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“Hugue, do you want something? I was planning to go to bed.”
The swordsman stood still near the doorframe, his face pale.
“Master, may I stay?” the quiet voice escaped his lips.
Professor’s face softened. “Of course, my dear. Just get your things for sleeping.”
There was a big sigh from the younger aristocrat, his posture visibly relaxing. “Thank you.” He bowed and left for his apartment, which was next to William’s.
Wordsworth looked down at the pile of graded papers, feeling a brief sense of accomplishment. He had finished in record time, thanks to the help from Watteau.
Professor completed his nightly routine and stepped into the bedroom. Hugue was already there, half-naked, doing a series of push-ups.
Wordsworth quietly observed the harmony of flesh and mechanical hands working in unison. Finally, having seen enough, he sat down on the left side of the bed.
“Isn’t that enough, Hugue?”
“If I want to maintain my form, it must be done. I don’t want my artificial limbs to start falling apart again,” he answered, not interrupting his training.
“I can always repair them, so they fit properly.”
“I don’t want to trouble you, Master.”
William sighed. His student was genuine, but Wordsworth himself would do anything to make this young man’s life better. He felt that Hugue had suffered too much for such a pure soul.
Finally standing, Watteau put on a black T-shirt with a deep neckline. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Professor noticed the beads of sweat on his exposed skin.
“Don’t you want to take a shower first?”
“I’ll shower in the morning, if that’s not a problem,” he said, looking into his teacher’s face.
“I don’t mind. I’ve seen you in much worse condition than you are today.” A flicker of pain passed through the blue iris.
Silence. The sword-dancer let his long hair fall loose, placing his ribbon on the nightstand. His master moved closer.
“Don’t push yourself too hard, please. It hasn’t been long since they let you out of the hospital,” William whispered.
Hugue felt a chaos of emotions. Guilt—for once again making the kind professor afraid, worried, suffering because of his own mistakes. Happiness—for being loved by his friend, knowing there was someone in this world who cared about him. And love—platonic love for kindness, for concern, for everything Wordsworth did for him, and for Wordsworth himself.
Gentle fingers touched the newest scars on his neck, tracing them from end to end. A shiver ran through Hugue.
“It’s healed nicely, but you can’t forget how many operations you’ve undergone in your life. It’s not healthy for a human body to be opened and stitched again and again.”
Wordsworth realized how intimate he was being and jerked his hand away. “I apologize, my dear. It’s probably sleep deprivation talking.” He looked away, got up, and searched for his pipe.
“Master.”
Professor turned back.
“Please don’t smoke.”
A chuckle escaped the scientist’s lips. “My dearest student, how could I escape my own dark addiction?”
The green eyes looked pleadingly. “Please, return to bed. You always talk about healthy habits, yet how can I not worry when I see how much you’re damaging your lungs?”
Wordsworth fidgeted nervously. He desperately wanted another dose of nicotine—to feel his anxiety fade, to feel human again and not like a burden.
But meeting the emerald eyes, full of worry, changed his decision. He smiled and raised his hands.
“You’ve won this round, Hugue. But don’t think it’ll be that easy to break me of it. Let’s get some sleep.”
The lights went off as both men lay quietly on their sides of the bed. Only the sound of their breathing could be heard.
Images began to form again in the swordsman’s mind. He tried to think of something else, to imagine a basket full of kittens, but an uncertain sense of horror filled his body.
Breathe. One, two, three...
All the things he’d done wrong, the mistakes—welcoming him back. And when mistakes whisper their secrets, it’s only a step before other demons of the mind take control.
The fire. The screams. The blood. His family’s bodies... all the horrors... He could have prevented it. Why didn’t he? Why couldn’t he fight back? Why could he only watch?
Everything at once—reality and dreams, dreams and nightmares, fantasies—blending together perfectly to make him feel pain, guilt, disgust, anxiety, fear—
Watteau rolled to Wordsworth’s side.
“Master,” he whispered.
“Hm, yes, Hugue?”
“Can I get closer?”
After a moment, the answer came softly: “Yes, come here, my boy.”
The blond man moved, burying his face against the back of the other. He could smell the professor’s shampoo—now unmixed with the tobacco scent that usually lingered on everything William touched.
Hugue’s heart was pounding, but it slowly calmed as he felt the warmth and heartbeat of another human being.
“Do you want to talk about it? About what’s making you so worried and afraid?” his friend’s voice asked gently.
“N-no, not today. Maybe when it’s not so dark...”
“You have dreams—nightmares, don’t you?” William easily deduced the truth.
He felt the apprentice nod.
“It’s a burden of your subconscious. If you don’t talk about it, your nightmares won’t leave you.”
“I don’t want to trouble you...”
“And I want you to be happy—to have the chance to live your life fully, without repeating my mistakes. You’ve closed off your past, my dear, so now you should start building your future.”
“But Master, what about you?”
The stillness of the night was his only answer. For a moment that felt like eternity.
“I have things to do. My past is still an open wound. You got your revenge—I’m still searching for the man who caused it all.” His tone was darker than usual.
“It’s too dangerous—”
“Didn’t I let you finish him, even though you were barely standing? Do you think it was easy to let you go after him? Do you think it was easy to live with the guilt, with all the ‘if I had gone with him to kill Memlick, he wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital in critical condition’?” Professor suddenly turned to face his student.
His brows were deeply furrowed. Their eyes met—blue like a morning sky, green like spring meadows.
“Forgive me—” both voices said at once, then stopped. The awkward silence was broken by William’s soft laugh.
“I really can’t stay angry at you. You only need to realize you aren’t immortal or indestructible, Hugue.” He closed his eyes, resting.
The younger man curled beside him like a wounded animal. His long blond hair brushed William’s face.
“You’re human too, Master. There’s no point in breaking your limits all the time,” Watteau whispered tenderly.
“I can’t... I can’t help myself. It’s the only way I know how to live in this world.”
“That’s why I need to teach you how to care for your body, Master. See? I’ve already made progress. When I went away, you didn’t forget to eat at least one meal a day. That’s much better than when we first met.”
William could hear the smile in his student’s voice. He reached out and ran a hand through the blond hair, petting him like a cat. He was glad that Hugue trusted him this much. It had taken years to show the younger man that not everyone would hurt him, and that it was safe to be vulnerable. Sadly, Wordsworth still couldn’t do the same without feeling guilty about it.
Both of them let silence fall again, trying to surrender to sleep.
Wordsworth didn’t know how much time had passed when the man next to him began to tremble. At first, he didn’t notice, but soon the quick, hot breath against his skin made Hugue’s discomfort obvious.
“Hugue, are you alright?”
Watteau clung tighter, pressing his body against the professor’s.
“Try to focus on your breathing,” the older man said, slowly stroking his back.
“I—I’m trying...” The student quickly sat up, his eyes wide. Blond hair fell over his shoulders.
Wordsworth sat up too, ready to help.
The erratic breathing slowly calmed as Hugue meditated in silence.
“Should I get you some pills?”
“No, I hate taking pills,” he murmured, looking down in shame. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
“I should stop bothering you, Master,” the green eyes drifted toward the window. The bright moons shone full. Watteau imagined running away—freeing himself from the pointless life he lived, from the past and the present. He longed for it—for uncertainty, for the adrenaline.
A hand gripped his biological arm tightly.
“Hugue.” There was a pause as William searched for the right words. “Don’t. I’d rather you bother me than be gone,” he whispered—a plea more than words.
Realization struck Hugue. He knew the professor’s greatest weakness: loneliness. The loneliness of living among humans yet. Perhaps all Terrans and even Methuselahs shared that trait. Everyone feels alone.
And the professor feared it. He feared being left behind. What to Hugue seemed like a dream of freedom was, to his teacher, a nightmare.
“I won’t abandon you.”
The deep sigh William released revealed how much anxiety still coursed through him.
“Let’s try sleeping again, yes, Master?”
William nodded, letting his arm fall away. Hugue was sure the man’s grip had left bruises, but he made a mental note not to show them. He didn’t want to see guilt in his friend’s eyes.
Wordsworth lay on his right side. Watteau pulled him close.
“I’m sorry if I wake you again—”
“My dear student, what nonsense. I’ll gladly assist you however I can, if you’ll do the same for me.”
“Of course. I promised to stay by your side as your unworthy apprentice.”
“Good.” A tired smile crossed Wordsworth’s face as his eyes closed.
An arm pulled Hugue into a hug. The older man didn’t mind the intimacy they shared when no one else was watching. It was pleasant to know someone would stay with him, even after so many nightmares had been buried in the past.
“I hope the hell in your mind will soon disappear.”
“Mhm... I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the memories of that night, Master. I’ve seen too much pain...”
“And I wish you could experience no more pain—only happiness. Do you know how much more beautiful you look when you smile?”
“Are you jealous of my good looks?” Hugue teased; without sarcasm, it wouldn’t be him.
“Oh, so you’re making fun of me when I’m sacrificing my sweet sleep for your comfort? Did I hear you right?” the professor replied in the same tone.
“No, you didn’t hear me. Good night.”
“Good night, my dearest student.”