The room was dark, only the dying candle on the table casting trembling shadows on the walls.
"That's it," Thomas whispered, pulling the final knot tight. "Try not to move in your sleep."
He lifted his head. The candle was positioned so that the light fell directly on his face. He froze, looking up at Anastas.
Anastas wanted to thank him, but the words stalled on his lips. He suddenly realized he couldn't look away. He had looked at Thomas hundreds of times, but never — like this. He usually saw only the outer shell: fair hair, soft, clear facial features, and a kind smile. But now, he suddenly saw him with different eyes.
In the dim light, his eyes became dark, bottomless. And the longer he looked, the more his breath caught in his throat. He saw something achingly familiar in them.
I remember... this look, flashed through his mind.
For a moment, everything blurred before Anastas's eyes. The walls of the cramped room vanished, replaced by the majestic golden columns of a palace and bright sunlight.
"Anastas?" Thomas called out softly. "Are you alright? You're looking at me so..."
The man leaned forward, ignoring the pain. His good hand rose, and his fingers froze a millimeter from his cheek. He felt his warm breath, which had suddenly grown heavy, and saw how his pupils dilated from the sudden closeness.
"Who are you?" Anastas breathed out, putting all his despair into the phrase. "Who are you really?"
Thomas blinked, and for a second, the hazy vision in his eyes disappeared, replaced by bewilderment.
"I... I'm just Thomas. What's wrong?"
Anastas pulled back sharply. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.
"Right," the man replied hollowly. "Thomas. Of course. Let's sleep."
He heard the other hesitate, then quietly get up and walk over to his bed. Then he heard the creak of floorboards and the rustle of fabric. But Anastas himself could not relax. He lay there with his eyes closed. That fleeting glimpse in Thomas's eyes had changed something within him. Now, he wouldn't be able to simply ignore this feeling.
He barely slept that night; he was feverish, and his condition noticeably worsened. Thomas kept watch over him the entire night. His shoulder burned, every heartbeat echoed with a painful pulsation that pulled at the stitches, and the wound ached.
He dreamed in fragments. In these dreams, he was the king of ancient, majestic lands. But most importantly — Athit was by his side. It was so real that in his sleep, he almost suffocated from the piercing yearning.
The morning turned out to be difficult. The fever had broken slightly, but the dull, pulling ache in his shoulder persisted. Furthermore, he was constantly thirsty; his mouth was so dry that his tongue felt like sandpaper.
Thomas didn't leave him alone for a minute, tending to him.
Anastas watched Thomas, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, looking thoughtfully out the window, and felt something clench inside him. In every gesture the young man made, in the way he brushed the hair from his forehead, in a random turn of his head — he now searched for and found Him. Athit. It was maddening. He wanted to reach out to him, pull him close, make sure he was real, that he was here, but instead, he could only continue to lie there and watch him.
The city, meanwhile, was already waking up: cartwheels creaked on the cobblestone pavement, and street vendors called out to one another somewhere in the distance.
The sound of the opening door interrupted his thoughts.
"Good morning, Tommy. And good health to you, commander," a familiar voice rang out.
Eist entered the room and sat down on the creaky chair like he owned the place, casually crossing one leg over the other.
"I'm not staying long. I came to let you know that I have to step away for a couple of days. I need to meet up with some old acquaintances. So, I suppose our paths diverge for a while. What's your plan from here?"
"We'll stay here for a few days until Stas feels better, then we'll move on."
"Well, alright," Eist rose easily and soundlessly.
The mercenary reached out and placed a hand on Thomas's shoulder, giving it a companionable squeeze.
"Take care of yourself, Tommy. Be careful."
"See you around," he nodded uncertainly under the intense gaze of the gray eyes. Eist turned and walked out.
The next three days in London blurred into one long, viscous dream for Anastas. The first days after an injury are the hardest and most painful. They hardly left their room. Eist had stitched it thoroughly — there was no infection, and the sharp pain was replaced by a dull, but tolerable pulsation.
Eist never showed up during those days. Anastas couldn't care less, but Thomas, it seemed, did.
The evening before, sitting by the window and looking out at the rain-swept street, the young man suddenly said thoughtfully:
"Do you think we'll cross paths with him again?"
There was ordinary curiosity in the question, but Anastas felt as if he had been lashed across the face. He remained silent, but everything inside him turned to ice. Why was Thomas even thinking about him? What had he managed to stir in his soul in such a short time? He was jealous, but he didn't let it show.
Four days later, Anastas felt significantly better, and they decided it was time to move on. There was no longer any need to stay in the city.
"I'm going to the market for supplies," Thomas announced, throwing on his cloak.
"I'll go with you," Anastas immediately stood up, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder.
"No," Thomas turned around. "Are you going to follow on my heels again, gritting your teeth through the pain? Anastas, stop babying me. I'll buy dried meat, bread, and cheese, and you finish up here. I can handle it alone."
Anastas wanted to object, but looking at the determination in Thomas's face, he gave in. If he continued to smother him with his control, the boy would simply pull away.
Two travel bags lay on the floor by the bed. Anastas stood in the middle of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, listening to the noise from the street. By all accounts, Thomas should have returned by now. The market was only three blocks from their inn.
Time dragged on slowly. Anastas began to pace the small room. He recalled every feature of his face and that look from the other night. They hadn't even really talked all these days. Should he risk it? Should he try to bring up the past?
Footsteps finally sounded in the hallway. He let out a sigh of relief.
"What took you so lo—" the man began, turning around, but stopped short.
Eist stood in the doorway. His hair was slightly disheveled, and the same lazy smirk played on his lips.
"A good morning to you too," the mercenary drawled, stepping over the threshold uninvited once again and closing the door behind him. "I hope you're not too disappointed."
"What are you doing here?"
"Plans changed," Eist shrugged, moving further into the room. "My acquaintances weren't as accommodating as I had hoped. I had to... expedite the negotiations."
He cast a glance at the packed bags.
"I see you haven't been sitting idle either. Were you planning to leave without waiting for me?"
Eist turned and swept his attentive gaze around the room. The smile slowly slid from his lips.
"Where is our golden boy?"
Anastas clenched his jaw. Eist's presence was irritating, but the fact that Thomas still wasn't back was starting to unnerve him.
"He went to the market for food," he threw out shortly.
Eist raised an eyebrow.
"To the market? Alone?" He looked at the clock in the corner of the room, then shifted his gaze out the window. "How long ago?"
"What do you care?"
"You know, Anastas, I thought you were smarter."
"What are you getting at?"
"At the fact, my dear friend, that today there is a shortage of sailors for merchant ships at the port. Press gangs are roaming the city. And our Tommy — young, strong, and, most importantly, completely unfamiliar with the area — is perfect prey."
"He can take care of himself," he said, but his voice didn't sound firm enough.
Eist let out a short, joyless laugh.
"Here, there are only those who devour, and those who get devoured. And if the right people approached him, he might not have even realized how he ended up in a blind alley with a knife to his ribs."
Anastas stopped listening. He snatched up his weapon abruptly. His eyes darkened with rage. If anything happened to Thomas, if he lost him again...
Eist blocked his path to the door.
"Move," Anastas growled, placing his hand on the hilt of his blade.
"Easy, commander," he raised his hands placatingly, but didn't budge. "I'm coming with you. With your bad shoulder, you'll hardly take down more than one. Besides, I've grown fond of him too. I don't want him scrubbing a deck somewhere out at sea."
Anastas glared at him for a few seconds, trying to find the catch, but there was no time to argue.
"Let's go," he gritted through his teeth.
The other simply smirked, letting him pass.