Legacy

A daring plan

Nathan

Astor ended up sleeping over at my place. It was awkward, and I did my best to hide behind my book towers so I could pretend he was not there. I had plenty of homework to be busy with, so that helped some. This whole story was huge, much bigger than I had expected. If I could get my hands on Astor's and his mentor's confiscated research, then I could become famous. I would finally be proving myself as someone with a real and vital job that even my parents would have to recognize. I dared to let myself imagine myself sitting at the long dinner table back home, finally being able to the one beaming in praise and not my brothers. It was a sweet dream. The plans Astor and I agreed to were nothing but pure arrogance yet so caught up were we in our high of glory that we paid it no mind. We were going to make it into the ministry and make off with the research in the night gone like the wind. And then, we would find a printing press willing to buy the story and the report, and we would be rich, famous, and, most importantly, honor his master's legacy.

We merely had to acquire the findings and not get caught. With my knowledge of the campus and Astor's acting skills, we were going to make it. It was such a bold plan that destiny just had to doom it, or the world would not be able to handle the sheer daring. I survived on my seventh cup of coffee while drawing out a map of the campus for Astor. He had decided to join me on the caffeine high and was giving ample comments about both my knowledge of the campus' layout and my drawing skills. The latter did not impress him much. I refused to relent my pen to him, and he responded by enacting a second brawl to show his displeasure. It was stupid as all seven hells, but we did not stop because our pride could not be tamed that easily. In the end, he had the pen, my drawing was soaked in coffee, and we got too caught up arguing about the correct way to draw a floor plan to proper regulations to get much more done. We crashed like that, laying over a bundle of sketches and coffee stains. In the morning, Astor made no mention of the previous night's silly behavior, and I decided it was better not to bring it up. Even if the memory forced me to silence my laughter throughout the next day's work, it was hard to take Astor's expressionless face seriously after having experienced him acting so childish and silly. Still, I could not help but ask him if he wanted to borrow a new shirt as his current one was still stained from last night's small shuffle. He stoned faced accepted looking like a sentenced prisoner. At least he thanked me as well.

It took a couple of days to get everything in order. The most significant time sink was Astor's extreme need to get his outfit just right for the mission. His Romain Bonnaire persona needed to be just right, and not just any outfit would do that. Honestly, I did not understand the issue at all, and it was not like we should be wasting our limited funds on fancy clothing. Even if "clothing makes the man" or whatever Astor liked to throw around as a justification. I have never loved spending time on clothing. I mean, it was not like it mattered anyway back home. I had dressed nicely, and my parents had not even cared. When I started to do it more modestly, they still did not care. If they did not care, then no other freaking human being would.

"Have you considered maybe to at least try and dress proper," he dryly commented.

"I am dressing fine, and besides literally nobody cares, so no need to waste more money," I snapped back.

"Really? Do you think that? Well, could you at least bottom your shirt properly," Astor leaned forward and then roughly closed up my shirt, leaving me baffled. He did not get to bask in his victory as he soon after started coughing. Worried, I gripped him as his whole body started shaking violently. I had to stop myself from asking the stupid question if he was alright. He was not, and also, he had told me plenty of times how sick he was. I ignored the odd looks we were getting from the other people in the store. As Astor kept shaking and coughing, I gave a glance at the clothing he had piled up and then decided that it was not that important. Better to get the man out of this public space and somewhere peaceful. As I made my way out, one of the workers gave me a concerned look. I plastered a smile on my face and waved her off. How did Astor ever deal with this? It was so stressful just assisting him; it must be so much worse being utterly helpless at the same time.

After a long march, we finally arrived back at my apartment. I spent three tries getting the door open continually, fumbling as the loud coughings kept grabbing my attention. There and then, I dragged him back into the dark safety of the apartment. I found a bucket as Astor started throwing up weird white chunks on the floor. He did that for a while; it looked painful with the lumps, blood, and half-digested food. For lack of better courses of action, I brewed some coffee and started cleaning up the mess on the floor. After that, I made sure the man was seated on the couch and not on the cold wooden floor. When he was, he stopped; he passed out more or less instantly — leaving me to dispense the content of the bucket. Getting a better look at it, I had a good feeling I knew what had infected Astor.