Blueprint

14: Illusory

Amari didn't know how long he'd been staring at the ceiling. He didn't know how long he'd lay there, quiet, preparing himself for the lonely nights to come.

Well, they were all lonely nights, weren't they? Company was not something men under mattresses tended to be good at providing. He and Synelis were not truly with each other. Each other's presences hadn't been made known nightly. They'd kept to themselves.

But Amari had always been delicately aware of Synelis' presence. His breath, whether quiet and calm or ragged and nervous, had always been known to Amari. He heard the man turn in his dreams, felt the bed creak when he, in nightmares, tossed and fretted. It shouldn't have been a comfort. It should've been worrisome, frightening, to know there was a man so near under his mattress. And yet, it wasn't. It was warmth. It was safety. It was the absence of loneliness, and loneliness had been one of the few constants in Amari's life since taking this job.

Amari rolled onto his side, clutching his abdomen. He felt his chest tighten with each breath, felt his sorrow collect at the base of his throat. This was it. The last moments he had with a stranger. A stranger he shouldn't have cared about at all, but still, his heart ached in preparation for his absence.

You're being stupid, He thought, curling further into himself, he's not your friend. Never was.

Amari knew his affinity for the high elf was unhealthy at best. Insane at worst. It would be best to forget the man, to refuse to assign any value to their relationship that never was.

Synelis wasn't a friend.

Amari couldn't bear to tell himself that, even just one more time.

He opened his eyes with a jolt, sitting upright just in time to watch his door careen off of its hinges and into the wall beside it. The noise sent a disorienting ache through his forehead, and he immediately pressed himself back into the mattress with a drawn out groan.

Shouting, crashing, yelling—all of which made his headache far, far worse—resounded through the room. He shut his eyes tightly, grappling for his pillow so he could cover his ears with it.

"Nope!"

He gasped as the pillow was ripped out of his hands and, with much indignation, sat straight up.

"Get out of the bed, Alantar."

Astrid was standing there, her face red and even a bit sweaty, with the pillow hanging out of her hand. She looked angry. Very angry.

"...What do you want?" Amari asked, his face pressing itself unbidden into a scowl. "You have no right to barge in my room, break my door, and interrupt my sleep. Go! Get out!"

Amari didn't know if it was because he was still in a tired stupor, or if something in him just couldn't take it anymore, but he'd never even thought of speaking to someone like that—let alone Astrid, of all people.

"You're under arrest," Astrid began, trudging across the room. She reached for Amari, but he tossed himself to the other side of the bed, quickly planting his feet on the ground.

"For what?" He hissed, his head beginning to clear. He realized then that Astrid was not the only person in the room. As a matter of fact, guards were stationed in the hall just outside the broken door, and a few had made their way into the room themselves.

"Obstruction of official business," She began, "harassment of the royal captain of the guard,"

"I never—"