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The detached gaze is directed straight at the computer screen, except that the pointer has not moved a single millimeter within the last ten minutes.
Almost a month.
A month with no news. The research center, the university, the NXX headquarters — he was gone, as if has never existed.
Rosa flinches when a familiar tall figure blocks the artificial light, casting a shadow on her desk. Her stiff finger moves away from the keyboard, the girl raises her head — meets the gaze of these dear cerulean eyes. Artem frowns slightly.
— How are you?
— Doing well.
And shakes his head. He does not believe it. Both of them... are not okay. On pins and needles for the past month: how is he doing? Why is he running away? What is he hiding from?
With a light clatter, a plastic box from the coffee shop around the corner — a simple salad — and a cup of some warm tea are placed onto the desk.
— You should eat, — Artem pleads.
— What about you?
He glances away.
Secluded in the senior attorney's office, the two share a salad. The herbal tea warms up the woman a little, while the man has a mug of already cooled coffee on the table.
— Maybe tonight we should.., — Rosa whispers hesitantly. He was being trusted. If he does not say a thing, so be it. But a whole month had already passed and it was getting unbearable.
— I was going to suggest the same thing as well, — Artem replies, hiding an awkward smile.
They arrive without any announcement. Phone calls have lost all the meaning, as have the unanswered messages. Artem parks the car in a familiar spot, the two of them peer through the windows — curtained — and are about to knock.
But the door opens.
The amazement in the two pairs of bright eyes fades — Ogier is standing on the threshold of the house. He bows politely and steps aside, letting them in.
— Young Master is asleep now, — the man reveals quietly, watching the newcomers. Artem hangs his coat on the hook, so does with Rosa’s. A third coat has been hanging in between.
— How is he feeling?
— What happened to him?
Having accidentally blurted it out at the same time, the two share a look of confusion, but soon enough their attention returns to Ogier. To their dismay, he is quick to disappoint them.
— He charged me not to disclose this information.
Artem feels a tremor running deep inside his chest, Rosa clenches her palms into fists. Stupid, foolish Vyn, why is he acting this way? They trust him, they love him, but he puts up an impenetrable wall surrounded by a barbed wire, turns his back on them, and stubbornly licks his wounds alone.
— May we see him? Just one single glimpse? — Rosa asks timidly. Artem leaves the bag filled with fruit next to the kitchen table. They both stare at Ogier in silence, and he is unable to refuse.
So tiny and fragile. Vyn is lying in his pale-coloured pyjamas in the middle of the wide, soft bed, a light blanket covering his chest. From under the collar of his shirt peeks out a white bandage, slightly tinged with scarlet. His snow-white hair is disheveled, eyebrows furrowed to the bridge of his nose, as if he is in the throes of a nightmare.
— Vyn.., — Artem whispers, walking vigorously towards the bed. Rosa sits down on the other side of it, and now two concerned faces are leaning over the third, pale and thin. Artem's warm thumb caresses the sunken cheek — the faint glow of the light reveals already dried trails of tears. Senior attorney’s lips quiver: why was he crying? Who did this to him?
— Hush.., — he mumbles, more likely comforting himself, broad palm gently hugging man's face, tall nose buried in these soft snow-white hair. The tremor in his chest intensifies, and with the fingers of his free hand Artem clenches the edge of the blanket, immediately releasing it then. Rosa's slender fingers intertwine with his in a soothing gesture. They exchange one last glance — and the girl gently lowers her head on Vyn's slowly heaving chest. Holding their breath, the two wait a few quiet moments, but thankfully their beloved remains in his restless slumber. With him they share their warmth, weightless kisses on the top of his head and the stroking of slender fingers.
"When nobody wants you," echoes an annoying voice in his head, "who can you even call for help?" Vyn squints, turns away from the intrusive noise, inhales sharply, and — suddenly — smells the familiar scent: a mixture of cedar and lavender. Desperately nuzzling himself into the source of the odour, and at the same time clutching someone else’s thin fingers with his free hand, he falls back into a deep sleep.
A long-awaited tranquility finally reigns in the bedroom.