This art is so freaking stunning, I couldn’t help myself. Part of what could be a bigger story:
He’s so different from what Hob remembers. Where there was once elegance and power, there’s nothing but angles of skin pulled too tight over bones, shadows over his stranger’s body that make him look too fragile, too broken.
Hob’s throat tightens with sorrow and he takes a step forward, crossing over the summoning circle until he’s pressed up close to the glass.
“Stranger,” he says, presses his palm to the glass. It’s so cold down here, and the glass is frigid under his touch. Hob shivers and doesn’t think about how cold his stranger is, naked and trapped inside the sphere. “Wake up. Come on, please.”
The stranger doesn’t move. He’s not breathing, chest and body so still he looks like a statue. Panic grips Hob, and he yells with shaky words, “No, no, no. Come on, please wake up. I can’t be too late. Please.”
He hits the glass and the stranger flinches. It’s so quiet Hob almost misses it, the small there and gone twitch of the stranger’s eyelids, of his chest.
“Oh thank fuck,” Hob sags against the glass, relief flooding his system so fast his heart skips a beat. “Please, open your eyes. It’s me. Hob.”
Another twitch, the stranger curling up tighter into a ball. His ribs stand out harder like this, shadows lost between each dip. His eyelids flutter though, and he opens his eyes but his gaze is far away and distant.
Hob drops down to his knees until he’s eye level, smiles even though he knows it’s probably more shaky than encouraging.
“Hey,” he says gently. “Look at me. Please.”
The stranger frowns and blinks. His eyes are as beautiful as Hob remembers them, the pale blue of forget me nots, the same pale blue that’s been haunting Hob’s dreams for centuries. He blinks again slowly, like he’s unused to it, and finally, finally, his eyes settle on Hob.
“Hi,” Hob says with a laugh that verges on a sob.
The strangers stares at him for what feels like hours, eyes red rimmed and wide, before the numbness fades into shocked relief. He moves and it looks like it pains him, every muscle twitch slow and uncoordinated, and presses his hand to the other side of the glas against Hob’s. His lips move silently, no sound coming out, but Hob’s convinced it’s his name.
Suddenly, the cold realization hits him. There’s no air inside the sphere. Hob pulls back like he’s been hit.
“Fuck,” he yells, then again for good measure. “Fuck!” He looks down at his stranger and says, “I’ll get you out of there, hang on.”
He looks around before his eyes land on the gun the dead guard dropped. Okay, not exactly the subtle key he was looking for, but fuck subtlety. He stands back and aims the gun, surprised his hand is not shaking.
“Stand back!” He yells, but his stranger is unmoving, just staring at him through the glass. Hob pulls the trigger, the sound too loud in the small space, but it does its job. A crack appears in the glass, and on the other side the stranger flinches. Another bullet and another, until the glass shatters and falls into pieces.
Hob drops the gun and runs towards it, dropping to his knees and uncaring of the pieces of glass digging into his skin. The stranger is gasping, horrible wheezing sounds that rattle his chest, eyes wide and panicked.
“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Hob says, pulling him out of the sphere and holding him through it all. “You’re okay, I got you.”
The stranger feels so small in his arms, nothing but sickly pale skin and bones, and he’s shaking so hard it’s breaking Hob’s heart. He holds him through it all, the stranger's head under his chin and Hob’s palm pressed over the bumps of his spine, until the shaking subsides.
“Hob,” the stranger finally says, voice like rough cold concrete. He pulls away to look into Hob’s eyes, gaze still far-off and shaky. “Why are you here?”
Hob cups his jaw and says, “You were late to our meeting. Couldn’t let you get away this easily.”
The stranger stares at him for a long second, before there’s an almost imperceptible twitch of his lips, relief softening his features. He drops his head to Hob’s shoulder with a sigh, and Hob closes his eyes and holds him close.
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