Chapter Text
He took his name from words etched into the planks at the back of the shrine: Marco.
There wasn’t a particular reason for it, nor any real use for it. He just felt like he should have something to refer to himself as, and as he was inspecting the shrine he’d woken up at, he stumbled across the little cluster of names. They were probably carved into the rotting wood by a group of children, maybe teenagers, but ‘Marco’ had seemed suitable enough for him.
He was aware of the nearby town just along the woodland path, but he never felt an inclination to go there; he never felt an inclination to go anywhere. The shrine was small enough to begin with – nothing more than a shed if he were being honest – and it was old and forgotten. Nature had been trying to take back the shrine when Marco had woken up: the place full of wood rot, branches, vines and stalks from the undergrowth crept through the cracks of the building. He let it keep what parts it had already claimed, but took the rest for himself. It was quiet at the shrine, and the path to the town was so overgrown it was almost impassable, so he didn’t expect any visitors.
It was a good place to let the days pass.
The spring after he’d woken had been uneventful; the wood bloomed, grew, started to live out their days until the autumn winds came. Marco spent the spring sitting on the shrine’s step, staring out at the stream just a little way off, or dozing on the still somewhat sturdy floor inside. As summer approached, Marco began to feel grateful for the nature that had broken through the shrine; the gaps they made in the walls offered something of a breeze in the sticky heat.
It was sometime towards the end of summer, when the worst of the heat waves had passed, and a comfortable chill was back in the wind once again, that was when Marco’s bland, black-and-white days finally saw their first speck of colour.
He was sitting outside when Marco woke up; leaning against one of the larger trees that stood right beside the stream. He wasn’t paying attention to the forgotten little shrine and its lone inhabitant, or perhaps he just didn’t see them, seeing as his eyes were trained on the comic book in his lap. His hair was strange, Marco quickly decided, looking at the two separate shades of his undercut; but somehow it suited him. He kept crossing and uncrossing his legs, like he couldn’t quite find a comfortable enough position on the ground. Marco decided it was because the guy was wearing shorts; the ground was particularly bumpy where he was sitting, so his legs would end up being scratched by the gravelly earth no matter where he put them.
Marco sat down on the shrine step, watching the stranger, wondering if he’d notice he was being watched. Time passed, only tracked by the sun as it wandered overhead. As it started to lower, and the plants around stopped desperately following the sun’s progress, the stranger eventually looked up at the sky – his reading disturbed by the dimming light. He gave an irritated tut, before slapping his comic closed and pushing himself to his feet. His body seemed a little numb after sitting for so long, and Marco watched as he shook his limbs out.
Stretching his back one last time, the stranger turned his head slightly, finally giving Marco a look at the profile of his face. Marco didn’t have much experience with human faces – no one had ever come to the shrine before now – so he couldn’t exactly compare the stranger’s appearance to anyone else, but Marco decided that the defined lines of his features were what he might call appealing.
Then he fully turned.
Marco felt his body freeze as the stranger turned and looked directly at him. He felt odd all of a sudden, but he couldn’t quite grasp why; there was a strange feeling inside his chest, like a tightness that he didn’t understand. The stranger stared at him, not a speck of readable emotion or thought passing over his features, and Marco could only sit perfectly still and let the small, light eyes bore into him.
It could have been only a few seconds, or it could have been long, drawn-out minutes, before the stranger at last turned away again; his eyes fixating on the overgrown path ahead, and his legs taking him off in that direction. Marco watched him leave, the feeling in his chest still consuming his mind as the stranger slowly vanished into the woods and out of sight.
The woods were quiet. No more footsteps, or shuffling, or paper pages fluttering in a breeze. It was just quiet.
Marco felt his eyebrows narrowing as he looked down at the ground before him. Why hadn’t that man reacted to seeing him? Humans weren’t things Marco had ever been around, but even animals – rabbits, foxes, birds – even they reacted in shock or suspicion when they realised they were being watched. That man hadn’t even blinked when he’d seen Marco sitting there.
Seen Marco…
Had he seen Marco?
Holding his hand out in front of him, Marco examined it, front and back; it wasn’t transparent or anything, it was as clear as the wooden step he was sitting on. There was nothing about his hand, or the rest of his body, that seemed like it might be invisible.
Maybe he was invisible? But, that wouldn’t make sense, would it? Animals could see him – they reacted to his presence on a regular basis. Nature too responded to him. He couldn’t imagine that all these things could see him, but yet a human couldn’t.
The thought hung over Marco, even as the sun set and he retreated into the sanctuary of the shrine. Sleep had always been something that came easily to him, but tonight Marco found his mind too busy replaying the day’s events over and over and over again. For a while, he was afraid he’d be trapped in that same loop forever…
Sleep did catch up to him, though, and when he next woke the light that was pouring through the cracks in the shrine were telling him he’d slept in quite late. Not that he had anything he ever had to wake up for, of course.
The shrine door swung open with a tired groan, and the midday sun glared down. Today’s breeze was chilly: he could definitely feel the hint of autumn riding on it. Marco wasn’t looking forward to winter that much; the shrine, whilst his home, was hardly a place that kept the cold out.
It was only when he heard a low sigh that Marco realised he wasn’t alone.
The stranger was back, leaning against the very same tree. This time though, there was no comic book in his lap, but a handheld games console. The console had been turned off, or maybe it had gone onto standby. Either way, the stranger wasn’t paying it any attention. Instead, the stranger’s head was tilted to one side, his face completely hidden from view. He wasn’t moving. Marco leaned forward, trying to get a better glimpse at what the man was doing, but he wasn’t near enough.
He should have just left it. He should have just turned back around and sat inside the shrine. He should have let everything with the stranger end there.
But that was never going to happen.
With tentative steps, Marco left the shrine and moved closer to the motionless stranger. He moved slowly; trying to avoid making noise, so as to keep his presence unknown. With every step that earned no response from the man, Marco took another step. Before he knew what he’d done, he was standing right beside the stranger; looking down at his thin t-shirt and the goose-bumps lining his arms.
The stranger’s chest, upon closer inspection, was rising and falling ever so slightly, in long, smooth movements. His eyes that had pierced through Marco just the day before, were closed. Marco frowned; why had this man decided sleeping out here, with a cold wind, was a good idea? His eyes fell on a jacket that had been left crumpled by the man’s side.
Well, Marco didn’t fancy a strange man freezing to death right outside his shrine.
Kneeling down, Marco picked up the jacket and gave it a few shakes to get off the dirt and little stones. Then, carefully, he laid it across the sleeping figure. He made sure the jacket hugged across the stranger’s shoulders, so it covered his arms – his legs were in long trousers today, so Marco wasn’t too concerned about leaving them uncovered. Deciding he’d done all he should, he moved back.
The man was looking at him.
Marco felt his whole body freeze, just as it had yesterday. The same tightness reappeared, and he felt unable to tear his eyes away from the man’s gaze. This time, there was no doubt in Marco’s mind: the stranger was definitely looking at him. There was no way he couldn’t be.
“Hello again.”
Marco tensed even more. It seemed weird to hear the man’s voice; it seemed thick, if a voice can sound thick. At least the words assured Marco that he had been seen yesterday; somehow he felt glad that he wasn’t invisible.
The man still didn’t remove his gaze. Marco assumed he was waiting for a response, but honestly Marco didn’t know what to say. It suddenly hit him that he never actually had spoken before. There had never been a point; plants didn’t talk, and animals had their own languages that were past Marco’s understanding. He wondered whether it would be better to just stay silent and move away.
But… there was something about responding that felt… not tempting, but significant.
So he opened his mouth.
“Hello.”