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As his gloved hand waves across the sea of heads, a sense of dejá vu washes down his spine. But instead of the warmth of familiarity, a cold emptiness envelopes his very essence and chills him down to the bone. Suddenly a voice calls out across the sea of mindless bodies.
“SULVAIN!!” It was Raziol, miles away yet completely visible. He almost seemed to glow against the endless darkness. His presence, like a star; bright amidst the all-encompassing, all-consuming void of space. Sulvain immediately stops his steed, turning it in its tracks to face the young astronomer. His heart begins to beat on its own, a rare feat brought on only by his strongest passions.
Jumping down from his horse, he makes a mad dash through the crowd. Trying to get back to the present, back to his lover. However, something odd begins to happen. His skin seems to become less solid, his bones weaker. Suddenly he finds himself lying on the ground, only a rotting version of himself. He tries to lift his eyes up to Raziol but finds his lover standing over him with a sharp glare plastering his face, across his usually welcoming expression.
“You thought you could have me, didn't you? You thought I would be okay with what you are?” He laughs, “The dead don’t belong amongst the living, you don’t belong amongst us.” He was disgusted with him, disgusted at what he was.
In some kind of last ditch effort, Sulvain tries to speak. He knows he can't, not even in his deepest thoughts or dreams can he ever say a word, but he can’t bear seeing Raziol look at him that way. But all he can do is cough and make a strained wheezing noise. His eyes began brimming with golden tears, as the second person he has ever truly opened his heart to staring down at him with utter repulsion.
Then it stops, everything freezes. All of the walking corpses around him disappear, and Raziol slowly fades into the distance again. He is alone. Alone, but not cold. No, not cold like a dead man should be. He feels warm, alive again. His body becomes more sturdy, his skin stops smelling like rot and worms. Then he feels it, the hands wrapping around his torso and caressing his hair. The small voice whispering his name, trying to bring him back to himself.
And that was it. He woke up. He woke up in Raziol’s arms, on Raziol’s bed, with Raziol’s warmth and voice surrounding him. I had all been but a dream. Raziol brought his hand down to Sulvain’s cheek when he saw he was awake, quietly whispering little comforts to him in Urdu, just as his father used to do for him.
The morning light came in through the windows, the dew on the glass slowly slid down each pane. Sulvain remembers it like it was only yesterday. But that's the thing about memories. No matter how nice they are, they are nothing but memories.
And with that, he wakes up. He wakes up yet again to an empty van, without Raziol. Another morning pining for nothing but a memory. Until one day he forgets. But that day does not come. For that afternoon, as he leaves the library, he will meet a memory in the flesh.