Roses Wilt, Bites Scar [boyxboy]

Chapter XVIII

~Friday 10th June 2011~

Arlo winced as he clawed his way back to consciousness. Surely, it wasn't supposed to be more painful to actually get better than it was to remain asleep. Then again, he hadn't been asleep. It felt worse than that, heavier, hanging on his shoulders and risking dragging him down further than he had been before. He wasn't sure what had happened, but it hadn't left any pleasant after-effects.

His eyes fluttered open, requiring more effort than he had anticipated as he squinted in the low light of the room. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. Then he began to recognise the dark walls, almost pulsing the shifting candlelight. Emeri's bedroom, of course. Had the man hurt him? Had he bled him too much again? Arlo couldn't remember, he couldn't remember anything since he had been speaking with Rourke in the kitchen.

Turning his head, Arlo felt the corners of his mouth raise ever so slightly as he caught sight of the silhouette at the window. Basked in the glow of the fires beneath, Emeri looked like a god. Tall, confident, yet somehow tense. Arlo could see it even just from looking at his back, the muscles were taught under the t-shirt he was wearing. A t-shirt? How bizarre, Emeri usually wore nothing other than suits. Even if he were to lay with Arlo in bed, he would still wear slacks and a button-up. Granted, he would roll up his sleeves and undo a few buttons, but he still looked the epitome of professionalism.

He was wearing sweatpants too, black ones of course, that hung low on his hips, contrasting against the pale grey of the t-shirt. Arlo almost giggled, wondering how it was that Emeri could always look so damn perfect. Be it in casual clothing, or a three thousand dollar suit, he always looked gorgeous. Arlo wanted to be angry about that, sadly, he couldn't. It only brightened his mood.

"I want to paint you one day," Arlo's voice sounded hoarse, his throat hurting when he spoke, but it did the trick. Emeri whirled on his heel, crossing the room to tower over the bed. Despite the displeasure in his expression, the concern in his eyes was clear. He had been worrying, maybe he really had done all that to Arlo. The boy hoped not, he was fine anyway, he didn't want Emeri to feel guilty whether it was his fault or not.

"You are the most idiotic, fucking moronic, imbecile I have ever brought here. Humans are supposed to be intelligent, and you display nothing more than stupidity," Emeri's words were harsh, yet his tone still wavered, his eyes softening as he perched on the bed next to Arlo, "you could have died, did you know that? You could have fucking died," Arlo smiled, albeit lopsided and weak, reaching out to touch Emeri's cheek, only to gasp at the markings on his fingertips. White scorch marks, the same shade as the fires he had been so desperate to touch, almost glowed in the low light of the room. They coated his fingertips, although Arlo felt no sense of pain when he brushed them over one another.

"Soul fragments, from the fires," Emeri explained, taking Arlo's hand gently between his own, "the pits are dangerous, Arlo, that's why I told you not to go outside. You're human, the souls out there cling to you, not to mention the soulless. You're lucky there weren't any nearby, they would have torn you apart."

"Mmm, that's your job," Arlo trailed his fingers over Emeri's palm in absent patterns, paying no attention to the action despite the man watching with intent, "I can't remember what happened, Em, is that bad?"

"You threw yourself into a pit, Arlo, I'd say a little amnesia was to be expected," Emeri's voice dripped with venom, causing Arlo's smile to fade, "I don't even know how you got outside, but you did. You scaled the fucking fence, which tore through your thigh," Arlo's eyes drifted down to his left leg, finding a thick white bandage wrapped tightly around it, "you're lucky I noticed you out the window. I caught you when you fell... But I almost didn't," Emeri looked away, casting his eyes down to Arlo's hand as he rubbed his thumbs over the back of it, "you're not allowed to die until I say so, OK? I'll put that in fucking writing if I need to. You're mine, Arlo, I own you, and you don't get to go before I want you to," Arlo chuckled, daring to sit up, grimacing ever so slightly as he dragged a hand through his matted curls. Emeri didn't seem to notice, simply continuing to scowl down at the boy's hand.