june 30th - afric’s apartment ( @africosullivan )
The walk to Afric’s isn’t long, but he drags his feet anyway. The messenger bag thrown over his shoulder weighs him down with every step and, the farther he gets from home, the more he longs for his bed.
Ever since the party, since these murders started, he... hasn’t been sleeping. Not really. He catches cat naps here and there, but every time he tries to get some real rest, he’s plagued by the same nightmare. The same distant, uneasy feeling. He’s tried over-the-counter sleep aids. Meditation. Counting sheep. Nothing’s seemed to help. If anything, he feels worse (and he’s sure the bags under his eyes are a glaring testament to that.)
He spends his nights staring up at the ceiling, weighing his options. To stay. To go. To turn a blind eye and pretend none of this is happening - watch the Otherworld, and all it’s inhabitants, burn from afar. When it’s laid out like that, the choice seems obvious. Easy, even. But... nothing, nothing, about this has ever been (or ever will be) simple. The reality is, he’s already involved.
He may not be a Fae, but he’s as close as a human could ever possibly get. His fate and theirs is intertwined now - his and all the all the other mortals unfortunate enough to possess some tie to the Courts.
If he chose to feign ignorance, to look past the violence and the killing and the fear mongering, there’s no guarantee he won’t be next. That Griffith or Zion or Alfric won’t be targeted right along with the Seelie and Unseelie and Solitary Fae that have already been slain. And that’s something he just... can’t stomach. Because unlike the faerie population, the Seers haven’t done anything to deserve a fucking death sentence. None of them asked for this. They didn’t chose it. They’re all just here, treading water, finding their own ways to try and stay afloat.
He doesn’t care what happens to the Fae, that much is true. But he does care what happens to his friends. And if he can do anything to help them, to stop this, he will. Because his own survival depends on it. (Because it’s the right thing to do.)
By the time he makes it up the stairs to Afric’s landing, he’s dead on his feet. He leans against the door jamb and knocks, resting his head against the cool wood as he waits.