Timeless Masters | boyxboy | (Book Two: The Master Collection)

Chapter XIV - Elijah Goode

It must have been around three in the morning when Quinn awoke. His head throbbed and suddenly his eyes were heavy with sleeplessness. The waterlily room was dark, save for the glare of the moonlight beaming in through the cracks in the curtains over the windows. He'd been disturbed by a single image in his dream, the silhouette of a tall figure swaying back and forth. Upon waking up, he already knew the identity of the person. Wanting to forget it all, Quinn closed his eyes, but quickly opened them again when the same picture appeared to his obscure mind. At this rate, he'd never get any sleep.

He turned over onto his side and there lay Oliver beside him. The boy was at peace in his time of slumber, untouched by any turbulence life could have possibly shown to him. Before, Quinn had been upset that Oliver was so blind to it all, ignorant to the true ugliness of the world they were condemned to be raised in, but now, there was no other way he would rather have it. As long as Oliver was aware that they needed, by all means, to be cautious with their love, it was enough. During his lifetime, Quinn hoped that his sweet love would never witness the cruelty, and be shown just how foul and disgusting others could be towards people like them. Quinn, with all his might and ability, would be an eternal shield that protected Oliver from such treatment for as long as he could.

Softly, as not to wake Oliver, Quinn pressed his nose into the curve of the blond boy's neck and shoulder. He savored the scent close to that of freshly picked freesia. Just by the scent, Quinn was reminded of the first time he'd ever made a crown of flowers for Oliver. It'd been twisted with white, purple, and pink freesia, and with every step the blonde boy took, the pretty aroma of the petals went with him. Those flowers were always the most fragile he'd ever handled, so whenever Quinn attempted to form them into a wearable crown, he remembered having to keep his touch mild so the stems would not break the moment he bent them. In a certain manner, that was how he envisioned his life with Oliver.

To keep their relationship steady and peaceful, he would need to be gentle with his words, and never waver when showing his love. With the warm, tenderhearted nature Oliver naturally emitted, to keep his mind and body untainted by malice, fondness and regard was what it would take to keep him whole. The moment any form of adverse disposition was shown to him, Quinn feared Oliver would never be the same.

Like him...

There had been a time when Quinn thought the world endlessly beautiful, a place filled with elegant spectacles and marvelous wonders. That is why he had been such an adventurous child. On countless occasions, he and Oliver, as small children, would explore the world and its beauties. Together they would study the shimmering stars at night, listen to lovely performances of music, and appreciate the stunning growth of flowers in each of the four seasons. It wasn't long, though, until Quinn learned that every star was untouchable, every song had its end, and flowers would soon wilt, especially after they were picked, cut off from the life supply that kept it going. For as long as he could, Quinn wanted to assist in keeping Oliver's innocence at ease, and sheltered by his very own loving hands.

With his body unwilling to go back to sleep, Quinn shuffled quietly out of bed. Having been bare of clothing, he threw on a pair of black trousers and an equally black shirt, not too concerned with buttoning it up all the way. He rustled the knots from his hair and left the bedroom.

As he made his way towards the stairs leading to the manor's main floor, Quinn folded his arms before his chest, and once he reached the second  floor, he was surprised to see an illumination at the end of the corridor. It was coming from the library. Inquiring at the thought of someone else being awake at this hour, Quinn started toward the room. Surely even the three house servants were sleeping.

The closer he got, the more of a sound he began to hear. Words could not be deciphered, but what Quinn did hear worried him.

It was a cry, one of internal pain and grief.