Alexios

  Menzoberranzan - 160 Years Ago

  “Relax your shoulders,” Nykky says as he reaches over to me gently. “You’re playing it like you’re holding a dagger, Alexios.”

  His fingers brush my skin with gentle care in an attempt to adjust the way I hold his bow.

  I sigh heavily.

  We sit cross-legged on a worn silk cushion and I’m holding the violin like it’s made of glass. We’ve found a private moment in some forgotten room beneath the servants’ quarters, hidden behind a cracked wall. The sound of dripping water echoes somewhere near us.

  A half-melted candle that I stole from one of the Matrons is our only light right now and it’s casting the most beautiful light that dances over Nykky’s golden skin and his soft curls. In this private room, we’re not “perfumed whores” for the matriarch.

  “I’ve never held anything like this before,” I respond, trying my best not to get aggravated. “Daggers are familiar to me. This place teaches nothing but violence.”

  “This should be an exception, hmm?”

  Nykky smiles softly and turns his attention back to the instrument to guide my fingers into place once again. He’s always so gentle with me even when I think I don’t deserve it. He’s always so gentle with everything.

  He’s allowed me to play one of his own creations that’s been pieced together from scraps of Sussur tree bark and carved bone. The sound that comes from it is absolutely ethereal. Every time he plays it, it sounds like music from the gods.

  But when I play it?

  It just sounds… awkward and rather uncertain.

  I wince when I try again.

  “I’m ruining it.”

  “No,” Nykky says firmly. “You’re just learning. That’s completely different.”

  “Why teach me? I’m not musically inclined like you.”

  He smiles softly and brushes a silver strand of hair behind my ear.

  “You shouldn’t have to feel fear every second of your life down here.”

  I sigh slowly, looking back down at the violin. I will try again. For him.

  Anything for him.

  I try once more and the note trembles slightly, but I realize it doesn’t sound as broken. It sounds more like a quiet exhale.

  “Much better,” Nykky whispers. I can feel his lips just beside my ear. “Try to let the string speak rather than you speaking for it.”

  He stays patient with me for the next few hours, softly correcting me when I would have probably given up on me if I had been in his place. After a while, the bow guides easier across the strings and with it, my confidence builds.

  Nykky takes the instrument from my hands and plays the melody back to me. When he plays it, it actually sounds correct. Then he stops and hands it back to me with his beautiful green eyes sparkling at me.

  “Your turn.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. I know you can.”

  I try again and as time passes, it begins to sound like the melody it’s meant to be.

  Almost.

  When I finish, Nykky leans in and gently kisses my cheek.

  “There. Now you have something that you won’t fear.”

  --

  “You’re humming again,” Nykky whispers as we walk slowly though a narrow tunnel. “That’s new.”

  “Am I?” I look away, slightly embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to.”

  He chuckles quietly.

  “It sounds an awful lot like the melody I played for you.”

  “… Perhaps.”

  He laughs a bit louder, nudging his shoulder against mine as we continue.

  We walk quietly for a while. This seems to be the only place we can really exist without constantly being watched.

  “Since you’ve never been beyond it, do you ever think about what it might be like outside the Underdark?” he asks me.

  “All the time.”

  He stops walking.

  “Where would you go?”

  I bite my lip.

  “I… don’t know. Somewhere that doesn’t smell like blood and rot, I suppose. Somewhere with trees.”

  He sighs gloomily.

  “I miss them very much,” he whispers. “I remember a tree with leaves like fire in the autumn. I used to play beneath it. I wonder if it’s even still there.”

  “If we ever escape this place, I’ll take you to it. I’ll find that tree.”

  Nykky turns to me slowly before taking my hands in both of us. He places a kiss to both of my knuckles.

  “I believe it.”

  The world down here feels so different when I’m with him. It’s not necessarily safer by any means, but I feel… hopeful.

  --

  Stone walls shimmer with enchantments and I suppose it’s half illusion, half threat. Nobles recline in the center of the courtyard, wicked laughter curling through the air like toxins.

  At the center beneath the watchful eyes of the Mother Matron is Nykky. I’m hidden behind a few pillars, silently watching and smiling. I’m not supposed to be here, but I would never miss one of his performances.

  He stands alone on a raised obsidian stage in nothing but an emerald silk sash that’s been draped around his hips and the handmaids have pinned his soft curls back. The firelight makes his skin glow like sunstone.

  Nykky has chosen to use the Susser bark and carved bone violin tonight and the music he plays is simply too beautiful for his world. The violin’s voice sounds like ghostly silk.

  Tonight, he plays a lullaby from his homeland. It’s a song written for soldiers who never return home. He plays it gently like he’s afraid the sound might shatter the hatred here.

  When it ends, the silence is… deep. One of the Matrons even closes her tear-filled eyes. Then the Mother Matron laughs.

  “How achingly tender,” she says as she rises from her seat and takes a step forward. “Come here, little elf. I want to hear what kind of music falls from your lips when you moan.”

  Nykky freezes and my heart starts racing, but I know if I interfere and try to help him, it will only make the situation worse.

  “No,” he breathes. “I apologize, but I’m… I am not available for that.”

  She looks appalled at his answer.

  “You are what we say you are,” she snaps.

  “I’m tired,” he says, bowing low. “Forgive me, Matron. I don’t think I’m permitted to share myself without prior consent from...”

  “You belong to us, not to anyone else and certainly not to yourself. Come here, pretty bardling. I’ll teach you new ways to make music.”

  “Please,” he begs. “I’m a musician, not a consort. I haven’t… I’ve never even been touched like that before.”

  The laughter around the court is sharper now and immensely crueler at the confession from Nykky.

  He panics and I see him whisper what looks to be a spell under his breath.

  I’m moving out from behind the pillar before I can even think.

  “Nykky, no!” I yell out.

  Every head turns towards my direction and I’m suddenly blasted back by a spell from the Mother Matron, my back hitting the pillar as I gasp out in excruciating pain.

  “You pathetic whore!” she screams. “Guards, remove him from the courtyard immediately!”

  I’m apprehended and as I try to fight back, I look toward Nykky and see him sobbing. I know the spell he was going to cast wasn’t meant to hurt anyone. It was just to distract her long enough to get away and confuse her.

  But she isn’t confused.

  She’s enraged and her retaliation is swift.

  As I’m being dragged back inside, I see the Matrons bind Nykky upright against the same stage where he played. His wrists are tied so tightly that the ropes rip his skin before they can even hurt him themselves.

  I’m forced into the handmaid quarters below, pounding on the doors until my knuckles split.

  “Let him go, damn you!”

  I scream and sob, but I know better. No one is going to answer me or even give a damn.

  But I hear everything.

  “Take them,” I hear the Matron Mother command. “Aim just above the wrists.”

  To my surprise, Nykky isn’t screaming. He’s… singing.

  It’s a broken melody and I realize it’s one that he taught me in secret. I can hear him crying as they beat him, but he keeps singing even then too. When I hear the dramatic unsheathing of a weapon… the singing stops.

  His song turns into screaming.

  --

  When I’m dragged back into our servant quarters, what I see has me gasping in fear. They’ve left him curled in a silken heap on the floor with his arms wrapped in bloodied linen, face puffy from crying, eyes open but blank.

  They’ve taken his fucking hands.

  I drop to my knees so quickly that I know I’ve bruised them.

  “I’m here,” I whisper as I begin to sob violently, hands hovering over Nykky’s face. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

  “I… can’t feel my fingers,” Nykky says softly. His voice is coming out like drifting waves and it feels like he’s speaking from somewhere far away.

  His eyes can’t even focus on me. They aren’t focusing on anything. I realize he’s in complete shock as his soft cries turn into panicked wails.

  “They say I don’t need them anymore,” he breathes. “Other… things they want now.”

  I reach for the bandages, but Nykky stops me.

  “Don’t. You’ll just cry even more.”

  “I’m already crying.”

  Nykky turns his head away from me as his breath trembles.

  “I played it for you. Did you… hear it? Did you hear it… Alexios?”

  I can’t even fucking speak anymore. I can only nod as waves of tears streak down my cheeks.

  “Good,” he whispers. “I just wanted… one song to reach you.”

  I gather him up in my arms as gently as I can, but then he collapses against me, limp and unconscious.

  “Nykky? Oh gods, Nykky. Please!”

  I try to call on what little magic I possess and it flickers weakly out of my fingertips. What good is it now? I’m weak and he’s been shattered like glass.

  My fingers press desperately at his throat, searching until finally I find a faint heartbeat.

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  From this day forward, he will never play his violin again.

  They’ll dress him in red and paint his mouth. They’ll tell him when to smile, when to laugh and when to kneel.

  He will be a pleasure thrall like me… but somehow worse. He’ll remember what it’s like to make something beautiful and now, he never will again.

  --

  Days later, Nykky sleeps restlessly in our shared cot. I’ve wrapped him in a thin blanket, but I know there is no comfort in it. His arms are still bandaged, but they are clean now at least. He’s twitching in his dreams and I don’t know what to do.

  Every now and then, I can hear him whimpering. It’s the memory hurting him as it returns.

  I sit on the floor nearby holding his violin. I haven’t touched it since our last lesson in that small hidden room.

  But things are different now.

  I need to do this for him.

  My hands tremble as I lift the bow. I swallow sharply and try to remember how patient and kind Nykky had been with me.

  “Try to let the string speak rather than you speaking for it.”

  I place the violin beneath my chin. The first note is just as rough as the first time I tried. The second is even worse somehow. I grit my teeth and try to blink back the tears.

  Then… I try again.

  Slowly, I begin to play.

  It’s the same lullaby Nykky attempted to teach me. I don’t know all the notes and it’s obvious as I miss some and slur the others.

  But I play anyway because someone has to.

  I cannot let his music die like that.

  Nykky stirs gently in the cot and his eyes flutter open. Even from here, I can see they are clouded in pain. He listens to me play anyway.

  When I finish, he says nothing for a long time.

  Finally…

  “You remembered it?”

  I start to play the lullaby again. I don’t trust my voice not to give away my immense grief.

  I briefly look over and see Nykky begin to cry. I watch as the tears fall down his golden cheeks. Even though he can’t reach out and touch me or hold the bow… Nykky smiles and it’s not for some ungrateful audience.

  It’s for him. Me. Us.

  “You’re getting better,” he mutters.

  I play for hours until eventually… he falls back asleep.

  I can only hope the nightmares don’t find him again for tonight.

  --

  A few months pass and the bruising on Nykky’s body has faded. The bandages are gone and what remains of Nykky’s arms end in clean stumps right at the wrist. The mages healed them carefully so that he would live and in turn, can still serve them.

  But they did nothing to ease the loss.

  He doesn’t speak much anymore and he barely sleeps. When he does, the nightmares find him instantly and it seems like he’s trying to hide inside himself.

  Just as I assumed the Matrons would, they dress him in red. The crimson silks cling to him like blood dripping down his body. This is their way of telling him that his body is the only thing left worth possessing.

  The handmaids drape gold around his throat, but it’s meant to imitate the look of a collar. Someone paints his lips every day with dyes and I realize in horror that it’s the same shade he used to use when he decorated his violin’s inlay.

  I see him again tonight, but he isn’t as he was. How could he be?

  He’s no longer the boy who taught me sweet lullabies in a hidden room and cradled his violin as if it contained his very soul.

  A guard pushes Nykky onto a platform in front of us. It’s low to the ground and lined with ghastly velvet as well as rings to hold one down. He kneels on it as his arms hang limp at his sides. He has no way to brace himself or hide anymore.

  The nobles laugh as soon as they see him.

  “Oh, that one,” croons the Mother Matron. “Our little bard with broken strings.”

  Mischievous laughter fills through the room while some of the nobles clap and others whistle.

  I remain tucked between a draped curtain and a pillar, my jaw clenched so tight I can feel my teeth grinding together.

  “Do you think he can still… perform?” one of the guests asks.

  “He doesn’t need hands for what he’s being used for now,” another whispers.

  Nykky stays silent. I can see his body swaying slightly and these monsters have even placed a silver bit in his mouth tonight. It’s kept in place with a ribbon and it makes him look like some kind of animal in training, meant to be nothing more than pretty and obedient.

  I want nothing more than to rip it off him and run as far away from this place as we can. I can see the rage, humiliation and grief just behind his eyes when he sneaks a glance at me.

  The nobles and Matrons surround him, walking in slow circles like they’re inspecting some rare beast. Someone tugs the sash from his hips and lets it fall away. More laughter rings out and one of them even crouches down to lift his chin to examine him.

  “This one played the violin, didn’t he?” a Matron mouths. “I remember his music in the council halls.”

  “His silence is sweeter now,” the Mother Matron says plainly.

  With a snap of the fingers, a guard moves the platform back slightly to present Nykky more obscenely. I feel the bile rise in my throat.

  He was a musician. He was all gentleness and patience. Now?

  Now he is entertainment.

  Nykky has not molded into beauty that is meant to be flaunted and adored like I was. No… what they’ve done with him is far crueler.

  He is a punchline now.

  An exceptionally cruel joke made for House Baenre. He is paraded for amusement, but not to honor what he was.

  They do it to desecrate.

  He rarely ever looks at me now when we’re in front of the Matrons. He simply can’t because if he sees me, I know we’ll both start crying. If he cries here, they’ll hurt him again.

  I do the only thing I can do which is to step back into the shadows. I won’t scream or die for him. I can only watch as they humiliate him. They pet him and taste his skin like he’s nothing but a rare delicacy made to be ruined by them.

  I promise myself that if I survive this place long enough, I will free him too. I will build him a home far away from this place.

  --

  Hours later, the nobles retreat to their inner chambers, leaving the hall almost completely quiet. The area is empty except for a few servants sweeping away crushed fruits and spilled wine goblets. I can still hear them laughing behind closed doors.

  Nykky rests on the abandoned platform. No one bothered to take him back to our quarters. They just left him here like a toy that had lost all its novelty.

  I wait for a few minutes until finally the last servant disappears around a corner. Then I run directly to Nykky.

  “My love,” I whisper. “It’s me. I’m here.”

  He doesn’t answer me. He keeps his head bowed and his curls fall loose across his brows. I kneel beside him slowly and use the sleeve of my robe to wipe some of the pigments away from his mouth.

  To my surprise, he jerks his head back.

  “Nykky… it’s me.”

  He flinches when I touch his shoulder. Then he looks up and the fury in his eyes hit me like a firebolt to the heart.

  “Don’t,” he spits. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I… I just wanted… Nykky… please.”

  “You wanted what? To comfort me? After you stood there and watched them pull me apart?”

  His voice is cracked and thin from crying, but it still hits right where he wants it to.

  “I couldn’t stop them,” I whisper.

  “You didn’t even try,” he hisses.

  “I had to stay hidden. You know that. They would’ve killed both of us…”

  “They should have.”

  I flinch at his words, but I don’t move away from him.

  “You think playing my lullaby fixes this? You think that’s enough, Alexios?”

  I shake my head as I begin to cry.

  “I just wanted you to feel safe enough to sleep.”

  Nykky snarls at me.

  “You think I sleep now? You think I even fucking can? They paint my mouth like a whore and run their hands all over me and you think I can sleep?”

  He weakly shifts forward on the platform, but it’s a failed attempt as his ruined wrists tremble where they hang.

  “You’re just so pretty,” he says bitterly. “You get silks and perfumes. You get people who beg for your attention. The maids bathe you in luxurious oils. The Matrons cut off my damn hands, Alexios. They ruined me and all I get now are jokes.”

  “Nykky, please...”

  “No! Don’t you get it? I’m the thing they bring out when they run out of wine and want to laugh instead.”

  “I hate them,” I say. “I fucking hate all of them.”

  “Do you hate yourself?”

  Yes, I think to myself. More than anything.

  I hate that I’m beautiful and therefore useful to them.

  I hate that I live in their favor while he rots away.

  I hate that I wasn’t carved up beside him.

  “I should have died,” Nykky whispers. “The gods should have let me die when they took my hands. What do I have now?”

  He finally breaks down in hideous sobs. Tears run fast down his cheeks, smearing the paint. Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his shaking body and cry with him. He tries to pull away, but I hold him tighter.

  “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” he chokes out.

  “I know who you are,” I whisper into his hair. “You are Nykolai. You are mine and I am yours. You are the most important person in this entire cursed place, do you hear me?”

  He screams into my chest and his sobs turn into gasping sounds. He lets himself fall apart even further. I simply let him. I’ll pick up every piece of him after he’s done.

  He weeps until his voice goes hoarse and his body sags against me, letting his anger run out.

  “I’m still here,” I whisper again and again. “I love you more than anything.”

  --

  When Nykky and I are summoned after the Matrons’ supper, there’s no ceremony in it. Two handmaids enter and a tray containing paint, silks, oils and restraint is placed before us.

  They come for me first.

  The handmaids strip me bare and rub oil into my skin until it gleams like gemstones. The silver wrap they drape around my hips is sheer and useless, only meant to tempt the imagination. A floral perfume is dabbed behind my ears, knees and throat. Their fingers are gentle as they comb my silver hair.

  Then they come for Nykky next.

  The handmaids forcefully lift him from his cot and bind his arms with silk loops to keep them in place. They paint his lips a crimson color, but it’s done sloppily and it bleeds at the corners. His clothing is just as much as an insult. It’s a sheer body halter that exposes far more than it even hides and the straps bite into his thighs where the maids have cinched too tight.

  They place ruby red jewels around my neck, but for Nykky?

  A silver ring is fitted around his neck and then a leash is clipped to it. They aren’t making me wear one.

  I realize now that I’m supposed lead and he is to follow.

  --

  The room we’re led into is already filled with opium smoke when we arrive. Red flames dance along the walls, casting everyone in sensual shadows. The handmaids have covered the floors with black velvet rugs and the cushions have been embroidered with small spiders.

  The Matron Mother reclines in her throne like a serpent ready to strike. She’s surrounded by Matrons from Houses Druu’giir, Oblodra and Vandree. Their veils are thin and I can see their half-lidded and hungry eyes from underneath.

  “Oh, look at him,” one Matron purrs as her eyes scan over me. “What a darling thing. He simply towers over us. It must be rather rewarding to see him kneel, hmm?”

  “Impeccable skin,” another notes. “Is he kept for soft hands only?”

  I drop to my knees and bow my head. They simply adore when humility is worn like perfume. It makes me sick to my stomach.

  Nykky is dragged beside me. He kneels more awkwardly as he’s forced into a display of openness that he cannot control. His eyes stay on the floor.

  “Gods,” a Matron laughs. “I didn’t think they still let the bard walk around.”

  “We don’t” our Mother Matron replies. “He’s just decorative now.”

  “Do you touch him?”

  “Oh yes… often.”

  Laughter springs out in the room. Nykky stiffens.

  Our Mother Matron gestures for silence in the room before her announcement.

  “Tonight’s entertainment… one of our House’s finest and one of our most pitiful. I want everyone here to remember that beauty is… easily taken.”

  She motions for me.

  “Alexios, show us what a jewel does to a broken toy.”

  What? No, I…

  I can’t even move at first out of shock, but then Nykky turns his head just enough to look me in the eyes.

  He nods...

  And I crawl to him slowly, trembling with tears. I reach for his face and brush one stained curl away from his cheek. I feel him flinch, but he doesn’t resist. I kiss him lightly, desperate for him to understand that it’s me, not them.

  He doesn’t kiss me back.

  “More,” one of the Matrons calls. “Show us why you are House Baenre’s prized jewel. We want to hear him.”

  “He doesn’t make music anymore, remember?” another snickers. “He only gasps and cries now.”

  “Lift him. Let him ride you like the whore he is.”

  My hands ache with crushing guilt as I pull Nykky onto my lap. I adjust him carefully, too afraid I’ll hurt him even more, but he doesn’t say a word. His thighs are trembling and I bury my head in his shoulder as I begin to cry again.

  I can’t let them see my tears.

  The room watches as I press kisses to Nykky’s neck, making it look like pure ecstasy. their whispered compliments to me.

  “Divine.”

  “The most perfect thing in this room.”

  But I also hear what they say about Nykky.

  “Doesn’t he look ridiculous?”

  “Like a marionette with the strings cut.”

  “What a sloppy little thing.”

  I want to stop.

  I want to scream at them and throw every spell I even know at them.

  I want to fucking die.

  “Just do it,” Nykky whispers, voice barely audible.

  If I don’t keep going, the Matrons will punish him or worse… they will give him to someone who will keep going.

  I know that it being me is still not mercy to him, but I keep going… for our sake.

  --

  The Matrons applaud loudly when I finish, treating this moment like nothing more than theatre to them instead of torture.

  “That… was simply delightful,” the Mother Matron says, waving her hand. “Now take them away. That will be all tonight.”

  Nykky slides from my hips and collapses to the floor like a ragged doll so I try to lift him.

  The handmaids slap my hand away and he’s dragged out by the leash. Still glistening with sweat and guilt, I’m led in the opposite direction to be bathed and wrapped in silk sheets like a spoiled pet.

  The weight of what just happened is still clinging to me and I know I will never be able to rinse it off.

  --

  Just as I expected, the rosewater and expensive oils they’ve bathed me in has done absolutely nothing to wash away my shame and guilt. With the hallways quiet now, I slip past the handmaids.

  I find Nykky exactly where I assumed they would leave him. He’s curled on the cold floor of one of the servant quarters, discarded like a broken instrument on rough stone. His hair is still tangled and the paint on his mouth is smeared into streaks along his cheeks.

  I sit down next to him.

  “Nykky?” I whisper. “It’s me… it’s Alexios.”

  His eyes snap open and I realize he’s furious… at me.

  “Stop it.”

  I freeze immediately and panic sets in.

  “Let me take care of you, my love. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Go away,” he says. “Don’t you sit there and try to get me to feel alright again. I’m not.”

  “I know, Nykky. I know you’re not. I just…”

  “You looked beautiful,” he scoffs. “Did you enjoy their praise, hmm? They called you divine. They laughed at me.”

  I cover my face with my hands, desperate to shield my guilt.

  “I hated every fucking second…”

  “But you played along,” he spits as his body shakes. “You always do. You smiled for them and you touched me like I was a thing to show off. Not a person, Alexios. A thing. You let them laugh while I… while you…”

  His voice breaks as he turns away from me.

  I reach for him, but he jerks away like I’ve burnt him.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” I plead.

  “Do you know what it feels like to be compared to you?” Nykky growls. “I’m not even a person anymore. I’m just a joke. I will always be a joke to them.”

  “You are not a joke,” I say as my own voice cracks with the weight of a hundred emotions weighing down on me. “You are everything to me. I am nothing without you.”

  “Shut up!” he snaps. Tears pour from his green eyes. “You’re their favorite because you make it look so easy and beautiful. I don’t have that luxury.”

  I fall silent. What could I even say that would comfort him right now? There’s simply nothing.

  “I don’t want you to see me like this. Not ever again. Leave me here, Alexios. Go. Now.”

  “Absolutely not,” I state. “I will never leave you. Even when I close my eyes, you are still there.”

  His lips tremble as he rolls onto his side away from me. I watch helplessly as his bound arms twitch uselessly.

  I try to give him space, but I desperately want to hold him and say something to make it right, but I know nothing will.

  Eventually, Nykky allows me to walk with him to our shared space. He hasn’t spoken in hours. I help him into the cot as best as I can and he immediately turns to face the wall. His golden skin glistens with dried sweat and filth.

  I sit beside him silently before slowly dipping a cloth into a bowl of water. I move to clean him and to my surprise, he doesn’t stop me.

  I start gently wiping the crimson pain from lips and it comes off in ugly streaks. Beneath it, I find that his lips are chapped and bruised at the edges. I dab gently, wanting nothing more than for this cloth to be enough to erase some part of the cruelty they put him through.

  “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers suddenly.

  His words shatter my heart. He deserves every kind and beautiful thing this forsaken world has to offer.

  “I’m not trying to fix anything,” I admit. “I just… want to see my Nykky again. You. Not whatever person they try to paint on you.”

  His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion.

  “I used to imagine what my first time would be like. I always thought it would be with you.”

  Nykky’s throat trembles and I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

  “I imagined it in a real home on the surface,” he continues. “Somewhere we weren’t living in constant fear. There’d be a fireplace and a real bed. Not some shitty cot or chunk of stone. Just… a bed we picked out together.”

  He sighs a shaky breath as fresh tears slip down his cheeks.

  “I wanted to be whole when you touched me and to reach for you with my own hands. I wanted nothing more than to give myself to you fully, not for them to take and rip me apart like I’m nothing more than a toy they like to break for fun.”

  “Nykky…”

  “I wanted it to be us, Alexios. I wanted to fall asleep with you afterwards in a warm bed. I wanted us to have a life… a family.”

  I press the cloth into the bowl, but I can’t keep my hands steady anymore.

  “I wanted that too,” I admit.

  “Then why didn’t you fight for it?”

  I stare down at my hands.

  “Because I was afraid,” I answer honestly. “I thought surviving meant just… enduring. Not fighting. Not dying.”

  “I dreamed for both of us, but it didn’t even matter. It’s all gone.”

  “No… it isn’t.”

  “Well, it sure feels like it, Alexios.”

  I reach out, hands still trembling, and gently kiss his nose before pressing my forehead against his.

  “It isn’t gone,” I repeat. “They took your hands. They paint your mouth. They did not take you. I still see you and I will love you for the rest of my life, do you hear me?”

  “I’m not the boy you fell in love with.”

  “If that’s true, which it is not, then I am not the boy you fell in love with either. We’re different now, sure. But we are still here.”

  He doesn’t respond to my words, but I can hear him breathing and it’s enough for now.

  I clean the rest of the paint away and brush the tangles from his curls. As I lay down beside him, he turns over and presses his head into my chest.

  I know he won’t be able to sleep tonight, but I can only hope that when I reach down and lace my fingers softly with his, he doesn’t feel as alone even as he bleeds without wounds.