((More word vomit. This one's a dream. Or a hallucination. Maybe both, I'm really not quite sure.))
It was another one of those nights, the long ones where Heathen couldn't catch any sleep. No matter how much he struggled, tossed, and turned or how much he tried to will himself to it, his mind was simply racing far too fast for him to rest properly. Fallyn had given him the simple solution to just stop thinking so much. Sometimes it worked. Just focus on one thing so he'd stop thinking so much. It could be Fallyn herself, or the rain beating against a window, or oddly soothing sound of a fan waving cool air back and forth next to his bed. None of it worked tonight, so he busied himself with art once he'd made sure she had fallen asleep.
Heathen wasn't particularly proud of his apartment, but made due with what he had. It was a simple thing, practically one large room since the bedroom, living room, and kitchen were all connected without walls. If he ever needed some privacy he'd have to find it in the bathroom. Beside a loveseat and a recliner, the only other eye-catching thing about his apartment was the desk he currently sat at. A small thing he used as a makeshift work station. It's where he busied himself tonight, drawing the world he saw in his mind. A halfway mix between fantasy and reality. He didn't consider himself to be good, but Fallyn's recent encouraging words kept him trying.
He eyed her curiously for the third time the last hour. From where he sat she was just a mess of curling red hair wrapped around a large deep blue pillow. She was as still as the room around them, and with her breathing drowned out by the downpour outside Heathen could have easily mistaken her for a still body rather than a living person. It made sense; somebody who practically exploded with energy during the day was bound to tire herself out sooner or later. It was deceiving to look at her as she was now, though oddly calming as well.
He only bothered to spare his drawing one small look - a series of shapes that hadn't taken any form yet - before standing and slowly pacing his way toward her end of the bed. Quiet as he could, scared that the slightest sound would wake her from her deep sleep. He couldn't tell with her. Whereas sometimes hell could be breaking loose outside and she wouldn't bat an eye, other times even a slight pin drop could be enough to get her up and about. Heathen carefully stepped over scattered clothing until he stood beside the bed and, with a gentle motion, he pressed the back of two fingers against her burning cheek.
The last time Fallyn had a fever was... He couldn't remember the last time she'd been sick. In fact, Heathen had never seen her get sick before, and they'd been seeing one another near close to a year by now, if memory served him right. It was odd, curious, and extremely disconcerting.
Heathen quickly pulled back his hand, him being so unused to feeling her skin burning so hot his reaction was almost instinctual, to keep away from this strange sensation. It only took Heathen a moment to realize she had a fever, probably hotter than it should be. Quickly stepping to the bathroom cabinet yielded no results for medicine, nor did the the kitchen, again making Heathen frown and scold himself at his lack of preparation on his part. Lack of basic necessities or things that could help.
He paused and sighed, wondering if she'd even notice that he was gone. Fallyn had yet to make a fuss that he wasn't in bed, meaning she probably wasn't even aware of the fact. It wouldn't take that long, for sure. The pharmacy was a little more than couple block away - perhaps a twenty minute walk there and another twenty back. "Less than an hour," he huffed in a silent hush as he dressed himself and picked out a thin black and red jacket from the floor. A glance at Fallyn, just to make sure, confirmed she was still sound asleep. Probably the fever keeping her sleeping so soundly. Either way, he'd be back before she knew it. He rushed to the door, taking his phone along the way, but stopped and quickly rushed back to the desk he drew at.
Be back in forty - he wrote, quick and simple. Heathen paused, then quickly added to the bottom -
Pharmacy run. You've got a fever - then right below he added an extra line -
I'm also craving some chocolate - he set the pen down then quickly picked it back up -
I'll get ya some too - he stared at the note. It looked like the scribbling of a deranged man having a conversation with himself, and yet -
There's OJ in the fridge. Drink it. Is good for you - okay. enough now -
Heathen.
It wasn't necessary and he told himself that as he wrote, yet couldn't bring himself to not do so either. But what if she did wake up? In a home that wasn't her own, with a fever, and alone? Yes, it was better to check all the boxes, as absurd as they may have been.
As he signed his name - just to be sure she knew who it was - Heathen took a glance up to the window and took careful note of the rain. It was starting to come down harder, making so he could barely see what was on the other side of the blurry window. Even the black fire escape was invisible. There wasn't much more he could do from here, and he had no umbrella, so braving the rain would have to do.
He took a deep breath, briefly wondered if he was going crazy, and stepped outside.
Despite how hard it was pouring outside, he could make out the buildings across the road. Most of the windows were blacked out with darkness save for a couple that had light seeping through the curtains. Under the cover of night and within the veil of rain it was hard to tell the difference of one building from the other. All the colors seemed muted and washed out, a mixture of black and dark purple and darker grey. Most of the streetlights on his road were either busted or simply flickered on and off at seemingly random intervals. He could describe the place as dreary, even depressing. Most people would have even advised him to not step out during the night, but it wasn't like he made a habit out of it.
Even with the rain, he moved slowly and carefully, hands buried deep into the pockets of his trousers. Water could be dried off, but him falling and hurting himself wouldn't be helping the situation. His section of the city, his neighborhood, was distinct in the way the buildings all seemed to mirror one another. Apartments, offices, and even local businesses all seemed to reside within two and three story buildings. Night time didn't do justice to how it looked during the day. He crossed a road, narrowly avoiding falling into a flooded pothole, and stared up at one building in particular that usually caught his attention. Every week there was a new piece of artwork sprayed unto the bland red and brown bricks. Late into a Friday night he'd come across something new, be it small or large, a canvas of multiple colors - an expression of art Heathen admired. Come Tuesday or Wednesday the city would have it painted over in another bland monotone color, only for the process to repeat itself the coming Friday. A beautiful silhouette of a mountain range capped off by a hidden sunset one time, a feral-looking brown wolf stalking between trees the next, two hands wrapped around one another the following week. Sure, it wasn't always an artistic miracle, but not once had it bothered Heathen. He doubted that anyone around here actually made a complaint. The city was probably spending more money trying to paint over the graffiti.
Heathen stopped to stare at the wall. He couldn't make out what was painted there, not under the heavy rain. Looking up caused water to get in his eyes, making him tear up and look away and avoid struggling any more. He'd take a look at it tomorrow morning, when things had cleared up.
"Ah, of course you'd show up at this unholy hour," spoke Savannah, her quaint voice snapping Heathen back into reality. So lost he'd been in his musings of art and culture he hardly noticed he was already in the pharmacy. "Dripping head to toe. Couldn't you take an umbrella?" Heathen gazed at her, a woman near as tall as he was, and although she was going almost five years older than him, she looked much younger than her age let on. She had hair dyed a multitude of colors which blended unto one another and cropped short on her head. Leaning against the counter, chin planted firmly on her hand, it was clear she was bored out of her mind. "Actually, never mind that. How can I help?" Savannah's green eyes darted left and right, to either side of the pharmacy, then settled back on Heathen. He could tell they were the only two there. Nobody else was crazy enough to be out and about at so late in the night.
Savannah only judged him a little bit for it. He shouldn't have been out in the rain, and he shouldn't be out so late, and he certainly shouldn't be looking so casual about it. His lack of response, timely response, to her query made her cock her head and change the topic. "Don't you know it's the witching hour?"
"Witching hour?" He raised a brow and frowned, thinking. "Isn't that around midnight?"
She shook her head, frowning a little. "Peak supernatural activity ranges between the times of three and four in the morning," she stated, as if reciting facts from a textbook.
"What... like ghosts and ghouls?"
"Not ghouls." Savannah sighed. "Those don't exist."
"Uh... right. Witches then?"
Savannah nodded, albeit a little reluctantly, studying him carefully. Heathen didn't catch it. "You're on the right track. Go for vampires and werewolves too."
"That's just cliche." Heathen turned and started to rummage through the shelves, looking for anything that might help with a fever.
Savannah continued watching him, still bored but glad someone was at least playing along. Even if he was human, it was interesting to gauge his reaction. It kept her entertained. "Ghosts."
"Pfft."
"Watch that tone, Heath. Witching hour. You're going to attract a poltergeist and I don't want you coming back whining about your chairs being in a different spot or seeing a black shadow at the foot of your bed." She huffed. "In fact, you attract a poltergeist, I'm not touching you with a ten foot pole. That's bad mojo."
He paused and glanced back at Savannah, who still watching him with unblinking eyes, looking like a ghost herself with how pale her skin looked under the blinding white lights of her pharmacy. "Remind me how you're a pharmacist again?"
"I studied, and then I saved up some money, and then I started my own little business and -" Savannah paused and huffed - "I can have hobbies too."
"Yeah, well," He grabbed a carton of Tylenol and a small bottle of Ibuprofen, figuring that if one didn't work then the other would do the job, and took a couple bars of chocolate for good measure as well, "I doubt there's any ghosts out there interested in following me around." Somehow that made him smile to himself as he headed back to the front desk and began counting away at the money in his pocket.
At least he was looking a little healthier than he had been the last time he came around so late into the night; more flesh around those lanky bones of his. There was still that tired look in his eyes, worse than before. It gave him something of a perpetual distant stare that made it hard, even for her, to tell where exactly he was focusing his attention at. His sleep schedule must have been fucked, if he even slept at all to begin with. Two hours was not sleep and she had half a mind of reminding him so as she rang up the pills he needed.
"I don't have to remind you not to mix these two together, right?"
Heathen rolled his eyes.
"And no alcohol."
"I know, I know."
"Hmph..." She held out her hand and then counted the money once, twice, and then a third time. "You're short five bucks, dude."
"I..." Heathen stammered, then sighed, "spot me on this, Savannah. You know I'm good for my word. Give me till tomorrow and I'll have the rest of the cash. It's all I could scrounge up."
She sighed, murmuring something under her breath before quickly recounting the money once more.
"Five dollars won't kill you."
"One day they will," she exclaimed, but regardless placed what he'd given her in the register, a wordless confirmation for Heathen that everything was good to go. "Tomorrow, Heathen, or you'll be getting an earful out of me."
"Y-Yes! Of course." He smiled wide, grabbing and stuffing the bottle and tiny box and the chocolates into his pockets before she could even offer him a small plastic bag to carry them in. "You're a life saver, you know that?"
"I know, I know," she commented, smirking a little. "Get going before I change my mind."
Heathen nodded and stepped out into the forest. It was as vast as its trees were endless. A shiver snaked its way up his spine, causing him to huddle closer into his jacket as he started to follow a familiar trail that snaked its way between the massive pines, their tops which he couldn't make out either because of how tall they were or because of how dense the fog had gotten. Every step brought fresh crackles of dead leaves and snapping twigs. Despite how it looked as if the forest spanned endlessly in all directions, Heathen felt, knew, that he was going the right way.
The familiarity of this place drew him somewhere his memory couldn't quite recall, as if it had been a long time since he'd last been here. It wasn't a large lake, instinct told him that much, but one could have easily been confused with how the fog settled just above the water, obscuring the view of the other side. Heathen didn't need to dip his feet in to know the water was freezing so he avoided it as best he could, but alas he still walked over to it, holding himself tight, and looked down at his own reflection.
In the water there was a man who vaguely looked like he did. He had the same chocolate eyes and the same pointed nose and the same thing lips, but that was about where the similarities ended. This one's hair ran past his shoulders, long and dirty, knotted together since it'd been so long since it was last properly groomed. The eyes seemed distant and empty. His clothes were in tatters, threatening to fall apart as they held on by their last strands. His skin was pale as paper, like it hadn't seen the light of day in years, so much so that even with it caked in dirt and grime one could hardly ignore it. If Heathen hadn't known he was looking at his own shimmering reflection, he would have guessed he'd been staring at another man entirely. He'd even grown a beard.
It scared him. He stumbled back as his heart jumped out of his chest, and although he'd looked at the reflection for not more than a few seconds, it had been enough for it to be burned into memory. He felt at his face: no beard; short hair; clean skin ever so slightly tanned by the sun. No, he wasn't going to risk another glance. But turning to leave gave him no rest either.
Just barely within his sight, a few yards away from the lake, between the trees and the fog, was another familiar sight that he remembered all too well, memory forcing him to feel a slight pain in his hands he had pretty much forgotten about. His consciousness told him to turn and go the other way but curiosity and, oddly enough, instinct took him toward the wolf, who was nothing but a silhouette at first that slowly came into clearer focus the closer he got to it.
It wasn't a red wolf with white and black highlights, with fur as soft as silk. It didn't have vivid and enthralling purple eyes that stood out like neon. This one lacked the distinctive white paws that reminded Heathen of socks. It wasn't even the right size. This wasn't the somewhat careful, though also playful, wolf that was seemingly teeming with hidden energy just waiting to explode. That wolf showed emotion, with an intelligence he hadn't seen in another animal before or after.
Heathen came closer yet, and then stopped.
This one was a dark, dark brown that, under night, may as well have just been black. This one was large, though not by much more than the red wolf. It's brown eyes mirrored the of color of its coat, deep and distant, but firmly planted on Heathen, and didn't blink no matter how much time may have passed.
That red wolf of back then yelped in pain and struggled against the iron teeth, panicked, unsure of what to do, scared for its life. It tugged at his heart and made him want to help. He couldn't abandon it.
The wolf he was staring at held as still as a corpse. Heathen broke contact with its eyes to look down where one paw was trapped firmly between clamped teeth that wedged themselves deeply into its leg, the same one as the red wolf. This one didn't struggle and made no signs of being in pain. It instead watched Heathen, carefully, intently, as if it were studying the man., learning about him simply by the way he held himself.
He hated it that feeling. Unlike the red wolf, he had half a mind of letting it sit there for the rest of eternity, but something other than sympathy tugged at him. Heathen couldn't explain the feeling well, didn't quite understand it. A morbid desire to see what was after; perhaps a want to get some sort of reaction out of this beast. Maybe this was history repeating itself and he simply wasn't aware of it. Regardless, he closed the gap between him and the wolf and got down on his knees. The wolf made no move toward him, just turned his head to stare directly at Heathen. He felt the creature's cold breath against his neck but, somehow, knew he shouldn't have to worry about an attack.
Something told him to keep going.
Being in no hurry to free this wolf as he had the red wolf from the past, Heathen took his time. There was no reason to be so reckless when the wolf could not have been any more indifferent to the damage the metal teeth were causing. It allowed Heathen to actually stop and look at the situation rather than act on impulse. Instead of working to pry the device apart by its teeth, he instead got his fingers into small gaps where he wouldn't end up harming himself. The process was surprisingly quick, much less painful than the first time around, and in less than a minute he had a blood-stained bear in his hands.
He looked back to the wolf. It stared up at him, still indifferent to the pain it should have been feeling. Heathen knew it should have, because the wolf before it had been practically screaming by this point. This one just held still, stepping on its injured paw as if nothing had happened to it. Heathen frowned, having known that something was wrong since he spotted the wolf in the distance, and yet he still stood here and stared at the feral-looking creature with half the intensity that it gave in return.
Then a growl. It was low, barely noticeable, but it was there. Heathen tossed the bear trap away and took a step back, the first sensible thing he'd done since leaving his apartment. The wolf took one step toward him, closing that distance Heathen had just created. Five feet away. Heathen took a second step back, and the wolf took another. Five feet. It growled again, louder, obviously directed at him, but didn't do anything else. Heathen moved back and it followed, leaving behind a trail of thick red/black blood with every step it took. He briefly wondered if it was going to lose too much blood but a third growl snapped him back to what was important.
He was paced back, the wolf keeping a steady five feet from Heathen, all the way back to the lake, then back further toward the trail he'd stumbled out of. At the trail, the wolf finally stopped and with a loud bark it turned and retraced its steps back, following the trail of blood it left behind. Heathen was left standing like an idiot, his thoughts finally freeing themselves from the clouded mess they'd been in the whole time, and for the first time he truly questioned what had just happened.
It wasn't a minute after he decided to follow the trail back home, a path he was once again familiar with and following on instinct, before the brown-near-black wolf made another appearance. It held the bear trap clamped between its jaws and stared intensely at Heathen from between the trees, this time keeping some distance between the two of them, but still following nonetheless. He couldn't think of much beside just keep walking, keep going home, and make it there in time before Fallyn woke up. He felt for his pockets to make sure that the medicine was still there. Heathen stopped again and turned to look at the wolf. It stared back, still holding the bear trap in its jaws, unblinking.
The creature held no emotions, at least none that Heathen could discern. It just held still, watched, then continued to follow until the forest, in the blink of an eye, became the middle of a city. It was raining in that city, and Heathen was soaked from head to toe. His feet ached as if he'd been wandering for hours and hours, though it couldn't have been more than an hour - thirty, maybe even forty minutes at best. He didn't know what road his was on, what part of the city he found himself in.
Heathen just walked. The wolf no longer followed, was nowhere to be seen. His mind wasn't on the wolf either. He wasn't thinking of it, or the forest. Just the city. An apartment, a wall of beautiful art, a pharmacy he owed money to, and an unknown road. "How'd I..." get here? Heathen stopped and turned around, than again, and again. The roads made no sense. He'd never been to this part of town. Standing still was getting him nowhere to he walked, following instinct and gut feelings, until things began to clear up a little more. The buildings started to get a little more squat, held roughly the same shape, and all fell into a somewhat monotone color, washed out even more by the downpour of rain. Streetlights gradually began to flicker out of life.
A small pharmacy tucked away in the corner of a building.
A pharmacist who frowned and shook her head at him.
A beautifully decorated wall.
A flooded pothole he narrowly avoided.
An apartment building he recognized, three floors up, to a numberless door.
A still room.
A figure soaked in water standing on the doorway, shivering, freezing.
Water dripped into his eyes, burning, as he peeled away the water-soaked shirt and the weighed-down jeans. He walked, silent as he could, avoiding Fallyn's scattered clothing everywhere he went so he wouldn't soak it as he dripped water with every step he took. He dangled the wet clothes from the top of the shower curtain, carefully so the weight wouldn't bring it all crashing down as he had once done before. He wrapped a towel around his midsection, then a second around his chest, and stood in front of the mirror, and closed his eyes as he let his body get accustomed to the temperature of his room. Then he dried his hair, which had all but lost its color with the water and had matted to his head. Then his legs, and his feet. Arms and hands. He patted his butt for good measure and gave it a squeeze, and put on some boxers he'd dragged into the bathroom with his feet. They were a dull pink with little red hearts scattered all around them.
And the concerned doe-eyed woman, staring at Heathen with purple and violet eyes that questioned why he'd been out, and why he was soaking wet, and just what shenanigans had he been up to. And all Heathen could do was smile sheepishly, rub the back of his neck, and mumble something about fever medicine. He pointed to the small table, then looked back to her, noticed her frown, and furrowed his brow as she explained she didn't have a fever to begin with.
Heathen frowned, murmuring something about getting them some chocolate too - the trip wouldn't have been a complete waste then.
"It's melted," commented Fallyn, turning back to Heathen while holding a packet of chocolate loosely between her fingers.
Heathen's frown deepened.
Chocolate?
Ori opened his eyes, not quite startled awake, but it was enough to get a real reaction out of him. He huffed, lifting his head up from his front paws, and looked around the room.
Chocolate. Whatever that was, Ori was craving it badly.
He didn't pretend to understand what dreams were, much less did he even want to dwell on something that wasn't real, yet he couldn't stop himself from thinking. Again it was that man he'd never met, seemingly the center of focus for all of his dreams in the rare moments he had any. Yet again, the thought of him did not sit well with Ori, leaving a bad taste in his mouth, making him growl low in his throat just thinking of him. Heathen was his name. Heathen. The name tugged at something but didn't ring a bell. Fallyn? He looked up to the empty couch and stared at it for a long time. Minutes of blank silence where his mind was nowhere, until it was somewhere. Fallyn looked like Freya. A name created as a figment of his imagination. Freya was the only person he knew. Savannah? It didn't ring a bell, had never met anyone like that, doubted that she even existed. A forest. He saw himself there, but not as himself. As Heathen. Bear traps, and blood, and a lake, all of them places he'd been to before, when he was out there, surviving.
Fevers. Medicine. Chocolate. The concepts were alien to Ori, but of importance to his dream. It left him restless. Unsatisfied. Ori wasn't enjoying himself, and he'd just woke up. Craving something he couldn't have put him in a sour mood.
The scents were still chilled and somewhat muted. Early in the morning, the sun hadn't gone up yet. The numbers Freya enjoyed staring at said 3:30 AM. Ori stood and stretched his back legs out. Then the front legs. He blinked, yawned, and licked at his nose, and paced around the living room, sniffing at corners and doorways to make sure everything was as he had left it before he went to sleep. Nothing was strange other than Freya's scent having moved from the couch to her room. He did a sweep of it again, then to the room where he was always fed, then to where the infernal machines banged day in and day out - though they were still and quiet tonight - and then to the front door. Nobody had tried to come inside his home. Up the stairs to sniff around the open bathroom door.
Ori stood momentarily outside Freya's door. Or Fallyn? The dream was already a hazy mess in Ori's mind, something he wasn't going to trouble himself over for much longer. Not Fallyn. Freya. That's the one he knew. He sniffed at the small gap under her door, catching feint scents of what was beyond, and listened for sounds from the other side. He heard nothing save for calm breathing.
Asleep.
Ori huffed, turned around, and paced back to the stairs. He promptly sat himself down right at the top and stared down the stairs, to the living room, sitting straight and still, almost blending into the darkness. He watched intently, almost daring himself to not blink, the thought of time not a concern to him. One ear was trained on the home, the other's focus was directed at Freya's door. Ori didn't need her to know he'd made it a habit of sitting her in the early hours of the morning. The thought that humans would just leave their homes unguarded baffled Ori. No doubt something terrible would have happened had he not kept watch.
Even if nothing ever did happen. But he wasn't going to take that risk either. Not in his home.
So he watched, still as a corpse, unblinking, listening, waiting for the late hours of the morning to tick by and doing his best not to think about chocolate until he heard a sound stirring from just beyond the room's door. And then Ori would sigh, and blink, and trot his way downstairs, make a quick final round throughout the bottom floor - just in case - and then finally settle in his place at the foot of the couch, and lay down, and close his eyes for the next hour, till Freya came downstairs and made enough of a racket he wouldn't be able to even keep his eyes closed.
And then growling.
And snarling.
And defiance.
And anger.
And companionship.
Ori had grown fond of the routine.