TW: Violence
The echoes of band camp drums still pounded in his ears, but a new rhythm pulsed through him now, one he hadn't signed up for. Fever. It wasn't the gentle warmth of sunlight on skin; this was a wildfire blazing through his veins, turning his blood to molten lava. Every thought, every carefully constructed defence, melted away in the face of this relentless inferno. All that remained was raw, unfiltered feeling, a primal surge that thrummed beneath his skin and clawed its way to the surface.
"Ah..." Enzo groaned, the sound scraping raw against his parched throat. He drained the last drops from the glass on his nightstand, wincing at the metallic tang of stale water. Even this was a mercy to his desert-dry mouth.
He pushed himself off the bed, limbs leaden and uncooperative. A clumsy stumble sent papers and empty food cartons cascading from his desk to the floor. The sigh that escaped him wasn't one of relief, but of bitter irony. He'd survived a harrowing accident without a scratch, yet here he was, felled by a simple fever. It felt like a cruel joke at the expense of his hard-won resilience.
But why such drama over a mere fever, you might wonder? Haven't we all experienced this before? Even the strongest among us are humbled by even a mild temperature. A fever doesn't just heat the body; it sets the entire system ablaze, reducing even the most capable person to a shadow of themselves. In these moments, we're reminded of our fundamental vulnerability - not just a mind piloting a body, but a unified being susceptible to the whims of biology.
"Meds..." Enzo muttered, rummaging through the bathroom cabinet with a sense of rising desperation. He found the bottle of fever medicine he usually relied on, only to discover it was empty. Of course. He'd used the last of it during his previous bout with illness, a testament to his stubborn refusal to rest. Now he'd have to venture out into the windy weather to get more.
"For fuck's sake," Enzo growled, grabbing the thickest jacket he owned. He stormed out the door, grimacing at the irony. Wasn't there some old saying about fighting fire with fire? Maybe braving the cold to treat his fever was the same principle. Set a thief to catch a thief, as they say - or in this case, set a chill to catch a fever.
The moment he stepped out of the building, the wind slapped him across the face, a biting rebuke for his foolishness. It wasn't the bone-chilling cold that made him shiver, but the arid air that sucked the moisture from his skin and turned his nose into a congested mess.
He trudged to the nearest pharmacy, the wind whipping at his jacket and stinging his cheeks. Inside, he grabbed his usual fever medicine without a second glance, eager to escape the artificial warmth and fluorescent lights. As he stepped back onto the sidewalk, his eyes fell on a familiar sight, a splash of vibrant blue hair that jolted him back to a time he had desperately tried to forget.
It was a colour that haunted his dreams, a shade of blue so deep and intense it felt like falling into the icy depths of the ocean. It was the colour of her hair, the woman who had turned his world upside down and left him shattered in the aftermath.
Mila's name slipped from Enzo's lips before he could stop it. A stupid reflex, a desperate hope. But seeing her standing there, in the flesh... It was a gut punch he wasn't prepared for. Her face, a mask of emotions he couldn't read, sent a shiver down his spine.
"Babe, I'm done," a male voice called from the store behind Mila. Relief washed over Enzo briefly - it wasn't Nick. But the man's eyes landed on him, a silent question in their gaze.
"You know him?" he asked Mila, suspicion lacing his voice.
Mila's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Oh, I know him well. Remember that ex? The creep? Abusive?"
Enzo's heart pounded in his chest. What was she saying? A cold dread settled over him, and he could feel the blood drain from his face.
"Oh, so this is the guy we're talking about?" He turned to Enzo with an angry look on his face and walked towards Enzo with a furious step. What are they talking about, Enzo? Creep? Abusive?
"What?" Enzo stammered, his voice barely a whisper as he instinctively backed away.
"I'll give you back your own medicine," the man snarled, grabbing Enzo's collar. The first punch landed with a sickening thud, followed by another.
Enzo's mind went blank. The pain was a distant echo, overshadowed by the numbness that seeped into his bones. What had he done? What wrong turn had led him to this moment? What had he done to deserve this?
A cry of pain brought him back to reality. The blows had stopped, but the victim was no longer him. A guy in a black cap and jacket was giving the man who'd attacked him a real beating, driven by rage and a desire for vengeance.
"Stop!" Mila's voice pierced the air, a desperate plea. She tried to pry the man in the cap away, but his rage was an unyielding force. He rained blow after blow until the other man finally crumpled to the ground.
"Are you insane?! What do you think you're doing?" Mila shrieked, rushing to the fallen man's side. Blood oozed from a gash on his forehead, painting half his face crimson.
The stranger in the cap simply crossed his arms, his voice devoid of remorse. "Why do you want me to stop?"
"Don't you see? He can't fight back!" Mila cried, her voice thick with anger and despair.
"Then why didn't you stop him when he was punching Enzo?" the man in the cap retorted, his voice a chilling echo of Mila's earlier words. "Didn't you see he couldn't fight back?"
Enzo watched the exchange, feeling a bit confused but also grateful. How did this stranger know his name? It didn't matter either way. He was just grateful he hadn't had to deal with another blow.
"When he dumped you, you tried to get me instead," the man sneered, ripping off his cap. "And now that you can't have either, you're just talking nonsense and blaming others for your own pathetic life. That's why my brother and I hate you to the core."
Enzo's heart was hammered in his chest. Ronan. Of all people, what are you doing here Ronny?
Ronny stepped to Enzo's side, laying a hand on his shoulder. The touch was like a lifeline, pulling Enzo from the icy depths of his thoughts. It felt as if Ronny had wrapped him in a warm, cosy blanket, shielding him from the chill of the moment.
"Let's get out of here," Ronny said, his voice low and urgent. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
He kept his hand on Enzo's shoulder, guiding him away from the scene. Enzo let himself be led, grateful for the escape and the solid presence at his side.
As they sought refuge in a nearby park, the night air heavy with the residue of the confrontation, Ronny sat beside Enzo on a weathered bench, a comforting hand patting his back. A sigh, heavy with weariness and frustration, escaped his lips.
"Of all the damn people..." Ronny 's voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging in the air like smoke.
Enzo managed a weak smile. "That's my line." But the facade couldn't quite mask the hurt simmering beneath the surface.
Ronn's eyes, sharp and perceptive, saw through the pretence. "Don't give me that smile," he said gently. "I know you're hurting."
"I'm fine," Enzo insisted, his smile unwavering as he gazed at Ronny. Those eyes made him feel at ease, like calm waters on a sunny day. But Enzo had learned his lesson. Never again would he allow someone to plumb the depths of his soul. For Ronny, he'd permit a shallow dive - snorkelling through the surface of his emotions. But scuba diving into the darkest recesses of his heart? That was off-limits now. The pressure down there had nearly crushed him once before; he wouldn't risk it again
"Why are you even out this early, especially in this part of town?" Enzo asked, curiosity peeking through the haze of his pain. "And your timing was impeccable."
"I was just dropping off my brother's wallet," Ronny sighed, reaching out to touch Enzo's face. But Enzo flinched away, the instinctive recoil of a wounded animal.
"Sorry, I should have asked," Ronny apologised, his eyes clouding with concern.
"No, it's okay," Enzo mumbled. "It was just... unexpected."
Ronny's hand hovered in the air for a moment, then slowly lowered. "Can I see your face now?" he asked, his voice soft with worry.
Enzo paused, weighing his options. Ronny's concern was evident, but allowing even this small vulnerability felt like a risk.
After a moment, he gave a slight nod. "Alright," he said, his voice quiet but steady.
Ronny's touch was careful as he examined the bruise on Enzo's cheekbone. His fingers were cool against Enzo's skin, which felt warm from the lingering fever.
"That looks like it hurts," Ronny observed, his brow furrowing slightly. "We should probably get some ice on it."
Enzo felt an unexpected twinge at Ronny's gentle concern. He took a small step back, breaking the contact.
"It's not so bad," he said, offering a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've dealt with worse."
Ronny lowered his hand, his expression neutral save for a flicker of something Enzo couldn't quite name.
"If you're sure," Ronny said. He hesitated, then added, "At least let me walk you home, hm?"
Enzo considered refusing, the urge to retreat to solitude strong. But something in Ronny's steadfast presence made him reconsider.
"Okay," he found himself saying. "But at the bus stop"
As they walked, Enzo couldn't help but steal glances at Ronny. His eyes caught the morning light, making them dance with an otherworldly glow. The right eye, blown and dark, contrasted sharply with the vibrant green of the left. He knew Ronny was a good man, a loyal friend. But if it were Enzo in that position, would he sacrifice himself for a friend? No, he didn't think so. He knew himself too well. He was damaged goods, a walking contradiction. Why would anyone go to such lengths for him?
A thousand questions bubbled up inside Enzo's mind, each one threatening to burst forth. Was he being overly sensitive? Overthinking, as usual? A flicker of insecurity threatened to extinguish the warmth of Ronny's presence. One wrong word, one misstep, could shatter this fragile connection.
Ronny had always been there for him. Of course, Enzo was thankful. Ronny's steady presence in his life was something he'd come to rely on, a constant in the chaos of his world. Enzo was genuinely glad to have Ronny as his friend, appreciating the easy companionship and unspoken understanding between them.
But even as he walked alongside Ronny, a nagging thought lingered in the back of Enzo's mind. It was a name from his past that still had the power to make him uneasy: Andrew Ember. His high school best friend—no, ex-best friend. The memory of Andrew was like an old wound, mostly healed but still tender to the touch.
Andrew had been more than just a friend back then. They had shared everything—secrets, dreams, fears. They were inseparable, finishing each other's sentences and knowing each other's thoughts without a word. But time and circumstances had changed all that, turning their once unbreakable bond into a painful reminder of what Enzo had lost.
Enzo tried to push these thoughts aside. Ronny wasn't Andrew, he reminded himself. This friendship was different, built on a foundation of mutual respect and understanding. Yet a small part of him remained wary, hesitant to fully embrace the connection. The ghost of his past friendship with Andrew served as a constant reminder of how quickly things could change, how easily trust could be broken.
"You know, sometimes you don't have to say anything," Ronny said as they approached the bus stop, his voice a quiet rumble in the morning air. "I might not be able to solve all your problems, but I can try." He handed Enzo the medicine bottle, which Enzo hadn't even realised he'd dropped.
"Call me anytime you need someone to talk to," Ronny offered, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "I'll listen to whatever you want to say, even if you won't say a word. I'll listen to your breath if I have to."
"Thanks," Enzo offered a genuine smile this time. "You can drop me off here. I'll head home on my own."
Ronny's gaze lingered on Enzo's bruised cheek, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Enzo affirmed, a quiet strength in his voice.
"Alright then," Ronny's smile returned, warm and reassuring. "See you around. And don't forget to take your meds."
"I won't," Enzo replied. "Thank you... for everything."
"My pleasure," Ronny said, stepping back with a final nod before turning to walk away.