Butterfly

Chapter 7

Acelin made on a picrew creator that I'm an absolute simp for.

Isn't he gorgeous?

It was Deo who woke Alastair when the doctor arrived, his mother nowhere to be seen.

The doctor was quick - setting down his stuff, silently going about his duties before retreating to another room after beckoning Deo to him.

Alastair didn't know what the doctor had found, but he knew from the expression he had had on his face when he removed all of Alastair's bandages that he knew.

Or he had a pretty good guess.

When Deo returned to the room (minus the doctor, plus a few bottles of what Alastair presumed to be medication), he had an expression on his face that Alastair could only label as weird.

Deo approached him, before stopping a few steps away and began looking from Alastair and away, then back again. Alastair levelled a deadpan look at him. Deo awkwardly cleared his throat.

After a few more moments of suffocating awkward silence, Alastair sighed.

"Just spit it out already." He groaned.

Deo flinched.

"The doctor said..." He played with his ear sheepishly, tugging on his earrings, "We need to thoroughly clean all your wounds."

Alastair gave Deo a look.

What was wrong with that?

"So you need to, uh, bath-"

Alastair couldn't stop the laughter that burst from his lips, surprising both of them as his voice filled the room. Deo was ridiculous - and innocent - but so...

"You're so fucking cute," He wheezed, tears coming to his eyes as he laughed. Alastair pulled back the covers he was tucked under, noting that he did (indeed) have pants on, and stood from the bed. "Let's go then!"

He swayed on his feet slightly, and the first step he took was weak and unsteady, but then Deo was there, a slight blush dusting his brown skin as he slipped his arm under Alastair's, supporting him as he walked.

"This way."

***

Acelin

He stared at his paper blankly, pen tapping in hand, making small dots of black on his otherwise empty piece of paper. He was still trying to wrap his head around yesterday. How had he never noticed how his twin had changed over the years? 

Why would Alastair do that?

A soft knock rapped gently against his bedroom door, and Acelin turned his head slightly to watch as it cracked open and his adoptive mother popped her head in. He studied her tired, wrinkled face. 

What was it about these people that made Alastair like this?

She gave him a weak smile.

"How are you holding up, sweetheart?" Her voice was warm and soothed the surge of nerves that had threatened to overtake him from all his overthinking.

Acelin gave her no response - he wasn't exactly in the mood for talking. He needed to overthink a little more. She took that as an invitation to enter his room, crossing the distance between them quickly and pulling her into his arms. She stroked his hair softly.

"It will be alright, Ace, I'll bring back Alastair," The elderly woman's embrace was comforting.

Something wormed inside of him, squirming in his stomach uncomfortably.

"Mother..." The word seemed wrong on his tongue, "I think there was something wrong with Al."

She faltered for no more than a split second - a moment so brief Acelin could almost convince himself that it was just a figment of his imagination. A finger smoothed the creases on his brow, and she laughed in the same loving way an amused grandparent would.

"Do you think so? In all the seven years that I've known him, he has always had no trouble expressing his own discomfort," He could hear the sincerity in her voice. "I think that if there was something wrong, we would have heard about it by now."

That made sense.

Acelin nodded. His twin had always been vocal about what he liked and didn't like; when he was okay and not okay, so he found his mother's words (almost) believable. A pair of lips pressed to the top of his head.

"I'll go make you some dinner."

And then she was gone, not closing the door behind her.

Acelin stared blankly at open door - she knew how much it annoyed him when she didn't shut his door on the way out, so normally, she always made sure to take care that it was shut softly when she left. It was only Alastair who would leave his door ajar.

What was so different about tonight?

He frowned at the carpeted floor outside his room. He would never know why he did it, but when he got up to close the door, it was to shut it behind him as he left, and his feet lead him down the hallway to another closed door. No, this door was slightly open too. It was the same that Alastair had left it the morning before.

Acelin flattened his fingers lightly against the white wood, pushing it open more to expose the mess that lay behind it. Maybe the answer to all his questions didn't only lie with his twin - maybe it was within everything that Alastair had left behind as well.

His gut churned as he stepped into the room, pushing the door shut behind him with a small click. He stood there for a moment, the room so silent that it threatened to drown him as he looked around the room.

Something caught his eye.

Acelin breathed a curse.

The memory of Alastair throwing his shirt replayed in his mind as he glimpsed the bag hidden haphazardly beneath it.

It was appalling, really, how he had managed to miss something so fucking obvious. It had basically walked up and slapped his over the head and he hadn't noticed.

His voice broke as he crossed the room, tugging the shirt out of the way to reveal the package beneath. The clothing was stale with sweat. Acelin's hands shook.

What did they do to you, Lis?