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i really liked your story. it reminds me of old times, when i was back at my home, too. that’s funny, isn’t it?
i do have someone i’d like to share a story about. i’d much rather tell it in person, i’m not very good with conveying stories on paper.
there’s always that restaurant, or we could go someplace else, i’m not quite sure, though.
we could take a walk to the plains and find a sunny shore to sit on. there would be shells in the sand and the sound of waves as background noise. i think that sounds nice.
well, you just let me know, okay?
Now was the moment where Misha—curled up in bed and battling the second wave of an ailment he thought had passed—had wished he had let Lumen know a bit sooner.
His bout of sickness wasn’t unexpected, but… it fed into his fears all the same. The past week or two he had recovered, sure, but he was still stressed. Even after meeting up with Lumen and falling back in love again.
The same person he abandoned, coming back into his life after so long and under some of the worst conditions. He found it almost ironic, though he found the smallest bit of comfort in that irony.
But his current condition still scared him. This was what happened to Rosalynn. Before the vines, she was perfect. Perfectly fine, that is. As active and talkative as he remembered. After falling ill, after her recovery? She was active, but different. Frantic and excited in a way that he didn’t know how to take in.
Then she died. He didn’t even have to bring flowers to her corpse.
The vines were an obvious problem plaguing everyone, including the community he moved close to. He was worried that he, too, would end up like her. In the end, he had been exposed to the vines, having been the one who brought them to Rosalynn as a gift.
…
Was Lumen still expecting him?
Misha tried switching positions, but his head was pounding too hard to even think of something more comfortable. A trembling sigh left his lips; he was now very aware of how difficult it was to breathe.
His eyes landed on the soul lantern glowing beside his bed. Lumen had left this for him alongside his most recent invitation. He said he wasn't the best at gift giving, but he hoped that this would remind Misha of him.
It did. It really did. It glowed with a gentle blue, just like his eyes had on that meet-up at the restaurant… He couldn't shake his face from his memory. To think this was the same figure—hood and all—that had gazed at him from afar that one day…
The sight was comforting, coupled with the knowledge that a part of Lumen was near him.
He couldn't help but pause. Why on earth did he ever say yes, why on earth did he ever get his hopes up? Their time together was short, their bliss almost impossible—just like it had been with the boy who confessed to him all those years ago. Just like the boy who hid lilies in his hair when braiding it. Just like the boy he ran away from without a word.
Perhaps this story would end like that one had, with him leaving for good without saying goodbye.
A few knocks echoed into the silent space of his home. Misha cleared his throat to make his voice at least somewhat more appealing—“Eughh… Come in…”—to no avail.
He always left his door unlocked because it made it easier to get out, and frankly most of the monsters that appeared at night couldn’t open the thing anyway. The community he lived near was respectful and didn’t steal anything from him either…
Anything except his heart. “Oh, this was your house. Good.” Even through the haze of sickness, he would recognize those dark robes any day of the week. And if not, then the familiar blue lantern hanging from its stick would jog his memory.
“…Lumen?” Misha called. Despite the way his body protested, he shifted to try and see him better. “Wh— What’re you doing here…?”
“You didn’t show up today,” he explained. The handle rattled softly as he closed the door behind him. “I assumed you would come.”
Was that disappointment or worry in his voice? He couldn’t quite tell at the moment. “A-Ah, right… I wish I could’ve— could’ve come. Were you… waiting for me?”
Lumen seemed to hesitate, standing a bit too still for a moment. “Yes,” he replied. “Near the plains.”
He walked that far and waited for how long? “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
Lumen had actually never been in Misha’s house before. It wasn’t like he was ever invited, though he didn’t hold that against him. He knew he lived nearby, having seen him slide on the ice back when their relationship was rocky.
It was… cozy. A small campfire in the corner filled the place with a warm glow; a small pot of soup was cooking nearby. His bed was pushed to the corner, a small nautilus shell was framed above it. It reminded him of the ocean, of his older sails. Various potted flowers were stationed around, all of them flourishing. The whole thing smelt of smoke and lilacs.
He should strike up some conversation, maybe. Make things less awkward for both of them. His eyes went back to the pot near the fire. “…You’ve been cooking something?”
“Mushroom stew, yes.” There was an obvious tone of fatigue in his voice, a waver that didn’t go unnoticed. “It’s all I can keep down at the moment.”
…Oh. “You’re sick?” It was more of a statement than a question.
Misha nodded faintly, as if moving any more would hurt. “I-I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner,” he lamented. A pained chuckle escaped him—well, it was more just a puff of air. “I didn’t expect to fall ill again…”
Again? He’d already been sick before?
God, he was probably responsible for that too. He really thought that running away from home would shake the curse of death that had latched onto him. He really thought, for a while, he had freed himself from its grasp, but it would always find him. One way or another.
And so he stood there again, waiting. Hesitating. Debating whether or not it was even safe to be seen. Misha was sick—was that his fault? Should he have kept his distance? Stayed out of his way, out of his life, because something like this would’ve happened eventually?
Was it even safe to visit him or had he made things worse? He stood there, mulling over all his past mistakes and grief yet also the newfound happiness he experienced with Misha in his life.
Don’t go near him.
Don’t even think of going any closer.
Leave now before you end up hurting anyone else.
He stepped a bit closer to his bed, slowly sitting on the edge of it. Misha stirred, but didn’t object. Instead, he moved his legs in an attempt to make more room for him.
Don’t touch him.
You’re going to kill him.
You’re doing something terribly wrong, he’s going to die—
“You’re shaking,” Lumen stated. Every tremor that ran through Misha’s body was distinct. Subconsciously, he began rubbing soft circles on his shoulder.
Misha scoffed in response. “Haha… I know,” he said, lifting his head a bit. His eyes were cloudy with fever, dirty blonde hair soaked through with sweat. “I wish I wasn’t… I-I honestly thought I got better.”
Lumen hummed, still making those slow motions. “Sometimes I think the same thing.” He didn’t want to say it, but he hated that Misha was sick right now. Wasn’t this the same man who poured his heart out, who told him the story of his past while he told him nothing of his? The same man—with a bright smile and bright eyes in spite of everything that could have plagued him—now rendered bedridden, shivering in front of him?
The silence in the room made him focus on Misha more. Neither of them had broken eye contact, and this situation was starting to mimic some of the moments they had at the restaurant. Those fleeting seconds where they did nothing but etch each other’s features into their memory. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, how interesting was Lumen’s for Misha to stare for so long?
Misha looked tired—hell, he was probably exhausted. Although his eyes were half-lidded and his head kept nodding to the side, he knew he was still listening. So… “Well, I said I wanted to tell you a story of my own, right?”
That definitely caught his attention. Yes, that was the point of wanting to meet up, but— now? While Lumen was in his house, uninvited but welcomed all the same, sitting on his bed and simply being there? The whole thing felt so intimate—perhaps they were making up for lost time.
“A-Ah, yes. Of— Of course.” The words stumbled out of his mouth half-baked, and he was questioning whether the flush on his face was due to fever or something else.
“All right.” Seconds of silence passed as Lumen looked away. “Have I… ever told you about my past before?”
Misha wracked his brain for anything he could remember. “…No, I don’t think you have.”
“Perfect.” He cleared his throat, holding his breath for a while longer. “A long time ago—years ago, maybe a decade—I was definitely happier than I am now. I was a young boy, young and carefree; I lived in a town surrounded by my family and friends and people that cared.”
Misha didn’t want to laugh at that, but a subtle smile graced his features. “I think I can imagine that,” he joked in spite of himself.
“Quiet, you.” Lumen took his hand off Misha’s shoulder, twirling a stray strand of hair around his fingers. “Anyway— Back then, I loved to sail. My mother was a sailor herself; she taught me how to travel on the waters and I loved it.
“When I got older and considered myself mature enough to go out on my own, sailing became my favorite pastime. I would leave my town for long periods, traveling to different places and simply… experiencing what might as well have been half of this world. I thought, foolishly, that I would never get over it.”
A pause. “…Go on,” Misha urged. He moved so that he was lying on his back—not the most comfortable of positions right now, but it was easier to focus on Lumen.
The hooded man exhaled slowly. “On a certain trip back home, it was foggy. I could still see what was in front of me, yes, but the sea was long and whatever could have existed in the distance was unknown to me.
“The fog darkened. I could no longer see the front of my boat or the waters surrounding me—I could no longer see anything. I heard clicks and shrieks, some closer and louder than others. I had never felt fear, pure fear, such as that before. And I clutched my oar, I held it close; it was the only thing I had at the time that could bring me any sort of comfort.”
Misha lifted his head a bit higher, eyes locking into the other. “Even as I screamed for someone, anyone,” Lumen continued, “the screams didn't subside. The darkness stayed. No one answered my calls. A large wave took my boat and I down with it, and I vividly remember the water being a cold, dark teal. I didn't try to fight my way to the surface, no, I just… accepted it. I thought it was the end. I muttered what I thought were my final words under my breath, but I don't remember what they were.”
This was the same boy he fell in love with all those years ago. The same mischievous, caring boy. Misha could barely wrap his head around it, both due to shock and fever.
Lumen noticed Misha's reaction and his hand met his shoulder again. A silent reassurance, possibly for both of them, even if he didn't face him. “I woke up washed upon the shore of my hometown. Everyone came to talk to me, to hug me, but the event had been so grand that it changed me from that day forward. I couldn't say anything, I couldn't hug them back— I couldn't feel anything, as much as I wanted to.
“I tried to live normally after that. But I couldn't. I left my boat and oar behind out of fear. I didn't want to go back to the waters for years after that, for I was so afraid of what would happen if I did.
“Even when I was home, it didn't stop. Someone new died each week. Life became miserable, filled with grief and sorrow. I couldn’t bother myself from feeling anything more than indifference now that I knew how it would end. I didn’t bother putting my faith into any gods that could’ve been out there.”
“Lumen…”
“Shh.” A hand, calloused by time, swept some hair out of his face. “Eventually, I left my home again. It all started going downhill when I returned; I felt that it was my fault this… this wave of death was washing everyone away. I was a cursed man, and it was best for me to leave the people I once held so dear. They needed peace; I brought anything but.
“So I wiped off all the dust and cobwebs from my boat and oar, and I set out on a journey. The waters still scared me—in fact, I couldn’t see them the same. I was sailing over a mass of restless souls instead of calm water, and I had no choice but to ignore their cries and continue on.” He stopped briefly. “I wanted nothing more than to stay home, believe me. And…”
Misha blinked. “And?”
“That was it,” Lumen concluded. “I docked here, and I’ve been here ever since. I lost my boat and oar, so I have no way of returning home.” Finally, they made eye contact again. “Well… It’s not like I have any intentions to return yet.” Misha saw the faintest of smiles on his face. “So, how was that for a story?”
When did this happen? Was this when he and Rosalynn were about to run away, or sometime later? Hadn’t they ran while he was out? God, he never knew and never bothered to ask. “That… It was nice. Very nice, I— I didn’t know that happened to you.”
“It’s fine,” the hooded man said. “I just thought that… you told me so much about yourself and I just wanted to return the favor. Even if my story wasn’t as, ah… flowery as yours were.”
“Well, thank you for sharing,” he exclaimed. “I mean it. If… If anything, I think it’s good you told me everything.” A confused glance was sent his way. “I never knew much about you”—a partial lie, but he wasn’t sure if the other could tell—“so… even if it hurt, I-I’m grateful you were able to share this with me.”
“Hm.” Lumen diverted his gaze, instead staring at something across the room. “I think your stew’s ready.” The bed creaked quietly as he stood up.
“My— Oh, right.” He had completely forgotten he was making that. There were other, more substantial foods than mushroom stew, but he was too afraid to try anything else at the moment. It was also the most accessible. “Thank you…”
His interest peaked when Lumen suddenly opened the chest at the foot of his bed. The man rummaged through his items before fishing out a bowl. “You should really store these better,” he advised, wiping it off with his cloak.
Misha couldn’t even think of a reply in time; he just stared. Lumen knelt next to the fire, whose miniature flames were slowly giving out, scooping out a small portion of the stew and cleaning the edges. He fanned at the steam before sitting next to him again. “Can you sit up?” he asked him.
His first attempt didn’t go well, arms shaking with the weight of trying to support himself. But he got it on the second try and used the wall to stay upright. “Good. Here.” The bowl was slowly lifted to his lips. One hand wrapped around the bottom, and the other met Lumen’s wrist. Slowly, he began to drink.
“Small sips, small sips.” Lumen pulled away. “If you drink too fast then you’ll struggle to hold this down, too.”
Hearing that genuine care in his voice, especially after being told about his past…
Maybe it wasn’t too bad of an idea to fall back in love again.