Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first time Egon heard of Peter, he thought nothing of him. It was just that Ray seemed unable to shut his mouth about this guy, this Venkman, he had met once in the library. He was studying Psychology and Parapsychology, as Egon was, and Ray somehow found unacceptable that both of them had neven taken into account each other presence during the lessons they shared.

“I just don’t understand how it is possible that the two of you have never met before, that’s all,” Ray stated, for probably the tenth time during that conversation alone. He was curved on his desk, funny goggles to protect his eyes while tinning something for their latest project. Egon was sitting on the wooden floor, legs crossed, wearing an old pair of black boxers and a torn gray t-shirt, his favourite outfit for the bed. All around him notes, papers and books, and he was holding a technical scheme in his hand while tapping on it with his pencil, “I can’t stop thinking about how bad we need to rewire it, Ray.”

Ray carefully put down the piece of metal he was working on and lifted the goggles over his head, turning around to look at his friend. His roommate, “Egon, are you even listening to me?”

“Mmmh?” was the only answer he received, before the other man dived himself in search of a particular piece of text he judged useful for his actual purpose, “And here I thought I had retrieved it from the library today, I…” he was mumbling to himself. Ray shook his head, resigned, and fished said book from the pile between their beds, “This one you are looking for?”

Egon raised his eyes and met Ray’s, rewarding him with just a hint of a smile in his hazel eyes, “Thank you,” he reached out to catch the tome but Ray brought it out of his reach. “Not so fast, clever boy,” he teased him. “I haven’t got an answer from you yet.”

“About what?” Egon asked, genuinely confused, tilting his head to the side like he always did when he was puzzled by something or someone. It happened quite often, to be honest: humanity and humans never ceased to confuse his thoughts.

Ray raised his eyes to the ceiling, “I know you weren’t listening to me!” he accused. “What were you thinking about during the last hour?”

Egon furrowed his brows, “About the wiring in our P.K.E. meter, of course. I just told you, Ray, I think we need to…”

“We need to rewire, I understand,” Ray nodded, in exasperation. “You pretend too much from me, I mean, it’s not like I’m working in the best conditions here,” he indicated their surroundings with a wide gesture of his arm. “I am practically welding in the middle of our bedroom.”

Egon blinked, “The difficulties reinforce the intellect. Besides,” and he tried and failed to reach again for the book. “I accepted you as my roommate here at the campus because you promised me we would have pursued our aims together.”

Ray, wearing a simple white top and gray shorts, failed to contain his amusement that transpired like a twinkle in his eyes, “You accepted me, Spengler?”

Egon raised an eyebrow, raven hair in stark contrast against his alabaster skin, “Are you trying to argue with me, Stantz?”

Ray raised both his hands, “Hey, I know better than begin a sparring contest with you, Spengler.”

The man lounged again for the book in Ray’s hand, again unsuccessfully, “First you need to answer me.”  

Egon retreated, sighing, sagging his shoulder, “Fine,” he conceded, carefully balancing his rounded glasses on his nose. “What do you want from me?”

Ray completely turned his old, office chair in the man’s direction, almost brushing his hairy legs against Egon’s feet in the crowded space, “I want you to meet with Peter.” 

Egon rolled his eyes, “Again with this Peter? What’s so special about this individual to make you waste so much of your time talking about him?”

Ray smiled, cryptically, “You’ll see.”

Egon shook his head, “I don’t get it.”

This time his sentence was welcomed by a proper laugh, “Of course, you’re not that good with social skills.”

“I have nothing to object to that, I rarely find myself spending time with someone and actually enjoying it. This don’t apply to you, of course,” he added quickly, when he noticed the shift of displeasure in Ray’s eyes. “It’s just that I don’t like people.”

Ray’s tone softened, “I know, but trust my judgment, I feel there is something about this one, I want him to a part of our project. Besides, there’s not much time left until our graduation and we need to step up our project now, just in case we won’t be able to make us some space in the academic world after that.”

Egon was still skeptical about it, he had never doubted about his chances of becoming a professor one day, but suddenly his eyes lighted up a bit, “Maybe you could promise me you will try to rewire the meter, if I met him?”

Ray laughed again, then nodded, “That’s a deal.”

Egon attempted a tiny smile, lifting a corner of his mouth, “Ok then.”

So they met the next day, at the communal library of the Psychology and Parapsychology department. Egon was already there, sitting at a desk, a quantity of books scattered all around him and a pad full of neat notes for his next exam. His right hand was stained with black ink from his pen, but he didn’t mind it.

“Egon, we’re here!” he heard calling. He raised his head, adjusting his glasses on the nose, and looked at the direction where Ray was coming from, followed by another man that Egon supposed to be the famous Peter Venkman he heard so much about. He wasn’t that impressive at a first glance: tall, average physique, light blue eyes, short brown hair and a little tan on his skin. There was nothing uncommon about him, but Egon suspected there was something else, or at least he hoped there was considering all the admiration the man has instantly inspired in Ray.

Anyway, Ray was a Golden Retriever at heart, and it was Egon’s job to select what he retrieved.

“Egon, this is Peter. Peter, this is Egon,” Ray introduced them to each other, once they got near enough. Egon stood from his chair in greeting and Peter offered him his hand to shake. Egon looked at it, then he looked at Peter again. 

“Sorry Peter, I forgot to mention that Egon doesn’t like physical contact,” Ray explained, a tiny smile on his lips while looking at his roommate.

Peter let his hand drop at his side. There was definitely a glint of amusement in his eyes, right behind his apparently effortless facade, “Egon, uh? What a weird name.”

Egon didn’t skip a beat, “What a weird thing to say to a newly made acquaintance,” he noted.

Peter smirked: yes, definitely he seemed amused. There were a few ways a person could respond to a witty remark: anger, annoyance, embarrassment. Amusement was Egon’s favourite one. It meant that his interlocutor wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Is it the name of your granpa, maybe?” was in fact Peter’s next question.

“I’m sorry to inform that I’m not aware of the origin of my name,” Egon replied, monotone, always keeping on his best poker face.

“Well, that’s unacceptable, parading around with such a name without knowing the reason. You should ask your father about it.”

Egon raised his chin a bit, “I would, if only we were still on speaking terms.”

There was still that sparkle, that irony under those light blue. All those questions, the remarks, were just a mean to destabilize his speaker. It was a simple psychologist’s trick, beating around the bush to elicit an answer from the interlocutor, Egon knew better than fall for it. However, the knowledge didn’t prevent him to feel with a certain degree of fierceness the necessity to erase that smirk from Peter’s face.

“So, Egon,” Ray intervened, seeing that the conversation wasn’t going any better. “I talked to Peter about our studies and our project, and he is very interested in it.”

“Very interested is not correct,” Peter stated, briefly glancing at Ray before returning back his full attention to Egon. “I don’t believe in supernatural stuff, I don’t intend to start now running around searching for ghosts, even less checking for a new way to the resurrection. No,” he paused, taking his sweet little time admiring Egon’s jaw flexing a bit. “I am interested in all the crazy folks you talk to daily, to collect information.”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for a psychologist to define his patients crazy,” Egon punctuated. 

“Nonetheless they are, my colleague, and maybe you are crazy too if you so intensely believe what they say to the point to not distinguish fantasy from reality anymore.”

“I don’t see, Ray,” Egon spoke to his friend without taking his eyes away from Peter. “How mr. Venkman’s services could be useful to our cause.”

“He is one of the best in his course, Egon,” Ray informed him.

“I am the best in my course,” Egon underlined. “I don’t think we need another expert in psychology.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, “Was there a little bit of irony in the use of the word expert, mr. Spengler?”

Egon shrugged, “Maybe. What if?”

“Boys, please,” Ray brushed his face, tiredness in his tone when he spoke again, “Egon, I know you are good in psychology and parapsychology but you are also very busy with your research and with all the tools we are building. We need someone to help you, to take some weight off your shoulders.”

“And don’t forget someone with a better appeal to the people,” Peter added. Egon glared at Ray for that and his friend had at least the judgment to look embarrassed and blush, “Come on, Egon, it’s true.”

“I am under the impression that we are taking you in consideration just for your natural talent of being an obnoxious tv game host, Peter,” Egon said then.

Peter did a little bow at that, “It’s my specialty.”

“Very well,” Egon nodded, without much of a fight, and to the look of surprise coming from Ray he explained, “Just because it’s true, I don’t like talking to people and people don’t like talking to me.”

The couple of boys stood there, looking at him stomping away with his collection of books. 

“What a funny little thing, that friend of yours, Ray-Ray” Peter was the first one to break the silence.

Ray laughed at that, it seemed like he was expecting this sort of reaction from the other man. With some degree of enthusiasm, cheeks still a little flushed from the personal greeting he had been the happy receiver, he promptly said, “Oh I know, he’s a bit grumpy sometimes, especially with people he doesn’t know, but he’s a genius, Peter, I swear! The way his thoughts work, the stuff that brain can come up with, believe me it’s just… incredible!”

Peter looks at him intently: there was a sparkle in Ray’s brown irises when he talked about his friend, that kind of sparkle a man had in his eyes once in his life, if he was lucky enough, “How do you say that you met him?” Peter asked.

“He’s my roommate, here at the campus,” Ray explained briefly, lowering his gaze, like he felt caught somehow. 

“Oh, I see,” Peter stated. “He’s kind of rough, isn’t it?”

Ray waved his hand, kind of vaguely dismissing the other one’s worry, “He’s just peculiar, that’s all. From my point of view the contribute he brings to our project is invaluable. If he wasn’t for him, I would have never even dreamt to work on something like a P.K.E. Meter.”

Peter kept looking at the other man for a moment more, than he shrugged, “Alright, if you say so,” he conceded. Almost casually, he added, “Let me just say that I perfectly know the magic a nice pair of hazel eyes and long legs can do to a man, so promise me you are not blinded in your judgment because you have a terrific crush on him.”

The bomb dropped all too well, better than Peter had expected: Ray blushed in various degrees of red, avoiding at all cost Peter’ s eyes, gaping a few times like a fish out of his tank of water before mustering the courage to say, “I have not a crush on him! What makes you think… How could you say something like that? I don’t… I don’t like him, I…” Peter let him blabber all the way, waiting for him to reach the inevitable surrender, which arrived a few seconds later. Ray sagged his shoulders in defeat, casting a brief glance in Peter direction before admitting, “Come on, is that so blatant?”

Peter smirked, a tad little too much please with himself, “Just a little bit,” he said, signaling a very small gap with his index and thumb. Ray loudly groaned and palmed his face, so Peter quickly added, “If it can be of any consolation, I think your secret is safe with him. I don’t think he saw through your feelings yet.”

Ray shook his head, brown chocolate strands moving around and falling on his forehead, “No, no, that much I know. He’s so way out of my league, I think he doesn’t even see me.”

Peter was quite puzzled to that, “Oh come on, now, you’re not that bad man.”

Ray smiled, in that goofy genuine way that made the skin around his eyes wrinkle, “Appreciate, man,” then he took a glance to his watch. “I’m running late for my next class. Hey, see you this afternoon in the cafeteria maybe?” he proposed, already walking away.

Peter was determined to see it through, so after his class he followed Egon Spengler to the library again and watched him for almost an hour tutoring a younger student. Poor bastard, was Peter’s first thought, but opposite to what Peter believed, Egon revealed to be a good teacher: he was patient, calm, calculated. He spoke to the younger man in a soft tone of voice, so low Peter could have missed it if he hadn’t been so focused in listening, never losing his temper once. 

Peter pretended to be engrossed in his homework, several open books and notes in front of him left unnoticed while he was lost in studying the man on the other side of the room. Egon was bent over the desk, over a particularly thick tome, and he was indicating at something with his long index while slowly rotating a pencil with the other hand. He had very elegant hands, like a pianist, or an artist. He was wearing black cotton trousers and a white shirt, his skin was so pale that it almost perfectly blended with the color, a sign that clearly he didn’t spend much time outside, as Peter first suspected. While talking, Egon adjusted his black round glasses on his straight nose; a shadow of a smile flourished on his thin, pink lips while he listened to something the student was saying; there was a stray of curly corvine hair on his hair fallen from his otherwise perfect hairstyle. There was an aura, all around him, almost impossible not to be somehow drawn to. Peter found himself involuntarily staring at him, without even trying to hide his presence behind his books or justify it by scribbling something on his homework. The little shit was infuriatingly beautiful.

Where was then a moment when the younger student said something and made Egon laugh. It was so strange to see, so unexpected, that Peter froze: the image of that incredibly stiff, cold man laughing was like seeing a ray of sunshine peeking from behind the clouds. Like seeing the sun melting a block of ice. It was… endearing.

Then the student reached out and touched Egon’s hand on the table, a new malicious light in his eyes that Peter didn’t like. At all. In fact, at some point he had grown impatient of sitting there doing nothing but staring, his legs restless under his desk, so he stood up from his chair and walked towards where the two men were still sitting, still joining hands.

“To be honest, I was almost beginning to wonder when the great Peter Venkman would approach,” Egon said without looking at Peter, before he could say anything at all, leaving him speechless.

“You know I’ve been here all the time?” Peter asked, when he recovered enough.

“I smelt your cheap cologne following me from the lecture hall,” Egon said, casting a brief glance to the man, then returning back to the student, “I think that’s enough for today, John. You can go.”

The student, John, didn’t seem so happy to leave. In fact, he seemed to have something else to add. Peter intervened, “Yeah, John, could you please leave? Mommy and daddy have something important to discuss about.”

John shot him a deadly look, but didn’t reply. He collected his books and murmured, “Thank you, Egon,” before leaving.

“See you next Wednesday,” Egon dismissed him, then he returned his attention to Peter with a stern look, “It wouldn’t kill you to be a little more gentle, mr. Venkman.”

“Look who’s talking,” Peter remarked. “I am quite surprised to witness you teaching to the new generation, I thought you despised talking to people not quite at your cultural level.”

Egon’s expression remained stoic, he was quite good at handling his provocations, Peter noted, “Not all of us enjoy the privilege of never having to worry about money.”

“How do you know that…” Peter began to ask.

“Ray told me about your comfortably off family,” Egon explained, without waiting for him to end his question.

“Right,” Peter smirked, then attempted an ironic bow. “What can I say? I am the most eligible bachelor in the city, mrs. Bennet.”

Egon huffed, “For how much your ego could walk and talk, you’re nothing like mr. Darcy.”

“So you like a classic romantic novel, I see!” Peter exclaimed, swiftly reaching out to pick up the thick tome under Egon’s hands, “That’s what you and Romeo there were studying? English literature?”

“We were not…” Egon began, then he stopped and tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean by Romeo?” 

He was observing Peter carefully, too carefully for the other man’s taste. He hid his face behind the open book and began to read to avoid having to offer a reply.

“I don’t recognize it,” he admitted, after a few seconds.

“I bet,” Egon slightly mocked him. “I think those are concepts too far from your personal grasp.”

Peter blushed a little, a touch of shame and anger bubbling inside his chest. He closed the book and read the title, “Nuclear Engineering?” he read out loud. “Why in hell are you teaching Nuclear Engineering?”

Egon made himself more comfortable in his chair, arms crossed on his chest. Peter was the one standing, but under that look of him he felt the smallest of the two, “It’s my first degree.”

“Your first degree?” Peter was confused. “How old are you? Ray told me you were on the same age as us.”

“I am, genius,” Egon retorted. “I’ve been precocious,” he then added, lowering his gaze, briefly licking his lips. “Let’s just say my parents didn’t believe in toys.”

Peter laughed a little, “Oh, that explains so much.”

Egon raised an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes, “Like what?”

There was a weird light passing through his eyelids for a moment, like a flash, reflecting the touch of anger in his voice. Maybe the man didn’t have good social skills, but for sure could read between the lines. Peter raised his hands in defeat and smiled, “Nothing, nothing.” I must have touched a nerve, he pondered. Interesting. “Listen, there’s a reason why I approached you this afternoon.”

“Please, the curiosity is killing me,” Egon joked. Peter huffed and continued, “I wanted to talk to you without Ray in sight.”

“Without Ray,” the other man replied, slowly, almost savoring the words in his mouth. “I almost have no secrets with that man, you know.”

“Almost,” it was Peter’s turn to repeat it slowly. “Such a little word can make such a big difference, isn’t it?”

Egon breathed a couple of time more deeply, then asked, “Why are you here, Venkman, apart from ostentatiously trying to irritate me?”

Peter raised his arms, then let them fall at his sides, “You see? I really want to try creating a connection, between you and me, but for fucks sake you don’t make it easy for me. Why do you despise me so much? You don’t even know me yet.”

“I don’t need to know you, I already know who you are,” Egon stated, without skipping a beat. “Peter Venkman, captain of the football team, the second best in class without even bother showing to the lessons, the heartthrob of all the cheerleading team,” he stood up then, getting closely, deliberately slowly. Peter instinctively took a step back: the other man was clearly slimmer than him but also taller, so from that distance he had to raise his eyes a little to look at him in the face. “Ray talked a lot about you, for weeks, showering you in compliments, exalting every word you had said in his presence. He talked that much that I made a point in investigate about who this famous, incredible, flamboyant man was. University’s golden boy.”

“Are you jealous, Spengler? Because honest to God I have no interest in Ray,” Peter hurried to clarify.

“Ray is as innocent as a 23 years old man could be,” Egon stated. “He loves people. He thinks the world of everyone. He clearly wasn’t born with a good instinct in preservation, that’s why I made a purpose to try to defend him from his own poor judgment.”

“You think I am a menace, then? That’s the problem?” Peter furrowed his brows.

Egon raised a corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained cold and still on Peter’s face, “You know what I think, Venkman? I think that you’re full of shit.”

Now that surprised Peter, that dry reply coming out of nowhere, that he remained still, caught between being angry for the offense or laughing at the audacity. “I beg your pardon?” was everything he could convey out of his mouth. It was in that moment, small distance between them, that he noticed that the first two buttons of Egon’s shirt were opened, revealing a nice collarbone and, after that, a promising expanse of alabaster skin. It looked… soft. Peter found himself involuntarily distracted. He swallowed.

“A popular boy like you are now, out of nowhere, desire to hang out with the nerds? What kind of game are you on?” Egon accused. “What bet did you lose with the stupid bullies that form your group of friends?”

“I am a scientist,” Peter defended himself.

“Like hell you are,” Egon argued back. “You look nothing like a man of science. More like a TV show host.”

“That can be true, yeah,” Peter exhaled a weak laughter, combing his fingers through his brown hair. “But you see, Spengler, I am afraid that you are wrong in your beliefs towards my persona. I deeply care about Ray, he’s a nice person, in fact he could be the nicest I’ve ever met in my life so far. You’d be amazed to know how few real friends I have, maybe none, and Ray helped me in ways he doesn’t…” he shut for a moment, then licked his lips and continue, “I know how much he care about this crazy project you and him share and I want to help with it. Be a part of it.”

“Even if you consider it crazy?” Egon repeated, a skeptical look on his face.

Peter nodded, “I want to get along with you, for Ray’s sake. I know how important you are to him and I don’t want to ruin everything.”

“Looks like we have something in common, then,” Egon agreed, finally conceding the other man a coy smile.

Peter tilted his head and smiled more maliciously, “You intrigue me, you know? I think there is so much more behind that carefully made up armor you built all around yourself, pretty boy.”

Egon’s smile disappeared, he straightened his shoulders a bit and coughed, “I think it’s enough interaction for today.”

Peter nodded, again, his smile bigger now, “For today.”

Maybe, maybe he was beginning to understand what Ray saw in that freaky bossy little monster that was Egon Spengler.

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The room was dark, in the dim light all he could see from his spot on the floor were shelves stocked till the brim with books. There were books on the floor, too, right in front of him. He was trying to understand something from a particular tome, but his stomach was protesting too loud for him to concentrate on anything else. He was hungry, he really needed some food, any food, but there would have been no chance to eat until he had finished all his homework. Not his school homework, he had concluded them hours ago, the other one.

He tried to read again the same line for the third time, uselessly. His head was in a cloud, his thoughts erratic and unclear. The only thing he knew for sure was the hunger.

Recently he had discovered that pain helped, in those situations. Pain elicited adrenaline and adrenaline helped him to focus on something with a renewed spark. Besides, physical pain could cover any other kind of pain, and that thing alone gave him a new sense of joy. Being able to zone out of reality for a moment was… pure bliss. He reached out for a special spot he only knew, a special spot where he had hidden a small knife. In the dim light, the blade shone like a star in his palm. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, he knew that what he was about to do was wrong, it felt almost illegal. But he also knew that it was illegal and wrong to submit certain treatments to a ten years old boy. He knew as much because all his classmates had never skipped with their meals, or received a particular ferocious beating because they didn’t write their essays on physics on time. Ten years old usually didn’t have to write essays.

The blade cut through the tender skin of his forearm with ease and blood began to run out. He remained on the floor, on the carpet, watching every drop falling down on his pale skin. It was almost fascinating.

Finally his head was clear enough to resume his precedent task, so he cleaned the blade on his trousers and stood to hide it again in its spot. That was a mistake. Probably because of the starvation, or the blood loss, his blood pressure was very low and when he stood all the room began to spin around, resulting in losing his balance.

The dull noise of his body falling down attracted unwanted attention. He heard the steps towards the door, he knew he had to do something, to avoid another punishment, but he was too weak to succeed.

His father opened the door of the library with a quick swing: it took him half a minute to assess what had happened. The books scattered around, the blood on his son’s arm, the knife still held in his hand. The father’s eyes were narrowed and cold when they landed on his face, “You!” he roared, then he quickly was at the boy’s side, his hands tight on the boy’s collar, “You little stupid brat!” he gnarled, hitting him on the face with an open hand. “Look at what you did to yourself, you are a monster!”

The boy was almost losing his senses when a strong light came into the room, so bright it made him blind for a moment. When he could discern details again, he discovered that his father had gone: in the middle of the room there was a tall, slim figure, not a man or a woman, dressed in white. At the sides, there were two horrible dogs that seemed to come out from a nightmare.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” the figure said, kneeling right in front of him, caressing him on his cheek with long fingers. “You will learn to love me. Soon, everyone will worship again Gozer the Gozerian.”

Ray woke up to a muffled sound, a suffocated cry. In the dim light of the room, he looked around with some difficulty and spot some movement under Egon’s blanket. Another soft whimper.

“Ah shit,” Ray murmured, jumping out of his bed, now fully awake. He approached the other man’s bed, switched on the bedside lamp and kneeled down, stretching out an arm to gently touch the other man’s body.

Egon was shaking and his eyes were quickly moving left and right under his eyelids, it was never a good sign.

“Egon,” Ray softly called, slightly rocking back and forth Egon’s shoulder. There was no answer, so he repeated, “Egon.”

Suddenly Egon opened his eyes, but Ray felt relieved for just a fraction of a heartbeat: in the weak light coming from the lamp, he clearly saw Egon’s eyes were black. Totally black.

“Oh no, Egon…” he murmured, beginning to put some distance between them. The other man turned his head towards him, but it wasn’t Egon, his Egon, behind those dreadful eyes. He was out of the covers and on his feet in a moment, and Ray promptly followed, jaw clenched for the tension and adrenaline pumping in his veins.

“Not tonight, Egon,” Ray spoke, trying to sound as calm and collected as he possibly could. “I have an important exam tomorrow.”

Egon growled in his mouth, then showed his teeth, “Stupid human,” he said, a touch of cruelty in the usually warm baritone sound. “By now, you should know better than to wake me up like that.”

Ray swallowed, eyes shifting for a moment from Egon’s face to the rest of the room, searching. Egon immediately caught his movement and read in his mind, “Don’t you even try reaching out for any kind of weapon,” he warned him, a cold smile on his thin lip. “It’s already too late.”

Egon opened a hand and black sandy lines began to dance over his fingers, creating a sharp form. A knife, “Woah,” Ray raised his hands, like he was trying to calm down a feral beast. “Easy there tiger.”

Egon bare his teeth and jumped towards him without even a small warning, the black knife pointed towards his throat. Ray moved to the side, avoiding the other man’s attack, and lunged forward to try and grab him by the shoulders. Egon wriggled out of his grasp and made a swift move to aim at his chest. Ray dodged it last minute and this time successfully grabbed Egon and while his forearm was on the other man’s neck he whispered in his ear, “Come on, Egon, don’t make me sweat for it. Wake up.”

Egon lips parted in a frankly unsettling smirk, “That’s useless, you know, denying that I am already awake.”

Ray ignored the shivers running down his spine and pleaded, “Come on, don’t make me do it again.”

Egon laughed and stomped on his feet, then took advantage of the moment of distraction to free himself and aim again at Ray’s flesh. This time he cut, a long elegant cut on Ray’s arm.

Ray stood there for a moment, observing the stream of blood falling from his arm to his fingertips to the floor. Then, he raised his eyes to Egon’s face, black eyes now with a tinge of deep red, “I honestly don’t know what you are trying to achieve from all of this.”

For an instant, Egon looked taken aback, searching for words. Then, “I just want you to see me,” simple as that.

“But I see you, Egon,” Ray whispered, offering his hand to grasp. “Please, wake up.”

Egon looked at it for a moment, uncertain, “You only see what’s convenient for you.”

Then, without a sound, he fell on the floor, knife disappearing from sight. Ray ignored the pain from his arm and ran to his side, hugging the apparently lifeless body. His face was pale as ever and tears were falling from his closed eyes, black as a night sky without the moon and the stars. “Egon, Egon it’s me, it’s Ray,” he cradled him in his arms, carefully smearing the tears with his thumb. “Open your eyes.”

Egon slowly opened his eyes, this time they were their usual hazel colour: Ray sighed in relief, “Egon,” he murmured.

Egon looked at him with confusion tinged with fear, “Ray? Are we in the campus? Is this the university?”

“Yes Sir,” Ray confirmed, so relieved his beloved friend was back to almost cry in happiness. He was in fact so happy that he completely forgot the wound on his arm: when he helped Egon to straight his back a little bit it came back to him all at once, making him whimper.

Making Egon notice the wound, “Oh my God,” he exclaimed, covering his mouth with his hands. “I did it, didn’t I? It’s all my fault. Oh I am so sorry, Raymond.”

Ray quickly dismissed his concern, “It’s nothing, really. Don’t even bother.” But Egon was so deeply lost in his confusion and sense of guilt that he barely heard him, he kept repeating under his breath, eyes focusing on nothing in particular, “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.”

“Egon, stop!” Ray said, grabbing him by the wrist and pinning him again the frame of his bed. “Look at me.” Egon reluctantly raised his eyes and looked into Ray’s brown ones. “It’s nothing, I am fine,” he reassured him, talking with a warm, deep voice. “I am fine. Now,” he touched Egon’s cheek with his fingertips. “Tell me about your vision.”

Egon tried to avoid his stare, but Ray gently shifted his face back in place by his chin, “I know what those black tears mean. Don’t try to hide anything from me. Tell me now: what did you see?”

We're the ones that you've forgotten

Out of mind, out of sight

Coming out of the shadows

Yeah, we rock the satellites! – Suburban Knights, Hard-Fi