Renaissance

VIII

Heph's P.O.V

       How puny you are! I expected you to be something more than...well, a scrawny seventeen year old with abandonment issues. Excuse my diagnosis.

      Not a worry in the world for us. You're nothing to us; a bug for us to crush, perhaps, but after that: dust! The Harbinger, as you call our Philotas, can handle you. We've already tried and, my, how exciting–for us–that you escaped!

      Didn't take us too long to find you again. Though you made that ridiculously easy. Walking right into Aros and Cosmus? Silly boy! Don't ever wander the sewers without a guide. We've been here far longer, the stone knows of our hushed prose.

      If only your damned Renaissance artist didn't step in the way. We'll just have to deal with him too!

      Don't get in our way, Hephaestion. Even Alexander's lover fell and his was a wound so overlooked.

      ~~~

         I gasp as if coming up for air. My room fills in my vision as I take gulping breaths, and my limbs slowly regain enough feeling for me to clumsily roll out of bed. I don't know why I'm getting up, but my room doesn't feel right and the darkness seems to be violently throbbing. I don't want to stay here. My legs don't want to work, they shake and feel numb; dropping me to the floor on my hands and knees.

      It's early. Dull lights seeps under the door and I can't tell if I fell asleep while meditating and had a nightmare, or if this is one of Mikey's elaborate pranks. I groan as I get up, nausea hitting like a punch to the stomach. Giotto meows plaintively as I stumble towards the door, not even trying to be quiet as I race to the bathroom.

      The contents of my stomach are effectively emptied into the toilet. Which isn't a lot, thankfully. I sit there, trying to gulp down breaths and ease myself into not panicking.
      There's a knock at the bathroom door that startles me and they come in regardless of whether I protested or not. A hand falls against the small of my back, making me flinch at the unexpectedly cool skin.

      I look up to see Leo's worried face. He reaches for a washcloth and wets it, his face one of determination. He pauses, noticing me looking at him. His weight is shifted to one foot, and then he's sitting next to me on the bathroom floor.

      "Hephaestion, what happened?" His voice is soft. Lips stay parted as he presses the damp cloth against my forehead. I can see his perfect teeth. Then a tongue quickly darting between them.

      I can't put a face to the foreign voice, or a name. Just that I can still feel every word crawling across my skin. I can feel them separating me; joint from joint, tendon from tendon.

      Molecule from molecule.

      It hurts so terribly. Dull spasms of agony ricochet through my head, down my back, and a violent itch flares across my palms. I realize my skin is buzzing and my entire body feels like it's falling. That's because I am. The bathroom lights blur and dim as if to the beat of a heart, caustically playing with my senses.
      Everything is muffled and echoed. Lights are thrown around my vision like street lights racing past in a car. My head pounds in parallels that resemble a bass drum and colours dance even more unencumbered by the words that still whirl in my head. Panic ensues.

      "Oh shit, Leo..." I mumble but it just feels like I've conjured up marbles from my mouth and spat them onto the floor. Who put pennies in my mouth?

      His hands feel overly-saturated against my body yet I don't know what they're holding onto. Their soft outlines are just phantoms over my back but I'm not conscious enough to realize he's holding me like a tired toddler who had fallen asleep on the car ride home. I understand the threshold of his door. His room is warm, dark, it invites me in and draws the curtains so harsh sun doesn't melt my shivering figure. There's blood on his shell. I'm bleeding.