On Being a New Wizard in Arcadia--III

    Climbing into the van itself emphasized to him just how far he had to go.  His stomach did a weary flip-flop at the thought of trying to climb all the stairs up to the fourth floor of Clarke Hall. Maybe Rei would carry him up the stairs. He snorted back a laugh at the thought.

    "You okay, Chrissy?" Lazzaro asked from the passenger's seat. Christian choked back another laugh and nodded, afraid to open his mouth to speak. "Okay, you just say something if you're getting car sick or something." He shifted in his seat so that he could more easily look at Christian. "My cousin Giani, he got himself into a state like you and he was in the hospital for two weeks. He still isn't right from it, and that was six years ago. Mom thinks that Pops pushed him too hard, but I don't know. I think some of you guys, you just don't know where your own limits are. You want to stop for a bite to eat? My treat."

    "Oh, no thank you. I just want to get back to the dorm and lay down."

    "Fair enough. Hey, Audrey, you wanna go get some coffee after we drop Christian off?" Lazzaro did not seem offended by Christian's polite refusal, given how quickly he turned his attentions back to Audrey. I really wish you'd just look at me. Christian looked intensely at Lazzaro, for he had distinctly heard his voice, but strangely. It had a completely different quality. Please, just look at me. Look me in the eyes, just once. There it was again, but Christian had seen plainly that Lazzaro had not actually spoken. A chill crept down his spine and settled in his guts. Had the nightmare world he had wandered through been more than a series of hallucinations from a frenzied, over-taxed mind? What had he done to himself?


    He was able to get upstairs to his room with Rei's help, the halls empty at that time of the day. Christian said a silent prayer of gratitude that they did not encounter anyone else. Besides hearing Lazzaro's thoughts, he was also beginning to have a headache from seeing flares and halos around people and items, some more so than others. Rei, for one, had a steady silver-blue aura around him, and if Christian stared too long, he was almost certain he could begin to decipher shapes and forms in the incandescent fog. Thought, memory, emotion, dreams, they all played out before his gaze, and made him feel a bit sick from his intrusion. Rei seemed to sense his friend's weariness, and, after making sure that Christian was settled on his bed, excused himself to his own afternoon classes.

    In the quiet, Christian looked around his room. His glasses were on the dresser, as were some of his other personal items. There was also a small brocade box there, almost inconspicuous in amongst the clutter. Frowning, Christian got up and crossed the room to give it a closer inspection. He paused, suddenly realizing that he was in pretty desperate need of a good scrub-down and clean clothes. He could have a look after a proper shower and a shave. The box had undoubtedly waited for a week or more, what was an hour more?

    Because it was the middle of Thursday, the bathroom was also empty. It was also chilly, the heat of the early morning showers long since dissipated. Christian chose the most functional shower in the row, a rare treat indeed, and shed his bathrobe as the water came to the warmest temperature he had ever enjoyed in Clarke Hall. As the hot water cascaded down his torso, he took a moment to appraise himself. His body still bore the marks of its ordeal: bruised, underfed, sickly-hued. His tattoos stood out in vivid shades against his pallor. His hands were still raw and scraped-looking, the nails ragged as though he had dug against stone with  his fingers. It would be a while before he could play the guitar again. He hadn't given himself a serious look in a mirror, but he had a feeling he already knew what he would see there. The mirror could wait, much like the box. He wanted to enjoy the sensation of warmth and water, heating him to the core. One he was thoroughly warmed, for he had not quite realized how deeply chilled he still was, he scoured himself from head to toe twice, his skin pink and tingling when he was done. Only then did he shut off the water and towel himself dry. There was no more point in delaying, he decided. He went to the mirrors above the sinks to look himself in the eyes.

    Mirrors had always been a source of mistrust for Christian. He was vaguely terrified of them, though he could not have told anyone why. He supposed he might have heard too many campfire tales regarding them, but he wasn't the sort to get his nerves wound by those sorts of stories. Heart pounding, he slowly approached the least fogged one in the row.

    There was naught to see but his own reflection there. His shoulders dropped in relief and he moved closer to study the face staring back out at him. It was mostly as he anticipated. He had deep purple shadows around his dark eyes yet, and a grayish cast under his cheekbones. His mouth was thinner than normal, half-hidden under the shagginess of his mustache and goatee. A fine growth of silky dark brown stubble shaded his jaw, giving him an unbearable appearance of dishevelment. He held his hands out before him, watching carefully for any unsteadiness. Satisfied with his nerves after a minute, he began that most sacred of masculine rituals and lathered up his cheeks and jaw line.

    His room was quite cold after his shower, and Christian hurried to find clean clothes. He wrinkled his nose at the overpowering smell of detergent and fabric softener, then gave a rueful laugh. He must have been pretty ripe if the smell of cleanliness was offensive to him. He'd have to apologize to his friends later. Now, though, he had no other distraction, and he could examine the brocade box. He put on his glasses and moved to pick up the box.

    A solid and familiar knock rattled the door. Christian jumped, startled, but he hastened to open the door. Framed in the opening, as pale as winter made flesh, was Sebastian. He said no word, but pulled Christian to his chest as he entered, pressing their mouths firmly together. Any thoughts of the box, the nightmare he had been through, or the veiled woman, were shoved to the back of Christian's mind.



    "I think I overdid it," Sebastian said sleepily as he played with Christian's shaggy hair. "I think Audrey might kill me. I swore on a stack of Bibles not to go too far with you for a few days." He wriggled further under the covers, trying to find the least awkward position for the two of them to be squeezed into the narrow bed. "Are you okay?"

    Christian nuzzled against Sebastian's broad chest, delighting in the smell of him and the feel of his skin. "I'm pretty done in, yeah. I'm not one bit sorry, mind you," he emphasized, feeling Sebastian tighten against him. "But you caught me at a bad time. I was just out of the shower."

    "That I figured; your hair is still damp. I didn't mean to wear you out. I've been worried sick is all." Sebastian wriggled again, to better look Christian in the eyes. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you." His pale blue eyes confirmed the honesty of that statement. Christian had a flash of this vital, beautiful man as a shattered wreck, old before his time, devastated in his grief, and it shook him. "Don't let me lose you."

    "I won't. I'll stay as long as I can," Christian said seriously, holding his gaze, hoping that he could see the depth of that promise. After a long moment, Sebastian let go a tremendous sigh and nodded. "You have to keep me anchored though. I forget to take care of myself sometimes."

    "You have me forever," Sebastian said with all the solemnity of a sacred vow. "I don't know what you've been through, or what you're still going through, but I am here for you." He kissed Christian tenderly on the forehead. "Please stay."