Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world

May think I’m foolish

They can’t see you

Like I can

Oh but anyone

Who knows what love is

Will understand

To say tonight has been crazy would be an understatement. Like, a massive one.

You’d already had your reservations pertaining to this job, questions such as: “Why would such a well respected institution hire someone so underqualified for the night guard position?” and, “How am I supposed to perform well when all they’ve given me is a flimsy list of directions and no actual job training?” And eventually, much later in the evening, “Have I totally lost it or did that super ancient fossilized T-Rex just move?” And yet none of these many queries and doubts had prepared you for the actual pandemonium of what would be your first night on the job.

After what feels like hours of being chased by a colossal skeleton, chasing escapee miniatures and a devilishly mischievous monkey, then being chased again by a very aggressive and excitable group of Huns, you’re desperate for someone, anyone, to make you feel a little less crazy. Luckily, Teddy arrives just in time and helps you make sense of everything. You’ve never been much of a history freak, which seems ironic now that you seem to be living it, but if you were you’re sure Teddy would be your favorite historical figure. Authoritative and wise while somehow still being zestful and kind, you’re just about ready to follow his every word. Although after the night you’ve had, you’re pretty sure you’d take advice from Attila at this point.

So when Teddy explains the power of the tablet, and the danger it’s undead possessor wields, you stand there silently and commit his warning to heart. The screams and rattling emanating from the sarcophagus are chilling, and the last thing you want is another rouge (and possibly murderous) museum display on the loose. It’s with caution that you pass that exhibit each night after that, trying your best to ignore the gut wrenching cries that echo in your mind long after you’ve gone home for the day.

Your life seems to become more colorful after you start working at the museum. When you get the chance to converse with some of history’s most influential figures each night, there’s never a dull moment on the job. Although sometimes you wish there was a second or two to just sit back and pretend your job description is to simply watch the front door. You had little idea that first night how your job would evolve into much more than making sure to keep the exhibits in check. You become their negotiator, hashing out agreements and compromises between the feuding residents of the museum. Most recently, you had to work out a rather violent disagreement between the civil war soldiers and the KGB mannequins from the recent Cold War installation. Least to say, you aren’t even sure if that one had actually been solved or if the tensions will fester for years to come. Both groups are too silent and shifty to tell.

Although you sometimes have to lay down a firm hand with the more unruly residents, many of the museum’s figures have become close friends and confidants. Teddy is always nearby on that horse of his ready to gallop in heroically and save the day, or simply lend some wise old adage you’re not entirely convinced he came up with. You’ve built up a particularly good rapport with Jed and Octavius, which is surprising considering how much they seemed to loathe you on that first night, and have even come to an unstable truce with Attila and Co. All the while you still carefully heed Teddy’s words. Never open the sarcophagus.

But just like Pandora, you find the idea of dangerous secrets hidden in a box too alluring to resist.

Your curiosity is initially piqued quite on accident. It only takes one moment of silence to draw you in.

You’re strolling down the hallway towards the Egyptian exhibit as you perform your routine end of the night check (you’ve learned that the cavemen like to hide out in strange places), humming the latest annoyingly catchy song you heard on the radio that gets so stuck in your head it practically lives there. The honor goes to Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” this time. It’s quiet in this section of the museum, as the other exhibits hardly dare to venture here, and you allow yourself to indulge in some louder vocalizations. What can you say, the song is so goddamn catchy and the acoustics back here are phenomenal. You’re so caught up in your sweet humming that it takes you a moment to realize that something is wrong.

Just as you reach your highest crescendo, belting out that sweet cry of “mama” that Freddie Mercury does so well, you hear your voice echoing through the halls and that’s when the realization hits you. You’re standing right next to the Tomb of Ahkmenrah and you hear nothing. No vicious thumping, no spine chilling groans, no half intelligible cries for freedom, absolutely nothing at all. And the strange part is, it must’ve been making noise when you initially started down the hall. You’ve learned to tune out the terrible noises as you tiptoe silently by each night but only after you’ve made sure it’s still making them because if it’s not making them then it might not have a reason to anymore and that’s not good.

So you know it must have been rattling the cage when you came up here otherwise you would’ve been too tense to ever let yourself drift off like that. No, it had been crying out as usual when you had entered the hallway. So then, why had it gone silent?

Your humming fades into nothing as you slowly backtrack, stopping to stand in front of the silent Egyptian hall. You’d enjoyed the room when you first arrived in the museum during the daylight, admiring the craftsmanship of the authentic looking hieroglyphics, the artful golden embellishments framing the famed tablet, and the noble looking jackals that stood guard at the entrance. It had felt like a true Egyptian palace. Now, beneath the stolid gaze of the two stony figures holding extra pointy spears, it felt a lot more like a tomb. One that, you told yourself reluctantly, you had to enter in order to make sure everything was okay. You would never forgive yourself if that thing got loose and someone was hurt. It is more than just a job at this point; you care for your museum friends deeply and want them to be safe. If that means standing up to an ancient mummy with enormous bodyguards, so be it.

Cautiously stepping into the dark room, you can feel a change in your surroundings. Whereas the museum generally has a chaotic atmosphere that reflects the antics of its inhabitants, the air in the tomb is ancient and still, unchanging. It’s as if every atom lies dormant, waiting for some unknown catalyst to spur it into action. The energy in this exhibit has always felt so angry and alive, but now the molecules lies in wait. For what, you’re not sure.

Hesitantly stepping closer towards the sarcophagus in the center of the room, you wince every time your foot touches the ground. No matter how carefully you tread, your boot clad steps seem to echo within the chamber. It reminds you of an old cartoon you saw where every attempt the character made to be quiet ended up creating a louder and louder noise. You’d laugh at your situation, if it wasn’t so eerie.

You halt a mere two feet away, unwilling to go any further. Whipping out your flashlight, you examine the sarcophagus from a distance. All seems well. The lid is still firmly shut and the locks seemingly unbroken and untampered with, but that doesn’t dampen the foreboding feeling in your chest. Almost unconsciously, you take a few more steps forward until you hover over the coffin.

Despite your ever present sense of danger, you can’t help but admire the way the gold paint shimmers in the dim light. The museum had made the decision a few weeks ago to remove the glass encasing the sarcophagus, revealing even more of its hypnotic beauty to your appreciative eye. 

The little you know about ancient Egypt and its culture comes from the Egyptology book you’d borrowed from the school library in the third grade, being attracted to it solely because of the shiny gold cover depicting the Eye of Horus. You felt like you were a little kid again, drawn in like a moth to a flame by shiny objects. Normally, visitors would have to maintain a couple feet of distance from the sarcophagus, but you were standing directly over it now with little regard for museum protocol. Or your own safety, for that matter.

Impulsively, you lay your hand gently over the lid, eager to feel the intricate carvings beneath your fingertips. You barely notice the breathy hum of awe that escapes your throat.

With an abruptness that makes you jump sky high, a loud  thud causes the lid to rattle violently beneath your hand. Squeaking with surprise, you drop your flashlight and immediately make a break for the entrance. Peeling down the hallway, you don't even bother to look back as those terrible sounds begin to chase you again. One thing’s for sure; it’s still in there. 

Agonized wails of anger and pain echo down each corridor, rattling the walls with their sheer force. The anguish seeded deep within his screams sound within your ears that day long after you’ve left the museum.

After you’ve taken a few days to collect yourself, pointedly avoiding that part of the museum, you reluctantly find yourself returning after receiving several complaints of even louder screaming than before. You find yourself entering what you can only describe as a tenuous agreement with the resident mummy as you employ a new strategy. You’re not sure it will work, and you’re terrified to try at risk of catastrophic failure, but if you can manage to calm the monster down maybe you’ll stop hearing its torment banging around in your head.

So now, whenever you take your nightly stroll, you hum whatever comes to mind. And sure enough, like clockwork, the mummy’s shouts fade into placated silence. You work your way through countless different genres and songs, all the way from “Back in Black” to “Colors of the Wind”. Eventually you progress to full fledged singing, enjoying the way your voice carries in the open space as you mimic a performance. It feels nice to be able to let loose away from the rambunctious antics of the museum’s occupance. It’s good to have a moment or two away from the endless chaos that can only be caused by such a colorful array of characters. You’re free to belt out whatever tune embodies your emotional state to absolutely no one, save for your silent audience of one. 

It doesn’t escape you that this is the most open you’ve been around another person (can you even call a centuries old corpse that?) in your entire life. So in a sense, an ancient dried up pharaoh knows you better than anyone else in your life. Strange.

You like to think that maybe, just maybe, the mummy appreciates your terrible singing somehow. Why else would it silence its ages long battle for freedom at the sound of your voice? It must be so dark and quiet, trapped alone in that box.

Growing more comfortable with your new sanctuary within the museum, you allow yourself to release physical energy as well, tapping a beat on whatever surface you can find. It feels good to add a little percussion into the mix. The loss of inhibitions reminds you of how stifled you feel in everyday life, even at your job sometimes, in fact. You often feel confined, claustrophobic in your own body. The Egyptian exhibit, the very room that once stood as a warning to you, becomes your refuge.

It’s one day as you’re humming along sweetly to an old Irma Thomas song that you discover your mummy is no longer content to just listen along silently. You almost stutter in surprise as, after you’ve finished the first verse, you hear a tapping begin to follow along with the rhythm of the song. 

Close as you are to faltering or fleeing, you manage  to do neither and stand your ground. Your voice quivers slightly, but you manage to keep time with the gentle taps against the lid of the sarcophagus. They’re so unlike anything else you’ve ever heard from it because they’re not a violent thrashing nor are they an impassive state of silence. They are a gentle attempt to communicate through your musical language and it’s the first time you’re reminded that this corpse used to be a human and in some ways he still is.

Your humming draws to a close, stray lyrics mumbled every so often, and so does his tapping. There’s something left unspoken in the silence that follows, a sort of understanding that resonates in the air long after your voice has stopped bouncing in the corners of the room.

  All this time you’ve thought of him as a creature beyond understanding, an animal acting on the base instinct of survival, an it . That’s what Teddy had lead you to believe after all.  But in this moment you recognize what you couldn’t see, or more accurately hear, before. There is no creature lying inside the tomb. Only a human being who wants to be set free. And in that way, you think, he’s a lot like you.

Chapter Text

Ruler of my heart

Driver of my soul

Where can you be?

I wait patiently

My heart cries out

Pain inside

Where can you be?

There are a multitude of thoughts that run through his head the first time he opens his eyes and inhales the stale, musty air that encases him. Many of them stem from confusion: What is he doing here? Where is here? Why can’t he move?  

His first instinct, no matter how unfitting of his title as Pharaoh, is to panic. He tries to cry out for his servants, parents, brother, anyone to come release him. To his horror, his voice is weak and hoarse, barely coming out as little more than a whisper. All he hears is his own pitiful wheezing and the deafening silence all around him. His limbs feel heavy and cramped, unable to move or even flinch. His entire body feels constricted as if he’s encased in stone.

 He sends desperate prayers to the gods, begging them for his soul, but has no idea if they’re even listening. The terrible thought strikes him that maybe Anubis has already passed his judgment, that Ammit has devoured his unworthy soul and this is his eternal punishment. He tries to scream out into the darkness again, fearing that he truly is trapped forever without a voice or agency.

His first night under the tablet’s power is hell. 

The second, third, and fourth are no better, although they do manage to provide him with tentative answers (or more questions to be accurate). When he wakes each night, it's to the sound of unintelligible voices surrounding him. The sounds are coherent and patterned enough to be a language, but one he does not recognize and can hardly hope to decipher. Are these the voices of the gods? Or simply other souls damned to an eternity in the abyss?

He can’t possibly keep track of time in this never-ending darkness. A single moment of silence stretches into eons of loneliness. His interaction with the world is restricted to the incoherent voices, even his very ability to touch is halted by some invisible barrier. All he has is his deteriorating mind and the company of beings he cannot comprehend.

Drifting in an out of consciousness, he can’t identify how long it takes for his savior to arrive. All he knows is that he awakens to the void one night, and an entirely different world the next.

He opens his eyes to the color of sand stretching endlessly before him. His entire vision is consumed by the color, much in the same way darkness had covered him before. The sight is confusing until he feels the brush of his eyelashes against something fabric-like. He realizes belatedly after a few confused blinks that his face is wrapped in some sort of cloth. His breathing picks up again until it’s escaping his throat in hoarse wheezes. There are about a million thoughts swarming his brain and absolutely none of them make sense.

It is then that he hears those jumbled noises again, the low murmuring of a voice nearby only clearer this time. His arm twitches, and he believes that if he could just reach out and touch-

The linen is slowly peeled off his face, and his very first breath of clean air is stolen by a gasp utter surprise.

He will later come to understand many things about his situation. He will learn that he is currently located at Cambridge, a learning institution in a city he’s never heard of. He’ll learn that the elderly gentleman staring down at him with abject fascination is Samuel Ross, the head of the Egyptology department. He’ll learn that his continued existence is owed to the mechanics of an ancient tablet that confuses the professor immensely. He’ll learn that he’s been dead for over a thousand years.

But at the moment all he can do is stare up at the man who he expected to be a god come to devour his soul in fear and awe, and then promptly pass out. 

It takes a couple of nights for him to regain mobility, a few more to regain the ability of speech, and far longer to begin accurately communicating with Samuel.

‘ Just call me Sam, and I’ll call you Ahk, alright your highness?’

Sam is kind, if not a bit eccentric and scatterbrained. He almost wishes he could have been a better friend to him, back then. He’d been rather closed off at the time, too caught up in his own depression and fear to truly connect with the man. He suspects that Sam’s eagerness to get to know him mostly stemmed from the idea of discovery and education anyways. Although Sam seemed to try to understand his feelings and respect them, he never could quite stop looking at him as a research opportunity. Answering each barrage of questions about his old life night after night only resurfaced many of the memories that he’d tried to forget.

Never again would he walk through the gardens with his mother, chatting about everything from his royal duties to how loud his father was snoring in bed. Never again would he look into his father’s eyes and see the pride there, the absolute contentment that accompanies seeing one’s progeny find success. He wouldn’t even get to bicker with his brother again, as frustrating as their interactions had always been.

No, he would never be able to see his family or his home again because they were all gone, ancient relics swept away by the sands of time. And here he was, a missing piece from an ancient time scrambling to fit into a new millennium. Was there even a point in trying? At least he was free to wander the university on his own as he tried to figure everything out.

Every night his stomach roils with unease as Samuel ushers him back into his tomb and slides the lid over him, eyes widening with barely concealed fear as the last sliver of light is blocked from view. The professor claims it’s for his safety, that it’s best he remains out of sight during the day. He never believes him. The old man is simply too afraid to lose his little specimen. He’s purposely denying him his freedom. Him, a king. 

One night, when he can’t bear the thought of being enclosed in that tomb again, he decides to escape the university. He aches to watch the golden sunrise, to see something other than these bleak halls. So he climbs up onto the roof, desperate to gaze upon the familiar night sky. And indeed, it is familiar. Even though the world has changed so much, with those loud steaming machines they call automobiles and candles that require no flame, the constellations burn as brightly as ever. Nut still sits among the stars, caressing the Earth in her loving embrace. He is eager to see how Ra will greet the world with his blazing light.

But as the sun rises above the crowded city horizon, something feels wrong. He looks down at his arm, a black, ashen thing that flakes and crumbles like papyrus. It falls limply to his side as he stares at the muted colors of dawn, his throat drier than the desert. There is no need to panic at the sight for it is understanding, not confusion, that dawns on him now. 

The revelation hits that he never escaped that dark place, the everlasting punishment he’d feared so desperately. This is the punishment, this half-life he’d been so foolish to think was “gifted” to him. He feels the rot overtake him before his eyes even close. 

He doesn’t speak for days after that. In fact, he refuses to leave his tomb at all. Samuel opens the lid for him each night, telling him he’s more than welcome to join him for tea in his office. But he simply shifts onto his side, pressing his gaunt cheek against the flat surface beneath him. Samuel gives as much sympathy as he can, but he knows that he’s gone to a place he can’t reach. Their tentative friendship crumbles into nothing. 

He isn’t sure exactly what happened after that brief period. If he had to make an educated guess, he’d attribute it to all those budget cuts Samuel had spoken of threatening his position. Apparently, as he’d put it, the “egyptology craze” was passing and the university wanted to focus its funds on more promising ventures. He’d never thought about what this could mean for him. He’d been too busy seeing himself as a person and not university property. But that first night he wakes up and the lid isn’t open, he wishes he had listened. 

He calls out for Samuel, angry and frightened all at once. When he gets no response he continues, reviling him in every curse he knows in his native tongue. He knows quite a lot.

He’s not sure how many nights of this pass before the realization hits him. He’s alone. Again. 

As much as he wants to curl into himself and block everything out he continues to call out each night, less because of hope and more because he doesn’t want to lose his voice again. It’s the last thing he has.

Some indeterminable amount of time later, he hears muffled voices outside. They lilt in a tone unfamiliar to him, but he picks out enough bits and pieces to know they’re speaking English. Hope springs in his chest, although he tries to repress it. Banging fervently on the lid, he begs for help.

The voices go silent for a while as he continues to rattle away. He pauses for a moment, wondering if they have already left him.

Heavy silence hangs in the air until one of them speaks up.

“Well I don’t like the sound of that one bit.”

“Maybe it’s some sort of evil curse?”

He growls in frustration, slamming the lid with the side of his fist.

“Yes, I am definitely sensing evil here. Not sure Mr. Pharaoh here is so friendly.”

“You’re not tricking us, your majesty! I’ve seen the flicks and I know exactly how this ends.”

“C’mon, we’d better get back to the others. We’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Their retreating footsteps echo through wherever he’s been placed. In sheer desperation, he cries out in his native tongue once more and slams against the sarcophagus. He claws and kicks and punches until his joints are sore and his fingers are bloody. He calls and calls until his voice is a scratchy whisper and even then he still yells with the desperate hope that they will return.

They don’t.

Over the years, centuries, eons he remains trapped that desperate hope crumbles to desolation, then firey rage burns the ashes. He can hear them outside, living their lives in mockery of his imprisonment. They know of his suffering, but do nothing to stop it. They actively keep him locked away for reasons he can’t comprehend. All he can understand is the aching fear inside himself that drives him to rage. All he wants is to burn it all away.

By the time solace arrives, it’s been ages. No one even comes through anymore, not even to taunt him. Sometimes he screams just to hear a sound that isn’t silence. He hates that sense swallowing silence with a passion.

He’s become so used to the silence that he almost misses the light tap of feet nearby. The sound catches him so off guard that he’s speechless, every muscle in his body seizing in a mixture of surprise and excitement. Will they speak? He prays to hear a voice, even if it cries out in fear or curses his name. What would it feel like to hear his name spoken aloud once more, to be acknowledged by another human being? An absent part of his mind supplies rapture.

Sure enough, the faint sound of music sweeps through the air. The single voice cuts through the silence like a knife, lilting and swaying like the songbirds his subjects brought from foreign countries. It doesn’t hold a candle to the concerts he’s attended in his life, the enchanting spectacle of singers trained to serenade since before they could speak. The singer’s tone is high pitched and strained, clearly a struggle for them to maintain. Really, he’d say this person is only attempting to sing, more than anything.

It’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“Mama, ooh. I don’t wanna die! Sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.”

To his dismay, the voice trails off in a series of vocalizations that resemble a noise made by an out of tune instrument more than lyrics. Slowly, the sounds fade to nothing and he feels the acute sense that something has changed within his barren soul. He’s unsure if this is good or bad.

It’s so completely silent that he can hear the quiet, trembling breaths of this unknown person as light footsteps near him. Whether it’s his own imagination or actual supernatural occurrence, his skin prickles with electricity. He can hardly conjure up that familiar anger when he feels as if his heart is about to burst from his chest from dreadful excitement.

And he doesn’t know how he feels it, maybe through some power granted to him by the tablet, maybe through intuition, but he senses their presence directly above him. Close enough to reach out and touch.

Before he can think twice, his palm slaps flat against the lid as it searches for contact in the dark. No sooner does he do this than a quiet gasp of fear releases and he hears the sound of feet running away. He slams his hand against the lid twice more, letting out a broken wail. Angry tears flood his eyes as he growls and slams with his fists, a blind fit of rage overtaking him. He hasn’t even done anything and yet he’s seen as a monster. He’s sent the one person to visit him in years fleeing. 

The depression he’d settled into fades, quickly replaced by that violent mania that tore through him so often. He carries on like that for days, crying out in furious resentment until he’s sure anyone within a kilometer’s radius can hear him. If he will never be granted a moment of peace then neither will they.

Some indeterminate length of time later, the being returns. Although his temper has been somewhat subdued, he still cries out when the sound of footfalls reach his ears. But those screams fade into shocked silence when he hears it: a sinuous tune that unravels itself along the length of his spine. He doesn’t realize that he’s been listening in rapt silence until the sound begins to fade as the distance widens. He’ll later liken the experience to watching a fleeting sunset that he knows can’t last forever. As soon as you’ve begun to enjoy it has settled beneath the horizon and left you in darkness. But luckily for him, the sun rises in the morning as well.

The music returns every day, a different melody each time. Sometimes he hears fast and energetic singing with powerful crescendos and belting high notes that tremble with effort and strain. Other days, breathy sighs intermixed with deep melancholy low notes that vibrate deep within his bones. He begins to sense patterns in mood. There are often long stretches of sad songs with a few happier tunes dispersed within. He wonders what the frown that the voice betrays looks like. Is it gentle and disconcerted? Does it cut sharply into the cheeks, defining the features with the sharp crease of muscle? Is it accompanied by a set of swollen, watering eyes? 

He tries not to think about how it would feel to wipe that frown away, to smooth away the sadness embedded so deep within the voice. He likes to envision that maybe some days when the tune is happier that there is a smile there, stretched so wide it distracts from every other feature. No, he never thinks about what a beautiful sight it would be.

He doesn’t realize it when he starts tapping along to the melodies. All he knows is that he’s been still for too long and that he’s heard this song before. He taps his fingertips gently against the lid, following along to a rhythm he’s practically memorized. By the time he recognizes the wordless accompaniment he’s created, the singer is retreating once again. He wonders if they know just how much he longs for them to stay.

There is no song the next day but he doesn’t lash out blindly in retaliation. He lies in silence, paralyzed by the crippling fear that he has been abandoned again. The next night is equally silent and he finds himself with his palms pressed against the lid, pushing upwards with all the force he can muster. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t budge. This time, the dam breaks and the static energy floods his body. He cries out again that night as loudly as before, only this time not in anger. As the curse drags him back under, he wonders if he is truly doomed to this cycle of abandonment. Of beginning to form a connection only to get shoved back into the dark like a forgotten toy.

On the last night of what he’ll later come to recognize as his final days as a prisoner, he manages to hum a crackling tune just under his breath. It’s hoarse and trapped in the back of his throat but for a split second he doesn’t feel so alone. He tells himself that he’ll continue to sing it, sing it until he’s loud enough to be heard through the darkness. Loud enough to make the faceless singer return to him. Loud enough that they’ll never leave him alone again.

And for once in what’s been his life for the past eternity, the tiny modicum of hope building inside him is vindicated. Because the very next day, the stranger returns with more for him than a song.

Chapter Text

  Do you need me, like I need you?

Look at me, I'm crying from holding you

Make me forget the pain that you caused

Understanding is a great thing

If it comes from the heart

Two little boys giggle as they walk past you, each one holding in their grubby fingers one of those icky bug lollipops that can be found in just about any museum gift shop. Your hands fidget with the oblong pendant attached to your necklace as you spot their parents trailing behind, fond expressions and tightly intertwined hands. It’s hard to identify the heavy of emotion weighing down on your chest . All you can tell is that it, whatever it is, it’s making you feel sick to your stomach. Considering that your shift has barely started and you’re expected to be here all night, that is no bueno.

You glance over to the stoic face of a frozen Sacagawea. Maybe you’re simply projecting, but her face seems to say ‘ Come on girl, get it together!’. And it’s not too far off from the truth. If she was awake right now she’d definitely be saying that, albeit not in those exact words. She was the best at giving succinct advice that could penetrate even your most stubborn moods.

Straightening up from your casual recline against the wall, you check your watch with feigned nonchalance. It’s 5 minutes to 7:00, meaning that you have only a little while before you lock up and around half and hour before you begin your “museum wrangler” duties for the night. Another hour of peace before you’re pulling out your hair once more.

If someone were to ask you how you enjoyed your job, you’d probably struggle to give them the right impression. It’s not that you hated it, far from that actually. However, it would be a lie to say it didn’t have its faults. A job involving being alone all night away from prying eyes and expectations had sounded like heaven when you initially saw the job listing. Little had you known how things would turn out to be entirely opposite. Now between your daily responsibilities and your nightly babysitting duties there was no time for rest. And you really need some after today. 

It had all started off wrong when you’d dragged yourself out of your disheveled bed early that morning to get some errands done. You generally try to make a point of never being up before 1 pm, considering you work a night job, but unfortunately you never really could catch a break from adulting. Still drowsy and yawning, you made the fatal mistake of tripping over a discarded thermos carelessly strewn on the ground. The sharp twinge of pain in your ankle had been the first indication that your mood would only plummet as the day went on. After scrambling to make yourself somewhat presentable, you limped down the apartment hallway and had the pleasure of passing your neighbor and her boyfriend in a very friendly position against the wall. It was hard to tell from the brief glance you’d given them where she ended and he began. The rest of the day had sapped away all your remaining energy. Long line at the bank, crabby lady at the DMV, creepy guy on the subway, all of them served to remind you just how much life sucked. 

And then, because the universe seemed to think that it would like nothing more than to torment you, you saw him. 

It’s not like you never thought you’d see your ex again. You live in the same city, after all. It was likely, no, certain to happen eventually. You just never thought it would be so soon. 

He looked good, as much as you were loathe to admit. With those beautiful brown eyes and that confident aura, it wasn’t hard to remember why you’d fallen for him in the first place. He made it easy, with those relaxed smiles and easygoing laughter. Typical of his personality, he was chatting animatedly with the old woman behind the deli counter; probably telling her his classic story about the time his dad bought out an entire deli for a family get-together. His extended family happened to be very large. A tall woman with a beautiful smile stood next to him like she was born to be there, interjecting every once in a while with a natural chuckle. It made you feel starkly out of place, standing there alone in your sweatpants with a bunch of bananas cradled to your chest like a life preserver.

He saw you- of course he did -and immediately waved with a smile. He asked how you were doing, just like you knew he would. When you returned the sentiment he told you he was fine, also something you knew he would say. You knew he would put his hand on your shoulder as he introduced her and you knew she would plaster a smile across her face and shake your hand and you knew he would say ‘ Oh it’s been so long we really should catch up but we’re late for dinner and we have to go and-’ You knew.

That had been a punch in the gut you felt all the way to work. Even as you walk through the dwindling museum crowd, you can feel it still. Is it normal to want to escape a feeling this badly? Every time you close your eyes you see him there, still laughing and smiling like nothing’s wrong. Like it never really mattered. The thought of it makes you miserable. You slam the doors behind the last exiting guests with a thud.

But why should you be the miserable one? You can feel the steam beginning to roll off you as you watch the last visitors walk out the museum doors. Why should you be the one who lies awake thinking about what could’ve been? You throw the bone for Rexy, a little harder than you mean to. Why should you be in pain when he’s clearly moved on? You almost trample Jedediah as you stomp down the hallway. Why should you still care, when he clearly never extended the same courtesy? You burst into the empty corridor with anger, harsh breaths causing your entire body to heave. 

Now simmering with anger, it takes you a moment to realize where your feet have unconsciously taken you. You’ve been here countless times before when you needed some peace and quiet. The quiet hallway houses no exhibits, only several paintings depicting history. It also happens to lead to the exhibit of a certain mouthy Pharoah who is being blessedly silent tonight.

‘ Good,’ you think to yourself, ‘ If he was shrieking again I might actually square up with him this time.” 

You take some time to meander down the hallway, letting the swell of sadness and anger slowly drain out of you. You sniff loudly and wipe your knuckles across your face, only now noticing the tears that had pooled there. You giggle a little when you realize that being here in a remote hallway with tears streaming down your face is not exactly in your job description. In fact, you’d probably get fired if your employer knew this was how you actually spend your nights. The thought made you laugh even harder, and by the time you reached the end of the hallway you were almost sobbing with the force of it. Tears prick your eyes again as you double over, struggling for breath at the thought of your boss finding the security guard giggling in the corner after the museum has been robbed. 

A distant voice told you to cut it out before you actually entered some sort of mental breakdown, but you were too far gone to care. It felt good to the point of pain and you had no intention of stopping. 

Throwing out what almost could’ve been considered a drunken slur, you belt, “So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?!” 

You swing around the corner into the Egyptian exhibit, all thoughts of caution and pride gone. After all, there is no one there to hear you. No one around to shoot you that condescending smile he wears so well.

“So you think you can love me and leave me to die?!” You crash back into it, swinging your air guitar down low as you flip your hair. 

You’re facing one of the jackal guards now, staring up at him as if he’s responsible for every wrong ever committed against you.

“Ooooh baby! Can’t do this to me baby! Just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of here!”

The guard remains as stoic and statuesque as ever, but you’d like to think you put him in his place as you saunter away towards the room’s centerpiece. The rapidly spinning gears in your mind begin to wind down as you eye that silent sarcophagus, the gold paint shining in the light. You’re not sure you’ll ever get over just how talented the ancient Egyptian craftsmen were. If you had to be dead someday, at least they knew how to do it in style. 

You can hear your heart thrumming in your ears as your steps slow. A heated flush rises to your cheeks as you suddenly remember your silent audience of one. Well, you might as well finish, if not for your sake than for his. You sigh into it like you’re sinking into a pile of blankets.

“Nothing really matters, anyone can see.”

You place a hand delicately over the painted face, intentionally delicate with such an ancient piece of art.

“Nothing really matters...to me.”

It’s overwhelmingly silent now without the crashing backdrop of your air guitar. The stylistic room feels more like a chasm now, echoing with all the thoughts in your mind that go unsaid. Your fingers slowly slip away from the lid to hang limp at your side. Your eyes trail down the sarcophagus all the way to the lock on the side. Your ring finger twitches slightly against your thigh before you take a small step back.

“Is it lonely?” You blurt out before even thinking to stop yourself. Your stomach clenches with uncertainty, but you can’t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth.

“Being trapped in the dark like that, I mean. What am I saying, of course it is, I-“ You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath to calm the nerves bouncing around under your skin.

“And even if it’s not lonely...well it must be scary. And it probably smells like BO. Or do you even sweat? Do the undead even still have functioning sweat glands? There’s one question they don’t answer in health class...I’m ranting aren’t I?”

The last person you’d accidentally rambled on to like this had been a cute brown eyed boy you’d met in the library. And though he’d found it endearing at the time, you’re unsure an ancient pharaoh will find it equally as attractive. He’s probably used to cutting off the tongues of people who even dare speak to him wrong.

You know it would be smart to stop now before you embarrass yourself further, but his continued silence is emboldening. You figure that he’d just let the winds of hell loose again if he really wanted you to stop.

“Is that why you scream all the time? Because you’re scared?” You pause for a moment to sink down against the wall until you’re leaned back against it with your knees pulled to your chest.

“Or is it loneliness? Sometimes that makes me wanna scream too. People just disappear and you’re left scrambling to fill the hole they made.”

Your fingers trace lightly across your arms as your wrap yourself in an embrace. Your eyes close as you lean back and let that consuming loneliness empty you out.

“You know what he said my problem was?” You sniffed loudly. “He said I just kept everything locked away. That I was always pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I guess I just didn’t want him to see how ugly I truly was…deep down.”

Your fists clench as you grip the soft flesh of your thighs

“I just wish I could burn it all away. Every stupid memory that makes me smile for two split seconds before it hurts. God I hate that feeling.”

You glance over at the silent sarcophagus, absently wiping at your nose with the back of your hand.

“Maybe that’s why you’re so mad all the time. I’d be pretty mad too if I downgraded from living in a palace to a box.” The humor of your joke is lost to the bitter tone fraying the edges of your voice.

You sit quietly for a moment, allowing your muscles to slowly relax as. Pushing yourself to your feet, you begin to advance towards the object of your attention. You stop just short of it, your extended fingers barely brushing the ornate carvings.

“Maybe I do lock things up.” You take a shuddering breath. “But not anymore. Maybe it’s time we both saw the light, eh?”

Your fingers go to the latch, halting as soon as you touch the cold metal.

Warning signals flash in your mind, but the residual adrenaline from your mini pep talk overcomes any second thoughts. You take a deep breath before undoing the latches, the loud click echoing between your ears. Your hands still on top of the locks as if only now realizing what they’ve done. 

For an eternity, time stands still. The only sensation your body processes is the irregular staccato of your heart beneath your ribs. A car could have crashed into you at that moment and there would be no reaction. It is both the most turbulent moment of your life and the calmest. Simultaneously the storm and the eye, the end and the beginning, and about a million more dramatic things.

Then the lid violently swings open.

Too much happens at once. You tense with fear as the lid slams open, an earthy brown dust dispersing from inside. A low growl rumbles through the room as it begins to shake. You look upwards, only to brush the tip of your nose against the pointy tip of a spear. Eyes traveling up the long handle, you find one of the jackal headed guards on the other side,

Yelping in surprise, you immediately stumble backwards, landing hard on  your butt. Supporting your upper body on your elbows, you perform some sort of pseudo crab walk backwards until your back thumps against the wall. You wince in pain as your head collides with the unyielding surface. You jerk your head downwards to rub a soothing hand over the lump certain to be forming. Glancing up between the strands of hair obscuring your vision, your eyes widen until they’re practically bulging.

The once inanimate jackal guards that stood watch so vigilantly over the tomb have apparently decided to start taking their duties a little more seriously and have found that they are not happy with your intrusion. Both stalk slowly towards your cowering form, spears poised to impale you at any moment. Any smarter person would take advantage of their glacial place and run to safety. But the emotional rollercoaster you’ve just gotten off of has exhausted you, and all you can do is scrunch your eyes shut and wonder just how confused everyone will be when they find your body. You’ve always wanted to be on tv, albeit not as a murder segment on the local news.

Through the hysteric, almost comical thoughts racing through your head, you nearly fail to process a deep voice barking out words in a language you only vaguely recognize.

There is a clink of metal against tile then nothing but the sound or your heavy breathing. No, not only your panicked breaths but another set as well. Slowly removing the hands you’d unconsciously raised to shield your head, you open one eye to cautiously peek around.

In front of you both guards have seemingly reverted back to their inanimate state. They stand as regally as ever, arms crossed stiffly over the spears they’d just been preparing to shish kebab you with. Slowly unfolding from your protective ball, you glance between the guards and freeze at the sight before you.

Sitting up perfectly straight in the now open sarcophagus is none other than a real life mummy.

It takes you a moment to remember to be afraid. It’s somewhat fascinating to see a human body embalmed likes that. Covered from head to toe in strips of brown, decaying cloth, it’s easy to forget that this was ever a human with a name or identity. But then again, that’s why you suppose the Egyptians were so obsessed with taking earthly possessions to the afterlife. How else do you keep your humanity when you’re decaying into dirt?

You snap out of it when the mummy lets out a low groan. A jolt of energy races up your spine as you quickly scramble to your feet. Although common sense should tell you otherwise, Teddy’s tales of an evil pharaoh with violent tendencies are flashing through your head and telling you to get out of there. The only problem is that he’s between you and the exit.

There is no thought put into your escape, only blind panic. Just as he’s swinging his legs over the side you attempt to dash around him. However, tired and clumsy as you are, you don’t make it very far before stumbling over your own feet. Just as you’re about to fall face first onto the floor, a hand seizes your bicep. 

You jerk forward against its hold before falling backwards, stabilized by the firm grip. Your head whips towards it and you’re caught in a staring contest with someone whose eyes you can't even see. All is quiet as the mummy holds you there, and the fact that you can't read his expression to figure out if he’s plotting your death makes you tense. 

You don’t dare to so much as flinch when the mummy’s free hand begins to raise towards your face. Your eyes follow that approaching hand, fixated on the tan patch of skin revealed just at the wrist, until the tips of its fingers settle over your cheek. They rest there gently, not pressing bruises into your skin but hovering like a spirit with intent, unfinished business. You expect each point where the pads of its fingers meet your skin to pierce into you like icicles, but its touch is surprisingly warm. Despite the ragged cloth covering the entire hand, you can feel the heat seeping into your own skin. You reach out hesitantly then, emboldened by the warmth fluttering in your chest but frightened by how near its thumb rests to your pulse point. Every rhythmic thump of your heart is met by that unbearable pressure.

The mummy doesn’t move a muscle as your fingers reach the base of his neck, snagging the strip of cloth you believe will unravel his face. You begin to peel back the ancient layers of cloth, taking care not to disturb the hand that still rests against your face. It tightens for a moment and you almost take it as a threat, but the way it trembles suggests its only holding on tighter to stabilize itself. A tan collarbone appears from beneath the cloth, then a neck, chin, and a mouth.

The sight of the mouth startles you so much you almost stop. It is set in a straight line, completely neutral in its emotion, but the sight of it is so undeniably alive. You’ve always imagined a rotting corpse inside the sarcophagus, shriveled and pale from years of being shut away. You wonder when the last time those lips smiled was. 

You don’t stop until his head is completely uncovered. The cloth falls to the floor, and the previously occupied hand brushes against soft curly hair as it lowers to join the other limply at your side. You’re so close that you can’t even process the structure of his entire face. All you can do is stare into those large, pale eyes. They’re not a menacing red as you’d always envisioned, nor are they the dark empty sockets that haunt your dreams. They are both light and deep, a shade somewhere in between blue and green. Unlike his mouth, they are not expressionless. There is some mixture of curiosity and analyzation within them, neither childlike nor critical. You suppose searching would we the best way to describe it. Searching for what exactly, you don’t know. 

“Um…” You trail off awkwardly, inwardly face palming at your first face-to-face words spoken to an ex-king. Only minutes ago you’d confessed your deepest insecurities to him and now you couldn’t even articulate a single word. 

But maybe it’s not so bad, because whatever he seems to be searching for is found after your mumbling. His eyes light up, crinkling at the edges. This suggests a smile, but you’re too entranced to look down and check. Heat burns behind your cheeks as his hand animates, caressing your flesh gently as skims along your shoulder and down your arm and takes gentle hold of your hand. He bends down, kneeling below you as if he’s some sort of Victorian gentleman. His lips hover over the back of your hand and it almost looks as if he’s going to kiss it, but he stops just shy and raises his head to look up at you instead. You can finally see his entire face from his position below you. The most endearing smile you’ve ever seen is plastered across his cheeks. He croaks out his words, but somehow they still manage to sound euphoric. Like a sigh of relief. 

“You have no idea how wonderful it is to finally meet you.” 

You smile awkwardly in response, too distracted by the thoughts racing through your head to form words. Well, it’s only one thought really that plays on repeat like a flashing alarm. It’s plastered in red print across your brain, a warning broadcasted at the very top of your consciousness.

‘ Oh shit,’ You think, more resigned than alarmed, ‘ Ahkmenrah is totally hot.’

Chapter Text

Long after tonight is all over

Long after it's all gone, I'll be yours

Forever and a day and yours, come anything that may

You'll always be just everything to me

Ahkmenrah, despite years of being locked away in the dark confines of his tomb, remembers his sixteenth birthday vividly.

It was an opulent event, full of magnificence and splendor as all celebrations thrown by the royal family were certain to be. Above all else it was a display of reverence to the gods, a sign of their respect, fealty, and thanks. Upon this particular occasion, thanks for their marvelous son and his continued health.

The shiny gold of his mother’s dress reflects through his mind with crystal clarity. The laughter of his father and his advisors echoes in his ears like the strumming of a harp. There had been plentiful gifts, each one boasting the wealth of those invited and celebrating the splendor of their household. It was more than a just celebration in his honor, but an opportunity for his nation’s most prominent families to flaunt and gain favor. Even after growing up in the luxury of the palace, he’d never seen that much gold in his life.

All these dazzling things, trinkets and treasures whose cold gleam burns through the thick desert haze that shrouds his mind, lose their luster when compared to the gentle warmth of your smile.

He never thought he’d see a smile again, that the fathomless impassivity of darkness would shroud his eyes forever and Ra would never greet him at sunrise again. But now, ages after he’s forsaken the gods that abandoned him and stopped believing in anything but eternal night, the sun crested over that infinite pitch black horizon.

If he was in the state of mind to remember his royal manners he might feel embarrassed about how long he’s stared at that beautiful smile. His cheeks might warm and redden at the implication of his ardent gaze lingering on your parted lips, that entrancing flash of pearly teeth. His mother would most certainly admonish him for the action-a prince must have his manners after all-but even her echoing words from centuries past could not jostle his focus. That smile binds him to the spot, a blessed oasis after the wilderness he has wandered through.

‘You have no idea how wonderful it is to actually meet you.’ 

He knows from the moment he hears you stutter that your voice has graced his ears before. It is the same voice that stays with him long after it has become silent, ceaselessly tormenting him in the confines of his own mind. He always imagined that just like your dynamic and rolling voice, you would be animated. Alive. Instead you just stare at him, still as a statue with that hesitant yet genuine smile perched on your lips. Centuries ago he would have broken the silence, torn his eyes from yours and asserted his authority as king, but that part of him was buried along with his body. There is no aristocratic confidence giving him command of the situation, only the blind instinct of a man who’s lived in the dark far too long.

There is a precise moment when the hazy look in your eyes dissipates and you focus yourself. Your smile slowly dips down into a tiny frown, and your head tilts in bewilderment. 

“Wait, so you could speak english this whole time?”

Ahkmenrah doesn’t respond at first, wishing he could reach out and hold you in this moment that is quickly receding. 

Your eyes narrow, the beginnings of frustration creasing your face. 

“Hellooo Mr. Ahkmenrah, can you please explain to me how you know english or- or better yet, how you know english and chose instead to scream like a banshee this entire time?” 

He has no idea what a banshee is, but it doesn’t matter because he stopped listening after you spoke his name. So long he had gone without hearing it that he’d almost forgotten he had one, that he is a person and not a relic collecting dust in the dark. Once upon a time he’d never thought that those three syllables could carry so much weight. But hearing someone-the person who’d managed to revive his humanity-say it made his heart pang with some unfathomable emotion. No longer was his existence some nebulous thing that could be stripped from him by mere men, but a concrete force that anchored him to this new world of light. He had a name, and by speaking it you reminded him of his soul. Perhaps the gods had not forsaken him after all. 

He did not realize tears were streaking down his face until you placed your hand on his shoulder, panicked concern filling your voice. 

“I-I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to upset you. I mean that was so insensitive of me, I mean what you must’ve gone through and I just called you a banshee , I’m usually not this rude I swear but I’ve had a long day and I-” 

You cut yourself off swiftly when you feel his hand slide over the one you unconsciously rested on his shoulder. You instinctively make to draw back but he keeps you close, a firm yet gentle pressure holding you in place. Your eyes fix onto where his skin touches yours, struggling to ignore the weight of his gaze. 

“Thank you.” He whispers, his warm breath tickling the tip of your nose.

He belatedly finds himself frustrated with his inability to find the words to adequately describe his turbulent feelings. The only comparable experience to this, the only emotion that holds a candle to what he feels right now, is the first time he knelt at the altar in the temple of his gods. That unexplainable rush of pure wonder, an overpowering connection that seemed to transcend mere thought, had left him speechless then, and it did the same now. Still, he pushed forward in some attempt to convey the light consuming him from the inside. He wondered if you could see it radiating out through his pores.

“Truly,” He pauses, searching your eyes when they finally drift to his, “You have bestowed upon me a kindness no other has found it within themselves to give. Words cannot describe how grateful I am.”

You clear your throat awkwardly, averting your eyes to a spot just below his ear. 

“Well it was no problem, really. Just wish I’d done it sooner…” 

“I would wait a thousand years more if it meant seeing your face.”

It comes out of nowhere, and he feels the first brushings of panic in his gut at the strange expression that crosses your face. That lovely, lovely face twisted slightly in disconcertion and slowly turning a deep shade of red. 

His mind catches up to his mouth and he realizes that he’s been too bold, that he’s displayed a devotion you think unwarranted. And although he knows the truth-that your voice alone has enthralled him so completely that he cannot help but adore you-he cannot lose his royal manners now. It is Ahkmenrah’s turn to awkwardly clear his throat. 

“Forgive me, I have failed to introduce myself. I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king, ruler of the land of my fathers.

You smile and nod, seemingly moved on from his blunder. Perhaps you’re just happy to move on from your own conversational misstep. Either way, you grant him the honor of your name, the title rolling off your tongue like a divine message. It engraves itself in his mind, permanently carved where he’ll always remember it.

“Thanks by the way,” you say after another awkward moment where he just stares at you, “for calling off your killer guard thingies.”

He glances over at them, now standing stone still again at the front of the entrance. He recognizes them well enough as guardians of a tomb, although it takes him a moment to realize that his surroundings resemble a burial place. It feels wrong, waking up in his own tomb. It feels even more unnatural upon noticing this place cannot be of his people’s design. The craftsmanship is too poor, and the materials look cheap. Wooden beams painted gold surround him like a cage, and he knows he is not home.

“Where am I?” He asks aloud, slowly breaking from you as he begins to drift around the room like a lost spirit.

“You’re at the American Museum of Natural History in New York. I’m not sure how to explain that you’re...well I mean you’re a-“

“Display.” He finishes for you, turning back towards where you still stand next to the sarcophagus. His sarcophagus.

“I was put on display before in Cambridge. It was there that I learned to speak your language.”

He purposely strides towards you, only to turn at the last second to stare down at his former prison. You stare at his solemn profile as he studies the sarcophagus.

“Well then, I guess I don’t need to explain to you that you’ve been in that box for a long time.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, almost regretting it at the sight of  your slight flinch.

“I am well aware that the world I once knew has faded into history. I was told once before that I am but an ancient relic now, and that everyone I ever knew has been buried by the sands of time.”

You place your hand on his shoulder, once more drawing him away from the darkness that has clouded his mind. You speak, after a tense moment.

“I’m so sorry. I know that probably doesn’t mean much to you, but I really am. I can’t imagine how painful that must be, to lose everyone you’ve ever known.”

He turns to you, not wanting to exist alone in his mind with his wretched memories any longer. He’s already spent far too much time in the dark.

“Your condolence means more to me than you know. It has been so long since anyone has spoken to me, much less with kindness. You were right when you spoke to me before, I was scared and lonely in that dark tomb.”

You blush profusely as he steps closer to you, both mortified by how you’d ranted so openly to him earlier and flustered by his increasing proximity. It seems that his wayward body is drawn to you, like he has to be near you to prove you’re not an illusion he conjured out of sheer loneliness. He doesn’t even seem to notice how red your face has become, or how your fingers twitch in an anxious manner. Maybe in Ancient Egypt they had different cultural customs when it came to personal space. 

“But you have brought me out of that darkness, and although I know I cannot enjoy this new life with my family,” he hesitates, glancing at the floor like a shy school boy, “it is my hope that I can enjoy it with you.”

At some point his hands had enfolded yours, gripping them in desperate supplication. His hands are corpse cold and his grip is tight and still, but you’ve never seen someone look more alive. There is living hunger raging in his eyes, the desire to know and be known by you. 

This is crazy; you know that. But you find it difficult to deny him when he looks at you as if you hung the moon in the sky and lit the sun yourself.

“Of course your highness. It’s the least I could do for not getting you out of there sooner”

“Ahkmenrah.” He blurts, squeezing your hands slightly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Call me Ahkmenrah please. I-I like to hear you say my name.”

You have that look again on your face, that pink look of bewilderment that indicates he’s said something wrong. He can’t bring himself to care. He’ll apologize later when his heart isn’t racing with dreadful anticipation. There are so many things he wants so say, each begging to be let past his lips. He wants to speak his emotions into creation, to push them out into the universe so they can never be trapped inside a tomb again. He must calm himself with the knowledge that, by your own word, he will have time to say them later. He’s been waiting for later his entire life.

After a moment of indecision, your face finally smooths into an accepting smile. “Alright Mr. Ahkmenrah, interested in a tour of the place?”

He nods graciously, then goes still. 

“Nothing would please me more. But first I must ask, where is my tablet?” 

You point over his shoulder to the wall behind him. He turns to see the artifact hanging above his sarcophagus in a beautiful display. Despite the brilliant flash of gold, the sight brings no comfort to his heart. This is the object that has caused him years of anguish. If doing so hadn’t been a guarantee of his crumbling to dust, he would have thrown it to the floor by now. For the first time since he’s left his tomb, the vile hatred that had plagued him for so long begins to rise back up in his chest. A fierce heat burns through his body, manifesting in the trembling of his limbs.

He turns away from it quickly, steadying his quaking fingers and resolving not to let that fiery emotion overcome him. He must look to the future now, lest his spirit remained trapped in this tomb forever.

You stand still in the entrance to his tomb, your body silhouetted by the bright light from the hallway.  A hallway that leads to an entirely new world, the other side of the darkness he’s waited so long to see. He can’t see your face, but he suspects you’re glancing at him in nervous anticipation. He wants to reassure you, to smile and grant you the same peace you granted him. But if he does you will see the tremble of his lips and the furrow of his brow. No, better to keep his head ducked towards the floor as he walks forward. Better to keep his posture stiff and composed, to clench his fists tightly as he approaches. Better to hold himself together before he crumbles into ash.

All at once it seems like too much, the prospect of a new world of which he knows nothing of. He must look so strange in your eyes, an insignificant relic from a forgotten age. His legs carry him towards you, but his mind remains in the shadows. There is no leaving this place, no escaping the fact that he should have perished long ago. His spirit has known it for a millennia, yet his body refuses to comply. It weighs heavily on his shoulders, and he fears he will decompose before even crossing the threshold into the light.

And then, a warmth surrounds his trembling fist, gently prying his fingers apart and intertwining with them. He glances down at where your hands are connected, then up at your face. You don’t grace him with your voice again, but you don’t have to. It’s grounding, to see acknowledgement of his existence in another living being’s eyes. To know that, yes he is alive, and yes, you can see him. He lets you tug him out of the darkness, into a light that threatens to break him apart.

He knows you will be the thing that holds him together.

You lead him down the hallway, pointing out the various other Egyptian artifacts collected by the museum. Some of the items are known to him, others are not. It feels strange to see the possessions of his forefathers on display, but he says nothing. Yet, his expression must betray some inkling of his inner turmoil, because after glancing at him for a moment, you stop talking and lead him beyond these items without another word.

The world beyond the hallway is something that steals his breath away.

You both pass a number of oddities, things Ahkmenrah’s turbulent mind is not quite ready to comprehend. It is a cacophony of bizarreness, a bewildering spectacle that digs sharply into his head. Walking statues and tiny men with spears flit past him, none giving the reanimated pharaoh so much as a glance. A faceless man holding a weapon of some kind runs past, bumping into Ahkmenrah as he goes. You reach out your free arm to steady him, but he still feels shaken. Luckily, you seem to notice his increasing panic and purposefully lead him forward past all these strange sights and sounds that make his vision spin. He once commanded a nation, but he is relieved to let you lead him. His head is spinning, and the clambering of the crowded hallway is muffled beneath the pounding in his ears.

You both drift away from the raucous crowd, entering a hallway that is much dimmer and more secluded. He doesn’t realize that he’s breathing heavily until you suddenly come to a halt and spin around, gently placing your hands on his shoulders. There’s a pleading look in his eyes when they meet yours. He’s begging for you to make it all make sense, to take away the burden of being thrust into something startling and new. You don’t even know where to start. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.” You say, rubbing his shoulders in a way you hope is soothing. You’ve had panic attacks before, but you’re not sure if they measure up to even a fraction of what he’s feeling. The best you can do is try. 

Luckily, he seems to be holding it together surprisingly well. His breathing is still labored, but he’s slowly calming down. At some point his hands have come up to cover yours, holding you tightly in place. It hurts, but you don’t mind. There’s something about this moment that feels more real than anything preceding it, as if unwrapping the pharaoh from his bandages was only a dream and this is his true awakening. The pain you both experience is just an extension of that. He synchronizes his breaths with yours until you’re both inhaling slowly and deeply. The world is dark and cold and his ragged breaths echo down the hallway and all around you. How can this be anything other than real? 

“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, “that was stupid of me, to take you out there on your first day. Clearly that was too much.” 

To your utter surprise, he lets out a quiet laugh. Small and barely there, but a laugh. 

“I admit, I was not expecting to see such a...menagerie. Do not fault yourself for my state, it was your presence by my side and your hand in mine that comforted me.”

It’s your turn to laugh, a little chuckle that doesn’t quite convey the ridiculousness of this situation that’s beginning to dawn on you. Museum exhibits coming to life was one thing, but you’re standing in a hallway with a literal reanimated corpse, an ancient king who commanded armies. And he’s thanking you for holding his hand. You manage to hold it together for his sake, but just barely. You can break down when you get home to your bed.

“Well I’m glad you’re not mad at me, but I have to ask, why does my presence comfort you so much? I mean you barely know me.”

He looks at you as if you’ve just told him the sky is magenta, as if you’ve said the most preposterous thing he’s ever heard. Then his expression evens out into calmness, and you can see the pharaoh in him. You wonder if that calm, deliberate expression is the last thing some poor peasant saw before they were ordered to be executed. 

“Forgive my boldness,” he begins, repositioning your hands so he is cradling them between your bodies, “but it feels as if I do know you. I understand how strange that must sound, but it is your voice that brought me back to myself when I was lost. When I was but an object put on display, you acknowledged my existence and gave me a reason to hope.” 

He pauses for a moment, giving your hands a tentative squeeze. He ducks his head beneath your piercing gaze, but you can still see the gentle curve of his smile. Despite the enormity of his words, you feel a smile begin to spring forth as well.

He looks up, and upon seeing the warmth in your expression, continues. 

“I know that the path before me will not be easy, but if I should be so lucky to remain by your side, then perhaps I will adjust to this new life. With you, I am willing to try.” 

You take a quick breath, first looking away from him then upwards, trying to articulate a sentence in response. It takes a few moments for you to trust your own voice.

“Okay” You finally sigh, more to yourself than him. “Okay yeah, it’s time to rehabilitate the mummy. This is gonna be fun.” 

He has the decency to smile politely at your mumblings, and you can’t help but note how cute the expression is. And then blush as you register what you just thought. If only the reanimated mummy wasn’t so hot, then this would be so much easier.

He lets your hands drop, his fingers lingering against your knuckles for a moment longer than necessary. Once again, he mourns the loss of connection, the rapid disintegration of a moment he so desperately wishes could stay. But when your eyebrows raise and you tell him there’s something you want to show him, he finds himself quickly forgetting his disappointment. 

Once more you grab his hand and lead him through a catacomb of hallways, although this time you take care to avoid the museum’s strange residents. Away from the things that frightened him, he allows himself to revel in the feeling of your fingers against his once more, the brushing of your arm against his. He wonders what your arms might feel like wrapped around his shoulders, your head buried against his chest. His cheeks flush at the thought, and he is grateful that you are staring ahead so intently you take no notice. The former pharaoh has already embarrassed himself enough for one night.

 You eagerly usher him into a large room bathed in pale light. You point up at the ceiling, revealing a multi paned skylight in which moonlight streams through. He stares at the moon and the stars for a long moment, letting the familiar sight wash over him. Even after all these years, he thinks, Nut still watches over her people. 

You take in his reverent expression and nudge him playfully. “Some things never change, huh?” 

He looks at you, beaming as if you embody Ra himself, and thinks of the gleaming treasures presented to him at his 16th birthday. He had received each with the regality and politeness befitting a prince, though the night eventually wore on him and he longed to retire. But then, just as his patience was dangerously close to running out, he looked over to his parents and saw the pride beaming on their faces. Not just pride, but love as well. He had smiled back at them and resolved to stay in the presence of his family, reminded of what mattered to him more than all the gold in the word. 

He smiles back at you because you’re right. Some things never change. 

Ahkmenrah knows that he could happily spend an eternity standing with you beneath the night sky, but his eternity comes with a price.

Despite knowing it was inevitable, he trembles when he climbs back into the sarcophagus. He knows, objectively, that he cannot remain outside. To do so would surely spell his end. Yet, it takes your calming hand supporting him the whole way through, laying him to rest with the utmost care. You speak comforting words the entire time and he desperately tries to focus on your voice through the pounding in his ears. Even when faced with the blackness he has so long sought to escape, it gives him strength. 

The last thoughts he has in the light are of the immortality stretching endlessly before him. A life of darkness, of uncertainties and strange beings. Is such a life even worth living? Would it not be better to simply break the tablet and end this miserable cycle? If he chose, death could finally sweep him into it’s cold embrace. Perhaps this cursed life has nothing left to offer him other than pain.

You begin to hum as you slide the lid closed, something quiet and sweet. It reminds him of the lullabies his mother used to sing to him when he was young and frightened of the things he did not know. It reminds him of pale moonlight and constellations, bright and shining against a vast expanse of darkness. And the crickets that chirped outside his bedroom window at the palace. And warm fingers intertwining with his own, leading him forward even as the light blinded him.

And he thinks to himself, as your face slowly disappears behind a wall of darkness but your voice carries on, that if this is life, he doesn’t want to give it up. 

Chapter Text

I need someone’s hand to lead me through the night

I need someone’s arms to hold and squeeze me tight

And when the night begins and until it ends

I need your love so bad

“What exactly is it you’re doing here?” 

The question catches you off guard, despite having come to expect this kind of bluntness from Dr. McPhee. You shift uncomfortably in your chair, glancing about the pristine space that is your boss’s office. Everything is in its proper place, not one loose paper or crooked frame, ready to be perfectly admired by anyone who might stop by. The atmosphere lends itself to the kind of organized serenity Dr. McPhee demands in all aspects of his life, including his carefully curated museum. If only he knew how quickly it descended into chaos at night. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, shaking your head as if to dispel any mental cobwebs, “What exactly do you mean by that, sir?”

Dr. McPhee regards you as if you’ve just crawled out of the neanderthal exhibit and tried to start a fire on his polished desk. Accustomed as you are to his general attitude towards a mere grunt like yourself, you struggle not to wilt under that gaze. It may be irritating, but this man pays your bills. 

“Well, I meant exactly what I asked. Why are you here in my museum? What exactly is it you hope to gain from this job?” 

Despite your reservations, the snark that seeps out of you is inevitable. 

“Money, sir.” 

He pauses for a moment, annoyance flashing across his face, Thankfully, he doesn’t see the faint quirk of your lips. You glance at the bag sitting next to your feet, gears wiring excitedly in your head at the thought of what’s inside. Ugh, when will this meeting end?

Hands rubbing vigorously at his temples, Dr. McPhee lets out a sigh. 

“You know, I read through your resume when you applied here. It’s nothing outstanding, but you’ve got potential. You could do much more than security work.”

You tilt your head. “Wait, I'm confused. You’re mad at me because I have an average resume?” 

His eye twitches in frustration, and all you can think is that you’re glad you have so much prior experience dealing with strange characters in this museum. It really makes navigating through conversations with eccentric academic types like McPhee a piece of cake.

“I think we both know,” his hands clench against the desk, “that you could do better than here.”

He leans forward, chin perched in the palm of his hand.

“So why do you stay?”

You struggle to grasp exactly how you’re supposed to respond to that. How does someone defend themselves from a line of questioning that boils down to “you’re too good for your job?” You think that Dr. McPhee may just be a suspicious man by nature, and the only way to mitigate his fears is to be completely honest–omitting certain details of course.

“I just love this job, sir.” You don’t have to force the smile you give him. It’s completely genuine.

“People come here to connect with everything that came before us. There’s something about this place, these exhibits, that makes the past come to life. Something like that is worth protecting.”

If only he knew just how earnest you’re being. Maybe he doesn’t expect people to connect as much with the museum as he does, maybe your admission comes as a surprise. Still, it seems to work as you notice his shoulders visibly relax. He settles back in his seat, giving you a rather indecipherable look.

“It really means that much to you, being a simple night guard?”

You think back to the day you were hired at the museum. You’d been at a low point in your life, desperate for something, anything, to fill your empty days. In a fit of impulsiveness, you’d applied to virtually any position you were remotely qualified for. Nightguard was hardly the career you’d envisioned for yourself, but you decided to go for it anyway. Out of the many, many jobs you’d applied to, the museum position was the one you’d expected least to hear back from. But you had, and after receiving radio silence from almost every other potential employer, you couldn’t afford to turn down the offer. You remember nervously walking up the steps to the museum on your first day, completely oblivious to how drastically your life was about to change.

To say you had been swept up by the museum’s nightly shenanigans would be an understatement. From playing fetch with a fossilized dinosaur to practicing archery with Sacagewea, each night was an adventure. For a while, the hectic nature of it all had distracted you from the emptiness inside, that deep pit that had yearned for something to fill it. And yet, the feeling always persisted. No matter what you did or how hard you tried to forget, you felt trapped in the life you’d made for yourself. A cage of your own design. 

In hindsight, maybe this is what initially drew you to Ahkmenrah, the Egyptian pharaoh locked in his tomb, cursed with eternal life. Your suffering, you know, does not even minutely compare to his, but you’re smart enough to recognize that it mimics it. You were two sides of the same coin, opposite ends of history crying out into the darkness and searching for something, anything, to brighten the world again. After years of screaming at the world to save you, it decided to give you him. Little had you known that when you were unlocking the door to his cage, you were also opening your own.

It’s hard to pretend to be someone else when Ahkmenrah is near. Light exudes from him, illuminating everything around him so brightly he can see right through you. You can’t bottle up everything inside anymore, not when you are overwhelmingly filled by the warmth of his presence. He understands you without judging you, he knows you without finding some part of you lacking. He cannot leave the walls of this place, but he stays with you when you go all the same. You hope he knows just how much he means to you. If he doesn’t yet, he will soon.

You come back to yourself, your body returning to this well-organized room across from your boss. He’s still waiting for your response, but you don’t know how to make the words come out. Best to keep it simple then. 

“It does sir, it means the world to me.”

Once again, you’re not quite sure what to make of the expression on his face. It doesn't matter though, because it fades after a few seconds and his typical frown settles back into place. He waves his hand in a dismissing motion, seemingly pacified with your response. 

“Well I can’t say I understand your decision, but I won't complain. Truthfully, you’ve done far better here than I expected. Certainly better than some of our other potential candidates for the job.” 

You stand up, glad that the conversation is over. It’s almost closing time, and you’ve got a mission to carry out. You pick up your bag head towards the door, but pause just on the threshold as Dr. McPhee calls your name. 

“Yes?” You ask, refusing to turn around.

“Thank you,” you hear just the slightest hint of congeniality in his voice, “for all your hard work.”

You nod, accepting what is probably the only straightforward compliment you will ever receive from this man. With that, you’re off, hands clenching against your bag as you buzz with excitement. 

As the light filtering through the museum’s glass doors slowly fades, your excitement begins to taint with nervousness. 

What if this doesn’t work? Or better yet, what if it does? What then? It’s hard to imagine a world where your pharaoh isn’t waiting for you in his tomb each night, even though you’ve only known him for a little under a year. There’s that dreadful nervousness that always accompanies the onset of change, the steps leading up to a precipice. But somehow, despite all your inhibitions and fears about what may happen, what makes you the most nervous is the thought that nothing will change at all.

Because as much as you love it, the late night talks, his hand on your shoulder, his smile like the sun, it’s not enough anymore. You want to see him in the daylight, smiling because it’s the first time he’s felt it in years. You want to get him there so bad it hurts. To give him back the happiness he gave you. Whether he chooses to stay with you or not once the door has been opened, you tell yourself you don’t care.

So it’s with that spirit that you wait for the sun to fall. As museum-goers trickle out, so does your nervousness. Afterall, tonight is just the first step. There still lies a long road ahead of you. And while the thought of that should frighten you, it only strengthens your resolve. Whatever it takes, he will see the daylight again.

After locking the doors, you immediately go to fish out your bag from under the front desk. You still have an hour or so before the magic of the tablet takes effect, but you can't help but clutch onto your bag. Once you’ve done your duties for the night, it will finally be time. You’ve worked months for this, and yet somehow the thought of waiting a few more hours is killing you.

The first few minutes after the museum comes to life are typical. Thunderous footsteps shake the floor as the T-Rex fossil that dominates the lobby comes to life. As always, you prepare yourself to play a round of fetch with your prehistoric puppy. In your mind, you’re already going through each of the duties you need to complete before you can talk to Ahkmenrah. You’re used to the tumultuous routine at this point, but somehow, the museum’s inhabitants can still manage to throw you for a loop. 

It starts when Rexy (your unoriginal nickname for the oversized fossil) forgets to enact the “fetch” component of fetch. After frantically skidding towards and picking up the large bone you’d lobbed across the lobby, she simply turns to look at you, making no move to return the bone.

You stand there for a moment, puzzled by her lack of usual excitement. Puzzled — for all of two seconds until you feel a tugging at the heavy set of keys clipped to your belt. By the time you look down, the devilish monkey that has tormented you for your entire tenure at the museum is dashing off with your keys in tow.

With the loudest, most full-bodied sigh you can muster, you give chase, your bag still clutched to your side. 

One would think that, given the sheer time you’ve spent running after this specific museum resident, you’d know better than to place the keys within easy reach. Unfortunately, the thoughts of what this night held in store for you had been enough of a distraction for the momentary lapse to occur. You were paying the price for it now, heaving and panting down the long hallways.

As you raced past the various museum members milling around, it became increasingly harder to spot the little monkey. It’s only when you sharply turn the corner to an empty hallway that you realize you’ve completely lost him. You can't help but kick the wall with an equally intense groan of frustration. Of all the nights for something to go wrong. 

Standing there, panting and growing increasingly panicked, you almost fail to hear the voice calling your name as they approach from behind. Only when a warm hand lands on your shoulder do you start, spinning around sharply. 

“Apologies! I didn’t mean to startle you!” Ahkmenrah exclaims, taking a step back upon seeing your manic posture. 

It takes you a moment to recognize him, although you visibly relax once you take in his apologetic expression. For some reason, the very concerning threat of a psychopathic monkey holding your keys seems far away all of a sudden.

“No, I’m sorry,” You breathe, absently fingering the belt clip that would normally hold your keys, “I’m just really stressed right now.” 

There’s that smile again. You think it looks best under the moonlight, when the two of you are cloistered away in a more private section of the museum. And yet, you feel lucky to have seen it at all. Is it normal to feel so lightheaded when someone smiles at you? You’re starting to think he may really be blessed by the Egyptian gods.

“Yes, I did see a small, furry creature scampering around accompanied by the sound of jingling. Has the monkey stolen your keys again?” 

“Yes! You saw him? Which way did he go?!” You blurt out, resisting the urge to tug your hair out like a completely crazy person. 

Ahkmenrah’s soft smile doesn’t let up, which, if he was any other person, would be extremely annoying considering the less than ideal circumstances. However, you can only associate that smile with his fond retellings of childhood memories, or whispered words of wonder as he stares out the window towards the night sky. He looks so sad so often that it’s almost impossible for you to see him smile and not feel a sense of accomplishment. You wonder, not for the first time, what unknown brain damage you must be afflicted with to fixate on this one characteristic so deeply. 

Calm as ever, he says “Do not worry about it, I think you will find that your keys are in safe keeping.” 

Of course, not even his reassuring tone is enough to quell your anxiousness. Although some of the museum’s inhabitants can be trusted not to burn the place down, you don’t trust that insidious monkey to make the correct decision on who to let out. So, despite the deeply ingrained trust you’ve built up with Ahkmenrah, you have to question this decision. 

“Where are they, Ahk? You know just as well as I do what that monkey can get up to with unrestricted access to this place.” 

He gives you a soft, secretive smile — the kind you’ve only seen shared between lovers in movies. Luckily the museum is kept dim after hours, and even if he can see the flush spreading across your face, you can always chalk it up to the marathon you just ran. 

“I must admit, I’m terrible at keeping secrets. The monkey first came to let me out for the night. I suspect he’s gone off to gather more people for the… event.”

You hadn’t even considered the fact that he’d seemingly escaped his confinement without your help. Still, the idea of some sort of “event” being held by the museum residents did nothing to ease your distress. In response to Ahkmenrah’s vague explanation, you turned to begin your frantic search once more. 

Before you can dart off however, you feel his warm hand gently encircle your upper arm. He tugs you back, the back of your shoulder landing against his chest. Your head snaps in his direction, completely prepared to tell him off, only to find your face near inches from his. Trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and sudden nerves, your eyes slowly trace up his face. For all the time you’ve spent staring at his lovely, lovely face, you’ve never seen this expression before. Within moments, the keys are the last thing on your mind. 

“Please, stay with me for a while. I promise that everyone else is up to no mischief. Stay for just a moment and hear my words, then we will go join the others.” 

Hand still resting against your arm, his thumb absentmindedly strokes back and forth. Ahkmenrah must have no idea how whipped you are for him, because he gives a sigh of relief as you nod slowly in agreement. How could you say no when he begged you like that? 

“Okay,” you whisper, barely hearing your own words over the pounding of your heart, “I’ll listen to what you have to say.” 

His hand lowers, absently skimming against the sensitive skin of your forearm. Warm fingers weave between your own, gently unclenching your hand until it melts into his. Your gaze follows him and refuses to come back up. You stubbornly avoid him, the way he looks at you with that wide smile he’s barely trying to hide. Maybe if you keep your head down he won’t see your heart beating in your throat.

“Come.” He whispers, tugging you gently towards the now suspiciously empty hallway behind him.

Yep, there’s definitely mischief afoot. Maybe if your brain and heart and legs hadn’t just melted into a puddle, you’d be in a state to do something about it. Instead, you let him guide you forward.

The hallway is dim, although the lights for each exhibit provide just enough illumination to make out your surroundings. You don’t come to this wing of the museum very often; it’s mostly dioramas and long plaques detailing the histories of past civilizations. You’ve witnessed countless bored middle schoolers milling around in this section, more occupied with overtly sneaking glances at their crush than learning about the exhibits.

Speaking of which, you side eye Ahkmenrah with just as little subtlety. 

It should be illegal to look as good as he does, especially in an outfit that can be described as a glorified crop top and skirt. Seriously, the wide golden collar, which he’s told you is called a wesekh, leaves little to the imagination. It reveals his bare abdomen in a long stretch of tan muscle you struggle not to eye. You fail, of course, which you only realize once you glance up and catch him looking at you in return, lips quirked to one side. Whoops.

Before you can linger on your embarrassment for too long, Ahkmenrah halts, turning his body towards yours. It’s only when you see pale light against his skin that you look up, realizing he’s stopped you both beneath a skylight. It’s the same one you took him to all those months ago when you first released him from his tomb.

The moon shines bright above you, full and luminous in a clear sky. You used to have roof access at your old apartment, the one you’d shared with your ex. Sometimes the two of you would go up and just stare at the sky for hours, although the light pollution often made it so only the moon was visible. You never minded though, just happy to be there in the twilight with someone you loved. It’s been a long time since you’ve done so.

You glance over at Ahk, catching him admiring the moon in a much similar manner. It must be comforting to know that after so much time has passed, the same moon he watched shine over his kingdom shines upon you both now. Yet, you’re attuned enough to his mannerisms to sense the hidden melancholy. The older you get the more you’re starting to understand it; how sometimes something so familiar can bring such a sense of sorrow. Now more than ever, you want to take that sadness away.

His eyes meet yours. Something simmers between you as you hold his gaze, a blanket of calm over a storm. Maybe you should tell him what you’ve brought now, before you lose your nerve. You brace yourself, ready to just blurt it out.

“I-“

“We-“

You both chuckle, but secretly you’re relieved he cut you off. Despite your resolve to do what must be done, it doesn’t make it any less terrifying. Still, Ahk did say he had something to tell you. It’s only fair he goes first. 

You gesture toward him with your hand — still interlocked with his.

“Sorry Ahk, go ahead. You said you had something to tell me?”

Despite his status as pharaoh, Ahkmenrah has never seemed intimidating to you. Logically you know he’s taller and broader than you, but when the sun shines through the light in his eyes and the warmth of his smile, it’s hard to believe he could ever present as physically imposing. However, as he stares down at you, his eyes devotedly drinking in every detail, you feel it. Not fright —you know he’d never hurt you— but something equally as overwhelming. You realize how his hands dwarf your own, each one encased in a large palm. He holds you there gently, but firmly. 

“You look beautiful tonight.”

His eyes widen, like the words escaped him before he meant them to. It’s hard to distinguish in the dark, but you can just make out the subtle flush of his face.

You make a show of looking down and your rumpled uniform, which is really just an excuse to hide your own blush.

“You really think so? In this old thing? I’m pretty sure that’s a stain from last Tuesday’s lunch…” You trail off when his fingers find your chin, tilting your head back up. He holds you there for a moment, smiling.

“Even with a thousand stains upon your uniform, I would still find you beautiful.”

As cheesy as it is, you’re left speechless. It’s not the first time Ahkmenrah has delivered such an abrupt compliment in such an eloquent manner, but he’s never been so direct. You’d have to be an idiot to not realize his fondness for you, the way he always makes it a point to greet you as you open his tomb, the excuses he makes to get you alone, the frequent requests for you to hum him to sleep at the end of the night. Still, it’s one thing to acknowledge the tension boiling below the surface, and another to feel the steam against your face. Which is what this must be, considering the heat blooming across your body.

Your silence must be intimidating, because a nervous little laugh escapes him. It’s cute to hear from such a dignified, formal man. Really cute.

“Sorry, that wasn’t what I—well what I meant to say was—“

“I think I know what you meant.” you whisper. You’ve always known deep down, from the first time he went silent at the sound of your awful singing. It’s in the way he laughs at your jokes, even when he doesn’t get the reference, or when he fumbles to make you coffee in the break room because he doesn’t understand modern technology. It’s in the way you orbit each other like the planets and the sun, thawing each other out after a centuries-long ice age.

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself.

“But I have to tell you something first.”

Because it has to be his choice. Deep down you know there’s something between you, but there’s also doubt there. Does he care for you on his own terms, or because you’re all he knows? If he could go anywhere or do anything, would he, the once ruler of a great nation, still choose to be with you? And could you live with yourself if you never gave him the opportunity to find out?

You try not to acknowledge the brief flicker of hurt in his expression as you reach into your bag, pulling out a worn journal. The pages have yellowed significantly with time, and the leather has cracked and faded across the years. Still, the letters embossed across the front in gold are legible, shining faintly in the dim light. Samuel Ross.

You press the journal into his hands, watching his expression morph into one of bewilderment, then surprise. Despite the years, he remembers his old friend.

He traces a finger slowly down the front cover, then looks up at you. “I don’t understand, what is this?

You take a deep breath.

“Well… I decided to do some digging on the tablet, and the curse. You mentioned that you were at Cambridge before this, so I started there. I was looking through who would’ve been at the department around the same time as you, and I found this guy Samuel Ross.”

You pause for a moment, watching Ahk as he opens the journal, still listening but skimming over the pages. His face is neutral, neither excited nor upset. You keep going.

“...So anyways, to make a long story short it turns out he actually moved to the states after losing his position at Cambridge. One of his grandkids actually lives a few hours away. It kind of took a long time, but I managed to get in contact with her. I think she thought I was kinda crazy at first, but she started to believe me when I knew about all of the stuff in her grandpa’s journals. Um, so yeah, after I explained everything she gave me this,” You gesture to the journal in his hands, “and it has all Samuel’s research on making a new—

“Tablet.” Ahk finishes, finally stopping on a page with a perfect replica of said tablet.

It had taken you a while to understand what you were looking at, ancient symbols interweaved with sloppy cursive writing across the page. Eventually, you realized what it was. Instructions for splitting the tablet's power, creating a new physical totem to house the curse while leaving the old intact. The new totem would update the spell, working its magic in the night and day. It was honestly too good to be true. Samuel had developed a way to allow Ahkmenrah to roam free separate from the museum, whose inhabitants would remain alive. Long after they’d parted ways, he’d kept looking for a way to save him, and he’d found it. It was just a theory, shaky and untested, but it was something—a flicker of hope you refused to let go.

Ahkmenrah remains quiet, eyes staring blankly at the page. The silence hangs until you become skittish with nervousness.

“Look, I know it’s not guaranteed to work, and maybe I should’ve waited to tell you, but I needed you to know. And if this doesn’t work, you can be as angry at me as you want. But I care about you too much not to try. You deserve to be free… even if I never see you again”

Slowly, Ahkmenrah shuts the journal, gently placing it on the ledge behind him. It's then that you see his eyes, shimmering with unshed tears. One hand shakily comes to rest on your shoulder, the other cradling your cheek. He sweeps a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with reverence. 

“I could never be angry with you,” He says, soft breath brushing across your skin, “not in a thousand years, not even if Ra himself ordered me to.”

He pauses, leaning in closer.

“I’m not worried about the tablet, whether it works or not, the outcome will remain the same.”

Your brows furrow. “You don’t want to get out of here, to see the sun again?”

He huffs, tender and full of awe.

“You are the sun to me. Ever since you freed me, my only desire has been to go where you go, to be with you no matter the circumstance. Whether I’m freed or remain here, I beg of you, never banish me from your side. Please, let me be with you, always.”

It’s only when his thumb glides wetly across your cheek that you realize you’re crying. Every emotion you’ve held back for the past year wells to the surface; budding infatuation when you first met him, overwhelming fondness as you grew closer, crippling insecurity when you wondered if you were enough, and the tentative hope that, despite the endless years of loneliness, there was still hope.

Ahk leans in closer, nose brushing against yours. His eyes are pleading, his question left unanswered.

“Yes,” you breathe, closing the space between you, “I want to be with you.”

His lips press against yours, a gentle brush that sends a shiver down your spine. He lingers there, then retreats for a moment, just slightly. Just enough that you can feel his breath against you, shaky exhales against your lips in time with the shifting of his chest. A reverent hand caresses your cheek, committing the soft plush of your skin to memory. He can’t help but gaze down at you there with your eyes  closed, your lips parted ever so slightly in pleading anticipation. Like you’ve waited just as long for him as he has for you.

This time, when his lips meet yours, you slot together like two pieces of a puzzle. His hand slides to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. The other settles into the dip of your lower back, pressing you against him until there’s no space left between you. Your hand comes to rest against his chest, warmed by the bare skin there. His movements are fervent, lips feverishly slanted against your own. He squeezes you to him, not tightly, but just enough that you can feel his desperation. Your senses are overwhelmed by the scent of smoke and sunshine, an oasis in a vast desert. 

Finally, he shifts, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. Your head and heart feel light, grounded only by the fingers gently threaded through your hair, the only anchor preventing you from floating away. You both breathe heavily, struggling from lack of oxygen. Totally worth it.

Basking in the intimacy, you stare up at him, a stupid smile planting itself on your face before you can stop it. Ahkmenrah sports a similar one as he presses his forehead to yours, nuzzling into you. A year’s worth of repressed longing is spilling over the edges of your self-control, compelling you to lose yourself in him until you’re never separate again. You’re just about to pull him in for round two when the sound of throat clearing interrupts you.

Teddy stands at the end of the hallway, hands on his hips and a smirk plastered across his face. The monkey perches on his shoulder, your keys dangling in his grubby little paws.

You jolt in surprise, and embarrassment, but Ahk doesn’t let you go, pulling you closer if anything. You smile sheepishly, trying to act like you weren’t about to jump this man’s bones mere moments ago.

“Well it’s about time!” Teddy exclaims, smiling at the two of you. “Although Jed’s not gonna be happy he lost the bet with Octavious.”

You and Ahk glance at each other, momentarily taken aback by the fact that this is—apparently—something your friends were placing bets on. Upon further reflection though, you’re not actually that surprised.

Teddy pipes up again, “Well I know we asked you to keep her busy Mr. Pharoah, but everyone was starting to wonder where you guys went! You just about ready yet, or should I leave the two of you alone?”

You shoot Ahkmenrah a suspicious glance, to which he just smiles.

“What’s going on?

Ahk places a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, reaching behind him to pick up the journal and slide it back in your bag.

“Let us show you”

The three of you make your way to the balcony overlooking the foyer, where a large crowd of the museum inhabitants wait for you. They mill about for a moment before Teddy calls down to them, quickly spurring them into action.

“Suprise!” They yell as you approach, unfurling a large banner. Happy Anniversary! the banner exclaims, written in bold blocky letters. Where they got the materials to make it from, you have no idea.

You’re touched anyways, hand shooting to your heart in surprise and awe. You glance at Teddy and Ahk, speechless.

“We wanted to say thank you,” Teddy starts, a warm smile across his face, “for everything you’ve done.”

Ahk steps up behind you, arm winding across your shoulders as you stare down at the crowd, beginning to mix and mingle in excitement. You turn your head to look at him, your heart beating with unbridled joy. Something unspoken passes between you, and you reach up to join your hands.

He’s loved you from the moment you released him from the darkness, the moment you reached through his pain and anguish and held his trembling heart in your hands. You’ve loved him just the same, allowing him to know you beyond the facade you’ve clung to for so long. Where things will go from here, you have no idea, but the one thing you can be certain of is that you’ll do it together. He’ll never be alone again, and neither will you.

You descend toward the waiting party together, hands and hearts intertwined.