'Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, when they are bound to serve, love, and obey.'
"What have you been working on that's been keeping you so busy recently?" Olena asked, quietly.
Henry shrugged slightly, "It's just a few of the assignments from uni and some personal things that I've been wanting to write and focus on, instead of being so focused on my academics all the time."
"Alright then, just, you know, take your breaks and don't stretch yourself too thin."
Henry glanced at her, and smile, "Of course. You worry too much."
"Of course I do," Olena mutters under her breath.
She pretends she doesn't see the dark bags under his eyes, she pretends she doesn't see the coldness that clouds his eyes, she ignores the questions that raise in her head; and she ignores the fact that some of his washing was stained pink, and the copper was stark against the edges of his hoodies.
She never said a word, and maybe that was her crime.
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[Name] didn't know how long it had been, it had been too long, and the hope of ever being found was starting to dwindle; including that it seemed that Lucian was gone as well––no answer from someone that was supposed to help him and guide him through these worlds, yet he was here, alone, and stuck.
He stared at the floor, and his body ached, he was still stuck in this chair.
The skin around his wrists were red and raw, they ached, and throbbed, and he remembered a few times his hands were slick with his blood––he remembered how they beaded up on his skin, coming up in rivulets.
It reminded him––
Of what?
He couldn't seem to remember, what– what was it? What did it remind him of? Surely he'd know, he's remembered this far––
Remember what?
His body ached, and it had been so long down here he couldn't really picture many of the things above anymore.
[Name] lifted his head up slowly, his neck straining from his head leaning forward for so long, and he looked around once more, the room was as he remembered, grey, damp, the light flickered, and a few boxes were stuffed in the corner, a few bars and an old bed pushed into the corner, something [Name] was only allowed to use when he was deemed 'good' by Henry.
What was he trying to remember? Why is it so fuzzy?
[Name]'s head span, and he leaned his head back, aching and sore, but maybe a slight change in positions would help his circumstances––be closed his eyes, but that singular light was too bright for him to completely doze off, so here he was, stuck in a weird limbo of sleep and awareness.
He's so tired, it's been so long, I just want to sleep, let me sleep…
[Name] barely moved as he heard the door down to the basement open, and he kept his eyes closed, maybe that would spare him from looking at Henry, maybe it'd also spare him the weird twisted sense of… something. Whatever it was, it didn't matter, all that mattered was that he was stuck, here, and no escape or disastrous consequences for his body followed.
He jolted when the other tugged roughly at his hair and landed a harsh smack on his cheek, his head snapping to the side, his eyes snapped open and his heart rate picked up––[Name] let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"The hell is wrong with you––"
Another slap around the face. [Name]'s head snapped to the other side, before he slowly looked up at Henry, and the satisfaction on the other's face made him grimace, before he took a breath and slowly exhaled, shakily.
"Glad you're learning," the other purred, and it made [Name]'s skin crawl.
[Name] didn't respond, but simply watched as Henry walked back to where the door was, and picked up a plate of food [Name] had not seen he brought in. Against his own will, his stomach burned slightly, feeling the hunger at seeing the food; [Name] looked down at the floor once more, he was not above eating, since he knew he'd need it to keep his energy up to keep his strength up, but with how little he is allowed to move, [Name] wondered if it was worth it to simply eat.
Henry set the tray of food on the small table, and the silence fell between them.
Henry kneeled down in front of [Name], almost gingerly, reaching out to touch the latter's cheek, [Name] watched him with a detached gaze, "How are your wrists?"
[Name]'s voice was raspy from disuse, "Sore."
Henry hums slightly, and reaches for a small roll of gauze, and looks at [Name], "I'll unbind your wrists so you can eat. Don't try anything."
[Name] stays still, silent.
Henry pulls a folding chair closer and sits behind [Name], knees nearly touching the back of the chair, [Name] can feel the warmth emanating from the other. Henry leans forward and takes [Name]'s wrists into his hands, inspecting the rope, his touch was clinical but not without care.
"Your right hand is swelling," Henry looks closer, and seeks the rawness and the dried blood, "You've been working the knot again, haven't you?"
[Name] huffs slightly, he almost snorts, but stays silent, not wishing to be slapped once more. Whether the huff was a restrained laugh, out of disgust or sardonic amusement, Henry didn't know.
"You've offered me food after how long…? Not letting me sleep, nor rest. What did you want from me?"
Henry's hands stilled slightly, before tightening the knot slightly, causing [Name] to wince, "I expect acceptance, and I expect you to act accordingly."
[Name]'s jaw tenses slightly, Henry watches him, gaze heavy––intense and oppressive––akin to someone studying a specimen, but when he speaks, his voice softens ever so slightly.
"This isn't to punish you," Henry undoes the ropes and applies the gauze, slow, methodical, [Name] doesn't move, he doesn't try, "I simply want to keep you safe."
[Name] twists his neck slightly to look over his shoulder, anger and indignation burn brightly in his gaze, "That's why you're trussing me up like a roast eh?" [Name] snarls slightly, tone bitter, resentful.
Henry simply smirks and stands up, checking the chain around [Name]'s ankle was secure, and gestures to the tray of food once more before dusting the imaginary dust off his clothes before walking towards the stairs. Without a last glance back, he ascends the stairs, each step echoing, heavy, unrelenting, and slowly quietens. [Name] looks down at his wrists, and the freshly applied gauze and bandages.
The food sits there, the sandwich and the bottle of water.
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Henry leans against the inside of the door, the latch is locked, but he stays, still, waiting, and listening. The silence on the other side of the room, echoes, before the faintest clink and the rustling of metal on floor, but there was nothing else.
No sound of the tray moved, no crack of plastic from the water bottle, nor ripping of the wrapper.
Henry sighs and leans against the door, thinking to himself, 'He should've eaten by now.'
He steps away from the door, his shoes echoing softly through the hallway. Walking past the paintings his sister had chosen, past the pantry walking to his office, where many documents were held, including Leo's file, thick with printouts, reports and photographs. Henry sits down, and opens it, not because he needed to, nor checking for anything new; he knew the information about Leo, from his medical records, to his family, and any relatives.
A photo slides loose––Leo, at the library, face stony in concentration, typing away at his laptop, unaware. Focused, passionate, determined.
The police cars outside on the street, they drive slowly, patrolling.
They're looking.