NEW OC ALERT WEEWOO WEEWOO
-
"You seem a little lost." Saevar opened his eyes to a voice that seemed very familiar, but when he saw the person before him they were a complete stranger.
The two of them were standing in the middle of a nicotine-stained hotel room, with the AC unit groaning in the corner and Danish sports commentary drifting quietly from the TV. There were two beds, with an open suitcase on one of them. Saevar's stomach turned in dread. He knew this place.
The person in front of him was equally disconcerting: he appeared to be only a little younger than Saevar, and he was painfully out of place in this disgusting room in a crisp black suit and sneakers. Otherwise, he was unremarkable, but when Saevar tried to look up at his face he found that he couldn't focus on his features--they shifted and unfocused like a bad internet connection.
"What's going on?" Saevar asked. He knew well enough that this was some kind of dream, since he hadn't been in this hotel for nearly two years, and he would never have returned to Denmark on his own volition. Every memory of this place felt like a stab in the chest.
The stranger sighed, and again when he spoke Saevar felt almost accustomed to hearing his voice, though he didn't know how.
"I wanted to talk in a place you felt comfortable," the young man in the suit said. He spoke perfect Icelandic.
Saevar took a quick look around the room. "All my memories here are terrible."
"Not all of them." Suddenly the stranger's appearance began to change, almost lag, as his features came into focus. Saevar saw dark, intense eyes and short, wavy hair that was well-brushed. He seemed older now. His appearance immediately dominated the whole room, and Saevar felt his chest tighten a little. He cocked his head.
"You don't know me very well then," Saevar responded coldly. "My friend almost killed me here. Did you know that?"
"I did." The stranger's smile quirked a little and he gestured to the bed. "I know you have fond memories of him too. You two spent a lot of time here."
Anger sparked in Saevar's chest and he swallowed. "So what. I've spent a lot of time in motels with a lot of different people."
"Am I making you nervous?" The young man said, eyes knitting with worry. "I was hoping my face would be appealing to you."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Saevar's voice was rising, but inside he was only feeling smaller and smaller. If this was a dream, he wanted to wake up.
"I'm sorry." The young man pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose in inward frustration, sighing a little. Then he squared his shoulders a little, lifting his head as his features began to change again--and as Saevar watched he felt his stomach drop into a pit. In an instant, Oliver was standing in front of him.
For a moment all Saevar could do was look at him, take in every detail, and tears stabbed behind his eyes. He felt like he should be angry, but there was a part of him that wanted to believe it was really him in this dream.
"I know you were starting to forget what he looked like," said Not-Oliver. His voice was exactly the same.
A soft whine escaped Saevar through his nose before he could stop it and he put his face in his hands. The sob growing in his throat threatened to overflow, warm tears dripping through his fingers.
"The last time you saw him, he was already gone," he continued. His voice was soft, but steady. "I know what those boys at your school did to you. You had I know you would have rather died like Oliver did than live with the memory of it."
That anger from before jumped up like an explosion of C4 in Saevar's chest and he lashed out before he knew what he was doing: with a roar he grabbed the stranger's collar and pushed him down onto the bed, lifting his other shaking fist to hit him as hard as he could, anywhere, it didn't matter.
Then he was into Oliver's eyes, and he couldn't move. His grip on his collar tightened, but his fist still hovered over his face.
"Fuck you," Saevar whispered. A tear dripped down to his chin and onto Oliver's cheek. "Fuck you, you bastard. Why are you doing this to me?"
"I know your mind erased the memories of that day to protect you," Not-Oliver said to him. His voice was breaking in places now, like it used to do when he was about to cry. "He was the only friend you ever had, and you were forgetting him. I'm doing this as an act of goodwill."
"Who are you?" Saevar demanded, eyes still on fire with rage.
"If I tell you that, you'll really try to kill me," Not-Oliver replied gently. "I won't make you choose something like that. But I know someone is trying to hunt and kill you. I take personal responsibility for that. That's why I'm going to visit you all soon."
"You know about Romulus?!" Saevar asked.
"He knows about me too," the stranger replied, a little more urgently. "I think he wants to find me more than he wants to find you. But he won't, he just thinks he will because he always succeeds, no matter what. l It's his Mark, after all."
Saevar felt his limbs weakening as his pounding heart threatened to explode from his chest. It didn't make sense, but it almost didn't matter. All he could think about was the fact that Oliver was here, even if it wasn't real. Had this been his plan?
"You're trying to trick me," Saevar murmured, lowering his fist. His eyelashes fluttered in rage. "You're trying to use Oliver against me."
"I'm sure you feel conflicted," Not-Oliver said. He didn't move. He didn't even try to break free from Saevar's grip. "I know you two never truly told each other how you felt, you never even kissed."
Saevar wanted to punch him so badly, but his muscles were frozen.
"You were afraid," he continued earnestly. "But you always felt comfortable with him. He was the one person that could silence the guilt and anger in your mind. That's why I came here like this."
"How do you know all this?" Saevar asked. His voice sounded broken and pathetic out loud.
"This is your dream. Your mind is as safe as it's ever been." Not-Oliver smiled at him, and then pushed himself upright on the bed. Saevar let go of him with clammy hands, stepping back and running his fingers through his hair. His heart was racing.
"Like I said, you won't like who I am. But that doesn't matter to me. You'll need my help, and whether you like it or not I'll be coming to kill Romulus once and for all." Not-Oliver took a deep breath, looking around the room. "I should be honest, I chose this place because it was a familiar memory, but that isn't all. You have bad memories too, with Percy. You felt powerful with him, but pathetic too. Like you were a fraud. You let your Mark control you and it nearly killed you."
Saevar finally turned away from him, feeling humiliation boil in his chest. It was so rare he felt that emotion anymore.
"Your Mark is the most devastating of them all, Saevar," the stranger said. "It dealt you a terrible hand, and for that I'm sorry. But look at you now. Trying to help people. Making amends. I chose this place, and this form, to show you that you're still human. Don't you think that counts for something?"
Saevar didn't reply. He just wanted to leave, to wake up, whatever.
"I see I've ruined the mood."
Saevar heard Not-Oliver stand up from the bed, and as he walked around to face him he saw that Oliver's face was gone, replaced with those dark eyes and suit from before.
"We'll talk later," the young man said. Something about the gentleness in his voice made Saevar's spine prickle, like there was something right underneath the softness of it. "Think about what I've said."
Saevar was about to tell him that he couldn't care less, but all of a sudden his eyes were opening and he was staring at his hotel room ceiling. Dry tears crackled on his cheeks.
