose complementing her sharp jawline before finally reaching her lightning yellow eyes, which had always enraptured him. Although the heavy bags under her eyes and slight cracking on her lips were new additions to her unchanging face.

Temp froze, his breath catching in his throat. Lucia's face was centimetres from his, her sharp jawline softened by the faint shadow of exhaustion, eyes rimmed with the dark rings of sleepless nights. His gaze traced the delicate curve of her lips, cracked just at the edges, and the hollow of her cheeks where the usual brightness had faded. The sight hit him harder than any battle wound could.

His chest tightened, heart thudding against his ribs as if it wanted to escape. He instinctively reached out, fingers grazing her cheek, the touch barely connecting, as if afraid she might vanish.

Temp bit his lip, suppressing the tidal wave of emotions welled up in the very depths of his being from showing. The glint in his eyes softened and his arms weakened, shaking as they supported the weight of Lucia, which itself felt like air, but the burden that she bore felt heavier than the Heavens and Pangea combined—and Temp could feel it.

'Told you, boy. Should've used me when you had the chance,' his future self's voice said, calm and steady, each word picked with intent, as though the mockery lay not in the volume but in the certainty of the statement.

Clenching his fist, Temp's nails drew blood as he sank them deep into his palms. 'Never again.' he thought. 'I never want this to happen again.'

Coming to, Lucia awakened, looking down at Temp, who put on a mischievous smile. "Thanks for the view." he proudly and calmly stated, as if she intentionally put herself in this position. Feeling a rollercoaster of emotions, Lucia's face turned beet red as she realised the situation, pushing off Temp and scurrying to pick herself off the ground. She then paused for a moment, eyes scanning the person lying on the ground before her, still charading around with his ever so adorable and playful attitude, dropped her prized staff, and ran back to him—who had started raising himself from the ground—with her arms opened as if she was a leaf taking in the sunlight, maximising her surface area.