To Be Free (23 page)

I smile to myself. I read the
first two to him a few days ago, and have since moved on to the
Theogony. I wonder why he has it with him here.

My question is answered when he
walks in, hair dripping wet as he towels it off, clad only in a
pair of sweats. He notices me sitting there on the sill, and his
lips turn into a smile, a bright one I've seen only a handful of
times.

“
Somehow I
figured you'd be sitting somewhere by a window, looking at the
storm,” Seb muses lightly, leaving the towel draped over his bony
shoulders as he walks over to the pile of books, picking up clothes
as he goes and setting them on the dresser. Looking at me over his
shoulder, he gestures with his head to the closet. “The power might
go out, and I noticed that there are a couple of candles in the
closet. Could you get them?”

I do so with
a nod, slipping away from the window to peer into the confines.
Looking past the clothes hanging from the pole I crouch on my toes,
pawing through a few boxes that were obviously here before we came
around, and pull out an old shoebox marked
CANDLES
in black Sharpie. Sitting on
the floor I open the lid, and I'm greeted first by an old yet
impressive-looking candle holder, made of stone from the looks of
it and a charcoal grey. It's got two dragons circling a pillar
where the candle is supposed to sit, in the fashion of the
Caduceus.

I take out a long white candle
sitting in the box beneath the holder, closing it afterwards and
leaving it on his dresser. After setting it up on his nightstand I
light it, and in the meantime he pulls the curtains shut, making a
face at the world outside when thunder groans loudly in
protest.

Again, for a moment I pause as
my eyes find him in the warmly-lit room, noticing how his every
vertebra is defined on his back and that his ribs stick through his
skin. His bones are prominent, his collarbones sticking out, and
the pelvic bones that disappear beneath the hem of his sweats also
act similarly. He's thin, almost sickly thin, and I turn away when
I see that.

Not because it repulses me, but
because it's a testament of the pain he's gone through. If I could,
I'd change the past so he wouldn't have to bear the reminder with
him everywhere he goes.

“
Hey, before
you go, do you want to read some more?” he inquires, looking at me
from where he stands by the curtains, still holding them in his
grip. I nod, laughing lightly.

“
I just read
to you an hour ago,” I state, and he shrugs a bony shoulder,
rolling his eyes as he walks over to the pile of books and
retrieves the tome, looking at me with a smile.

“
I like
hearing you read to me,” he admits, eyes lowering to the ground by
his feet. He's holding the book against his chest, and scratches
his cheek idly as he bites his lower lip. A moment later, he looks
up and smiles. “I like the sound of your voice. It relaxes
me.”

Rolling my eyes but unable to
hide my smile, I gesture for him to take a seat, taking one of my
own accord and sliding up to the headboard of his bed to settle
more comfortably. He joins me, practically grinning, and situates
himself to my left so that I can wrap an arm around him and he can
rest his head on my collarbone, waiting expectantly as I turn to
where we left off.

Some
afternoons neither of us wanted to do much, so we'd sit in the
living room and he'd have me read to him – we've gone through
the
Iliad, Works and Days,
the
Egyptian Book of the
Dead, The Epic of Gilgamesh,
and we're
going through the
Theogony
now. The fun thing about this version is that
it's written in ancient Greek, Latin and English.

I've been reading the English
translation – no way in hell am I going to try and pronounce
that.

“
I begin my
song with the Helikonian Muses;

they have made Helikon, the
great god-haunted mountain, their domain;

their soft feet move in the
dance that ring

the violet-dark spring and the
altar of mighty Zeus...”

The candle burns down
gradually, and eventually the storm knocks out the power so that
it's all that's keeping this room from falling into total darkness.
I'm halfway through the part about Kronos before reading by
candlelight begins hurting my eyes and I put it down to rub at
them, making a face. Seb's still laying on his side, curled against
mine, and his left hand started drawing random patterns over my
shirt a while back.

“
Too dark?”
he questions, and I nod in affirmation. “Oh well. I'm okay with
just lying here like this, too – you're not in any rush, are
you?”

Laughing, I shake my head and
kiss the top of his head. This makes him happy, and he tucks his
head more against my neck and hums softly, a tuneless melody.

We're quiet for a while,
listening to the rain and the thunder outside, and the candle burns
down slowly as time passes, leaving us in our own little world. The
chill of the evening makes him shiver slightly in my arms, and I
slip out of the bed briefly, much to his confusion, just so I can
pull the blankets back and slip underneath, pulling them over him
as well. He returns to his initial position, kissing my jaw before
tucking his head back in its previous position.

For an indeterminable amount of
time we remain there, the candle burning down and the storm
quieting a little outside. The power's still shot to hell, though,
and in the comfort of the sheets it remains warm even through the
chilly night. He starts humming a song I don't know, and when I ask
him he simply sings the lyrics softly, curled against my side and
looking as if he doesn't plan to move anytime soon. The candle's
burning low by the time I glance at it, perhaps half an hour from
melting entirely.

“
What time do
you think it is?” Seb asks quietly, and I look back at him to see
his eyes trained on me, curious. Shrugging my right shoulder to
avoid jostling his head, I let that be my answer; he looks down to
his hand curled lightly in my shirt, biting his lip. “You're...
you're about to go, aren't you?”

Nodding, I close my eyes and
rest my head back against the pillow, and I almost miss the small
sigh that escapes him. His fingers move idly along the fabric of my
shirt, playing with the creases.

“
What's on
your mind, love?” I ask the night, and he curls a little more
against me as if hoping we'll merge. In response, I hold him more
tightly against my side, and he presses his forehead against the
side of my neck.

“
...can I be
selfish, just for tonight?” is his response, and I bite back the
urge to lift my head and look at him – instead, I nod, smiling a
little. “Could you... sing me something?”

Odd request. Nevertheless, I
take a moment to think through all the songs I remember, both old
and new, and decide on the one I'd enjoy singing to him the most.
When I find it, I slip my eyes shut, clear my throat, and begin
singing to him an old song, created near the beginning of the
millennium. As I do so he picks up on the rhythm, humming it softly
in time with my words, and when he does that I can't help but kiss
the top of his head.

I finish the song, the candle
burning on its last reserves, and I softly inform him that I'll
place another candle for him before I go but he shakes his head,
clutching my shirt between his fingers. My left hand continues
trailing my nails lightly along his uncovered side, cocooned by the
blanket.

“
They're
calling tomorrow,” he whispers, and I almost ask him how he knows
that before I remember the conversation we had about two days
ago.

I'm learning to be able to read
the future accurately – that's my hidden ability, the potential of
my temporal gift. Yours will be something else. Something...
insane.

“
This is the
last night before it's do or die,” he continues softly. I close my
eyes again, realizing
why
it is he wanted me to read to him some more, why
he didn't offer a single complaint today in the slightest and was
always somewhere nearby, oftentimes close enough to touch – and
most times, we were touching slightly. Why he instigated that kiss
in the library, and why he fooled around so much as we prepared our
meals today. He was almost uncharacteristically playful. “I can't
tell yet if we'll die or not, or what's going to happen tomorrow –
and, to be frank, I don't want to know beforehand. So, for tonight,
can we just... pretend that the life we've been living for the last
week is the one we've lived for years? That this is something we'll
be able to live again tomorrow night?”

I nod into the night, the
candle spluttering in warning as it burns down. There's probably
only about twenty minutes or so left before it burns out.

“
To be honest
with you, Seb, I've only been going to my own room because I
figured that's what you wanted,” I admit, and he pauses in his
movements at the affirmation. “I've gotten so used to having you
beside me that the nights were long without you there. Don't think
you're being selfish, alright? It's not called being selfish when
both parties want the same thing.”

He lifts his head from my
shoulder, using his right elbow to prop himself up so we can lock
eyes. The blanket slips down to his legs, and in the candlelight
and brief flashes of lightning illuminating the room through the
curtains he offers me a warm smile. I return it, my right hand
rising from the blankets to push his hair from his eyes; he leans
into the touch.

“
I hope you
realize just how beautiful you are, love,”
especially half-naked in the candlelight.

“
You're
probably the only person in the world who would find a skeleton
covered in skin attractive,” he muses lightly, an eyebrow arching.
I cuff him lightly behind the ear, hand snaking to the back of his
neck to lower him for a chaste kiss. When I pull back, I smile at
him.

“
I see the
testament of the life you've lived through,” I counter, and the
German tilts his head slightly, auburn hair cascading around him.
“It proves how strong you are, and that you can survive any trauma
after the one you've gone through – and to me, that makes you the
handsomest man on earth, love. They are proof that you're alive
after everything you've seen.”

He starts laughing lightly,
head falling to my collarbone as he chuckles to himself. Shaking
his head, he sobers up with his face pressed against the collar of
my nightshirt.

“
I love you,”
he whispers, his voice sounding a bit thicker than usual. As if
it's the only response he can give to me after what I've said.
Almost too low for my ears to catch them, he adds, “you're the
first to ever see this and think I'm still something to love, not
pity.”

So I kiss his head and tell him
I love him too. When he lifts his head, his eyes shine a bit too
much with the hints of tears he's not allowing to fall down, and
with a grateful smile he captures my lips.

For a while we lazily
familiarize ourselves once more with the touch of the others' lips
on our own, and he shifts so that he's more or less kneeling,
hovering over me slightly with one leg between my own, which is
where it's been for quite some time. It's a lazy, unhurried dance
of patience, as if time around us has been stalled, leaving us in
the failing light of the candle as it burns down.

I couldn't tell you who
instigated it, but eventually he leans into it a little more,
shifting angle, and I gladly follow his lead. My hand remains
behind his head, keeping him pressed down, and the other at the
small of his back; and then it changes again.

It's as if someone threw a
switch. When we pause for air and our eyes meet, there's some sort
of unspoken phrase that passes between us, some question, asking if
this is okay. Just for tonight. It seems to get green lights on
both ends, as I sit up just as he captures my lips again, and
gently shift our positions so I can press him down into the
mattress instead. He doesn't offer a protest, not even when I
straddle his waist, but simply pulls my face down and leaves me
breathless again.

The blankets have fallen away
from us by now, and as I pull away to catch my breath I look down
at him, face flushed and lips kiss-swollen, turned up at the
corners as he watches me, and I get the sudden urge to draw the
sight before me even though I'm a dreadful artist.

“
Do I have
permission to be a bit selfish in turn?” I question, eyes roaming
of their own accord down his neck. I see his lips twitch up a
little more, and his hands still on my shoulders slip to the collar
of my shirt, playing at the buttons lined down to the
hem.

“
Stupid
question,” he replies lightly, fingers carefully undoing the
buttons, slowly. His eyes flicker between his work and my face, as
if making sure this is okay, until he reaches the last and it slips
free. Eyes never leaving mine, he pushes the garment off my
shoulders, letting it fall by the bed and smiling at me. Then, he
turns his head to the side and exposes the length of his neck.
“It's not being selfish if both parties want the same
thing.”

Honestly,
it's foolish to have expected anything else as an outcome. Seb and
I, we're broken and fighting for the one piece of ourselves that
actually
means
something and the world is trying to destroy. We've Run
halfway across the country already, living through our nightmares
that have haunted us and escaping our pasts and our
presents.