What exactly were you expected to do with the information? Suddenly Orfuse is alive and stuck spending his days with, arguably, the worst Lycaon to spend even an afternoon with. That today the Senior Lycaon and Mahkir would all but tear each other apart if it meant getting back to him first. Does it even matter that you were content to carry on as you were? Visiting his grave, sharing a drink, and letting that man rest. God, doesn’t that man of all people deserve rest? What are you to do now? Worry over him until he just shows up? Pray that he shows up.
Oh, but there is so much standing in his way.
The papers that need to get graded sit in front of you in an unorganized pile that you stare at without seeing, the pocket watch in your hand gripped so tightly that your knuckles start to turn white.
Just return to business as usual, that’s what's expected. Unrealistic as it is. You rub your thumb over the dragon carving on the surface of the watch case, allowing the texture to root you back to reality. The ticking from within its casing is the only thing keeping you from descending into a spiral.
Is he in pain? What does Persep want with him?
Tick.
You shake your head, gaze shifting to the watch.
What Persep wants with him hardly matters, one of two trolls that will never hurt him will get their hands on him in no time. Safety will come to him.
Is he even fully troll? Did this cruel prank bring him back as a daywalker? What if he’s a mindless zombie?
Tick.
Logic doesn’t support that. Persep would not boast if he were anything but successful.
And should Harlan get his hands on Orfuse before the slightly more reasonable alternative?
The thought of him squirreled away in that horrid domain sends an electrifying shiver through you.
Surely you would be allowed to visit, as would any of his other friends. But what sort of life would that be?
Tick!
Harlan would never. He fancies himself a monster, but he would never make himself the monster in his Orfuses story.
Suddenly, you push yourself away from the desk and stand, discarding the watch as you do. The thoughts weigh heavy on your mind, rationalizing Harlan of all people is a humongous feat. An award winning one.
A glass of water will wash the taste from your mouth, you think, as you make your way to the kitchen.
What if it is a continuation of how he was treated while he was sick? Thanat would not let you see that man.
You know what they say about the repetition of history.
Knock!
That would be a fight. A terrible one. Bloodshed included. It has the potential to drive Orfuse right into Harlan’s domain. Right into his arms.
Knock! Knock!
That would be awful for everyone involved. Surely Thanat would not risk that. He wants redemption, doesn’t he?
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The knocking becomes incessant, frantic raps that hardly leave room for a second to pass between one and the next. It’s impossible to ignore. You stare into the room you’d just exited, toward the front door. You were not expecting company today.
The usual suspects are all presently indisposed; Holitz has a packed schedule, he would be on campus all evening. Hocus has not left his crypt since he learned of the unexpected revival, you don’t blame him. Both have keys, at any rate, they would not be knocking.
You slowly make your way toward the door, running a list of visitors over in your head.
Benjin? Did something happen with Veylin in Thorezille? He would have called.
Zurven doesn’t really reach out.
Lazali is a texter, he’s been busy with his mate.
When you get to the door, the knocking stops. Whoever it is can hear you shuffling about. There is a shaky breath.
After a few seconds of silence, you hear his voice through the door. Your eyes could pop out of your head.
“Aderae! Addy is that you?” His voice is hoarse, cracking with each syllable. He’s being so strong. Why would you analyze something like that? Are you dumb?
No matter, you’re already opening the door. Tears, the ones kept at bay from the revelation of his return, sting at the corners of your eyes.
When you swing open the door, you are met with, well, it’s him. Orfuse. God, he looks the same. He looks like he was never sick in the first place.
Orfuse makes an honest attempt of curling in on himself, arms folded together squeezing tightly at his biceps. The same way he always did when he wasn’t wearing enough layers.
“Addy?” He stares at you like you’re the ghost.
“Orf--”
He slams into you before you can get a single other sound out of your mouth. Before you can even think of anything to say. He mumbles something into your chest that you don’t make the effort to hear. All that matters is that he found his way to your arms.
You wrap him up tightly and kiss the top of his head. You never thought you’d be able to do this again, you shouldn’t be able to be doing this right now. When he squeeze you back, however, the doubt starts to melt off of your shoulders and roll down your back.
This is undeniably your Orfuse.
He lets out another shaky breath.
“I shouldn’t be here, Aderae. This is wrong.”
“Can’t be helped now, Orf. We have to make it work.”
Orfuse pulls away, you can feel the hesitation that came along with having made the decision. He looks up at you, blinking through the tears to get a good look.
“You’re…Look at you. You’re so old now!” He finally exclaims as he reaches up to run his fingers over your bangs, taking extra care to pick out some of the grey. He was never one to let a situation stay serious for too long. Of course he would gear the conversation away from his revival.
He’s actually back. You smile.
“Ancient. Just absolutely falling apart. Time has been unkind to me, Orf.”
His reciprocation is toothy, anyone on the outside looking in wouldn’t be able to tell this man was a sobbing wreck just a few seconds ago.
“Oh, my poor, poor old Addy.” He strokes your bangs out of the way so that he can get a better look at your face. “What am I going to do with you?”
