he's running.
propelling himself forward with all his might, going against the current of the midnight breeze. he doesn't know how long he has been running for, or when he started—didn't even wear the right shoes for it. all he remembers are those words, "a fire broke out near the school library".
maybe if he hadn't left his phone on silent mode, he would've been long awaken by the influx of texts on his phone. his inbox flooded with messages about the incident, about people getting hurt. about a rumoured death. names were carelessly thrown around, names he was familiar with, but it wasn't a name that had him dashing out the door with a pair of athletic slides on.
the school library.
one person immediately comes to mind when he thinks of the school library. the place he used to take refuge in, hiding amongst rows of towering bookshelves that seemed to drown out the noise of the world outside. the place he started avoiding when he came back. not because he didn't want to see him—he did, more than he should—but because he didn't know how to face him. he didn't know how to look into those eyes without seeing a reflection of his own demons.
please be okay.
his legs were taking him as far as they could, as fast as they could. he hadn't even stopped to think about where he was headed towards, or how to get there—he didn't need to. like muscle memory, his body moved ahead of his mind. all these years have passed but he still knew the way to this place by heart. every turn and corner, every tree and lamppost lining up to where he left his childhood behind.
his heart races, both from the running and the fear engulfing him—the fear of losing him for good. it didn't take long before he found himself stopping in front of a familiar door. he is no stranger to this place, having stood on this porch countless times before, in search of his favourite playmate; the hero to his sidekick. at some point, this hero was painted out to be a villain, but no one knew better than he did that no villain would have a heart like his.
now, he stands a lot taller than he did back then, tall enough to reach the doorbell with ease. still, habits die hard, or maybe it was the urgency to see the face seared into his mind the very moment he heard of the fire, and he finds himself pounding on that door like he used to as a child. only this time, it was not with the impatience of a child wanting to play, but the immense fear and dread of losing someone dear to him.
please open the door. please be safe. please don't leave me. he utters silently, desperately, like a prayer to the gods. he wants to cry out, to call out his name and have him respond to it like he always did, but nothing could leave his mouth. not a word or sound. he could only do what he always does best, silently moil until he's heard, to keep pounding until someone comes, or until he breaks the door down. he can't stop, and he won't stop. not until he knows he's okay.
he's already left him once, he can't have him leave again.
THICKER THAN WATER ft. @96ymh
