The Man With The Gloves (mxmxmxm)

17. Catch me if you can

"I'm glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say."(Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca)

"Lift up your shirt. Now"

"Wow, Master Akhenaton, would you look at that! The sun is up in the sky now, and the little birds are -"

"Fayez, stop fucking around. Do it now." Akhenaton sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Is that a friendly suggestion or-"

" For a supposedly shy person, you sure talk a lot. It's a goddamn order."

"O- ok, then."

No fucking way, Fayez thought, as he feigned to obey, turning around while his hands grabbed the edges of his shirt.

He needed an emergency exit of some sort to appear right now in front of him, because the last thing he wanted was for Akhenaton to see the burn. It wasn't just because the prefect would then tell the Headmaster that Fayez was too fragile to remain at the ISB.

For some reason, he wanted the brunette to think he was stronger than that. He wanted him to look at him with respect, maybe even fondness, just like he apparently did, a couple of times during training, or on other occasions, when he thought that none was paying him any attention.

Helmut and Nassiba had been adament about it: the prefect couldn't seem to take his eyes off Fayez very long, just like Fayez was constantly double-checking the three men.

That's why Akhenaton couldn't know about the self-harm. He didn't want his pity, or for the handsome man to think that Fayez was some sort of freak.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any emergency exit magically appearing before his eyes. After all, they were still standing on a fucking roof.

Unless...

That was pretty risky. Actually, that was even borderline suicidal, and if he even made it in one piece, then he better hoped for his sake that his road would never cross Akhenaton's again.

Well, then, you know the saying. Nothing ventured nothing gained. Wise words, perfectly fitted for the situation Fayez was in, right?

Right?

He was a vampire. Highs were his forte. Maybe he could do it.

He turned his head to give one last look at the sorcerer. The prefect narrowed his eyes in confusion, before opening them wide at the realization of what Fayez was about to do.

"Bye then, Akhenaton, Lord of Assholes and impossibly attractive sorcerer. It was a pleasure being under your care." Fayez winked at him, as if he wasn't scared shitless inside.

"Fayez, wai-"

It was too late. Whether in stories or in real life, it's often too late. All you can do is hopelessly watch your loved ones fall over and over again into the same spiral of self-hatred, and hope that at some point they will willingly take your helping hand.

Of course, as he was quickly falling toward his painful end, Fayez wasn't thinking about  Akhenaton's feelings, or even putting his thoughts into so many words.

The only thought that was on his mind was the plain good old "fuck."

He hadn't thought that the Castle would be so high. He had no chances of making it alive. His body would be crushed into tiny pieces and his blood would be splattered on the flower beds.

Such a nasty picture.

As only a few meters were separating him from the ground, he closed his eyes tightly, hoping that he would die on the spot.