Eric's head throbbed as if it were on the verge of splitting open, weighed down by the relentless storm of thoughts that had plagued him since the previous night. Yesterday had been a day of exhaustion and haunting memories, each more brutal than the last. He had spent two long hours sitting in the shower, letting the cold water cascade over him, as if trying to wash away the world's cruelty. The chill of the shower floor seeped into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the icy despair gripping his heart.
As soon as Zeke's name crossed his mind, the gloom and brutality of that fateful night crashed into him, overwhelming his senses. His stomach twisted violently, and without a moment's warning, he found himself retching, purging the contents of his stomach into the toilet. The nausea felt endless, as if he was expelling every last trace of his anguish.
When he finally stood up, shaky and drained, he returned to the shower. He scrubbed his skin with a ferocity that bordered on self-harm, his hands moving in a frantic, almost desperate rhythm. But no amount of scrubbing could erase the cursed mark that marred his body, nor could it cleanse the memories of the man who had devoured the only light in his life. After what felt like a small eternity, Eric finally stopped, his hands raw and trembling. He knew the truth—no matter how hard he tried, the mark would remain, a permanent reminder of the curse that bound him to Zeke.
Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he forced them back. Eric prided himself on his strength of will. He couldn't afford to succumb to despair, not like this. He took a deep breath, collected his thoughts, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a clean, spotless blue towel. Blue was Eric's favorite color; his entire apartment was a testament to that fact, filled with items in every shade of blue. The walls were painted a deep, rich blue, lending the space a mystic, almost otherworldly vibe.
After drying off, Eric walked to his wardrobe and dressed in a simple pair of pajamas, the soft fabric a small comfort against his skin. He climbed into bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin. His silky black hair, tinged with dark blue at the tips, spilled across his pillow like a shadowy halo. He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, but an hour later, he was still wide awake, his mind racing with unwanted thoughts.
Frustrated, he sat up and reached for the bottle of sleeping pills on his bedside table. He shook one out, swallowed it dry, and lay back down, waiting for the drug to take effect. It took another forty-five minutes before he finally drifted off, the first rays of dawn just beginning to creep through his window.
When Eric woke up, it was already afternoon. The heavy feeling in his chest had not lessened, and a dull, persistent pain throbbed in his temples. His migraine was acting up again. He felt dizzy, the world spinning slightly as he forced himself out of bed. With sluggish movements, he reached for his phone and ordered a light meal of congee and a can of his favorite soda. He needed something bland to settle his stomach, still uneasy from the events of the night before.
After placing the order, Eric dragged himself to the bathroom for another shower. The hot water this time was soothing, the steam helping to clear his foggy mind. He dressed in a black button-down shirt and simple black trousers, the dark colors a stark contrast to the vibrant blue of his apartment. Today, he decided, he would stay home. He called his secretary to inform him of his decision to take the day off, his voice flat and emotionless.
Just as he was about to lie down again, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and sighed before answering.
"Hello, my love. I came to your office, but you're not here. Is it your day off?" Mattias's voice was cheerful, as always, but the endearment made Eric frown. He had told Mattias countless times not to call him 'love.' It implied a closeness that simply wasn't there.
"I'm not feeling well, so I took a day off. Why did you call?" Eric's tone was curt, hoping to cut the conversation short.
"Oh, is that so? I'll come check on you tonight. Hang in there, and if anything comes up, call me. Bye, love!" Mattias's voice was full of concern, but he hung up before Eric could protest.
Eric stared at the phone, exasperated. He couldn't understand Mattias, no matter how hard he tried. With a sigh, he set the phone down, but it rang again almost immediately. This time, it was an unknown number.
"Hello, is this Mr. Eric Yang?" a voice on the other end asked.
"Yes, this is Eric."
"I have your food order. Please come to the entrance of the building to pick it up," the delivery driver said.
"Sure, I'm on my way," Eric replied, hanging up the phone and heading out of his apartment. By the time he reached the entrance, the sky had darkened, and a cold, gentle wind was blowing through the streets. The wind carried a certain gloom with it, reflecting the sadness that Eric had been struggling to keep bottled up.
As he approached the entrance, his left shoulder began to burn where the cursed mark was hidden beneath his shirt. The sensation filled him with terror—a reminder of the dark secret he could never share, not even with Mattias. The 'Blutgeist Fluch' was a tale known only by a select few, a curse that people avoided discussing, even in daylight. To speak of it at night was to tempt fate itself.
Eric spotted the delivery driver, took his food, paid with his phone, and offered a decent tip. The driver thanked him and hurried off, leaving Eric alone in the cold. He began walking back toward the building, shivering as a harsh wind blew past him. The chill cut through his clothes, but it was nothing compared to the icy dread that settled in his chest.
He climbed one flight of stairs, now on the first floor, his footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell. Most residents preferred the elevator, but Eric had developed a deep fear of enclosed spaces after a certain night. The very thought of stepping into an elevator made him feel nauseous and panicked.
As he was about to ascend the second flight of stairs, a figure came into view. Eric lifted his head, his hair falling into his eyes, casting shadows over his pale face. When his eyes locked onto the man in front of him, his entire body froze. A sharp, burning pain radiated from the cursed mark, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest. His eyes widened, and his face drained of all color.
"Zeke," he whispered, his voice shaky and filled with disgust.
Zeke, standing at the top of the stairs, felt as if the world had come alive with color. His heart raced with an intensity he hadn't felt in years. His eyes were filled with an emotion that was hard to decipher, a mixture of longing and sorrow. He spoke gently, his voice soft like the wind, yet laden with an undercurrent of yearning.
"Eric. I finally found you. I can finally see you."
For Eric, it felt like the world was collapsing around him. Hatred and revulsion surged through him, clouding his mind. The box of congee slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud as its contents spilled out. Without a second thought, Eric turned on his heel and began descending the stairs, his movements frantic and desperate.
Zeke, jolted from his trance, hurried after him, his footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell. Eric was running, driven by a primal need to escape, while Zeke followed, driven by an equally powerful need to reach him. One man sought to disappear into the shadows, while the other was determined to follow him, even into the depths of the abyss.
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Mattias arrived at the tall building that stood with an imposing presence in the heart of Midnight West City. He had always been fond of this place. The surroundings were serene, a pocket of tranquility amid the city's relentless chaos. The lush greenery that enveloped the area lent it an earthy, almost ethereal quality. It was the kind of place he could imagine himself living in—if only his lifestyle were suited to such peaceful surroundings. But deep down, Mattias knew he was meant for the rough edges of the city, like the shabby rooftop apartment he rented, just a fifteen-minute walk from his café.
He stood there for a moment, letting his gaze linger on the building before pulling out his phone. He dialed Eric's number, only to be met with the familiar drone of voicemail. He tried again, and once more, the call went unanswered. Frustration gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside as he entered the building and approached the reception desk.
The receptionist, a middle-aged woman dressed smartly in a blue uniform, looked up at him. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of his outfit—a sleeveless top, entirely unsuitable for the biting cold outside—but she quickly masked her surprise with a polite smile. Mattias returned the smile with one of his own, a brief but genuine exchange. She recognized him from his previous visits, so she didn't inquire further.
Mattias walked over to the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. The elevator doors slid shut with a soft whirr, and the cabin hummed as it ascended. When the doors opened with a soft ding, he stepped out into the hallway. Eric's apartment was just to the left of the elevator. Mattias walked up to the door and knocked a few times, listening intently for any sign of movement inside. Nothing. He knocked again, harder this time, but was met with the same silence.
He let out a long sigh, already suspecting what this meant. Eric was likely out, wandering the city. It was his way of dealing with whatever storm was brewing in his mind, an escape from the turmoil he kept so well-hidden. Mattias knew better than to keep calling. When Eric needed space, he respected that, even though it left him feeling helpless.
Resigned, he turned back towards the elevator, descended to the ground floor, and stepped outside. The cold hit him like a slap, the wind cutting through his sleeveless top and chilling him to the bone. The thought of the long walk back to his apartment made him shiver. He pulled out his phone and quickly ordered a cab, unwilling to brave the cold any longer than necessary.
As he waited, his eyes fell on a shopping bag sitting on a small bench just outside the building's entrance. Curiosity piqued, he walked over to it. The bag was simple, brown paper with a sticky note attached to the front. He peeled the note off, squinting at it under the dim streetlights. The note read, "For Mattias Wren."
He opened the bag, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked inside. The thought of a certain man with a scar on his lip crossed his mind. Inside the bag was a black hand-knitted sweater with long sleeves. It smelled faintly of lilies and felt warm to the touch, as if it had been waiting just for him. Without hesitation, Mattias slipped the sweater over his torso. The immediate warmth it provided felt oddly comforting, almost like home—a sensation that was foreign to someone like him.
Mattias glanced around, searching for any sign of the person who might have left it. The street was empty, except for the occasional passing car. With a gentle smile, he placed the sticky note back inside the bag, tucking it away like a small secret. Just then, the cab he had called pulled up to the curb. He slid into the backseat, closing the door behind him, and gave the driver his address.
As the car pulled away, Mattias leaned back against the seat, resting his right arm over his eyes. The warmth of the sweater, combined with the soft hum of the car and the slow music playing on the radio, lulled him into a peaceful state. He reached down with his left hand, pulling the bag closer to him, as if it were a precious treasure. His thoughts drifted to the man who had left the sweater for him, the man he hoped would visit the café tomorrow.
It had been a long time since Mattias had looked forward to seeing someone this much. With that thought, he closed his eyes, letting the music and the warmth of the sweater carry him into a quiet reverie, the anticipation of tomorrow's meeting settling comfortably in his chest.
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As Lucian was about to turn the corner when his phone rang. Without glancing at the caller ID, he knew who was calling. He picked up the call, and the man on the other side spoke in a calm voice, "I am sending you an address. Go take a look for me."
"Yes, Father. I will," Lucian replied in a monotonous voice, as if he were built to take orders only, never to think, never to question.
Without a goodbye, the man on the other end cut the call. Moments later, Lucian received a message with the address of the building. He knew where he had to be—Skylight Apartments. Abandoning his previous errand, he made his way to his car parked a little farther down the street where he had encountered that man. He half-walked, half-jogged towards it. The shirt of the stranger was a little baggy on his well-built body, honed by daily training. Once he reached the car, he slipped into the driver's seat and drove toward his destination.
Upon arriving at the building, he got out of the car and was about to go inside when he saw the man from earlier entering the building. He was still wearing the same shirt. Lucian wondered if the man could not feel the cold. He himself was wearing a shirt and a jacket. He felt a strange sense of responsibility for the man who was shivering like a leaf. While staring from afar, a thought hit him. He tilted his head and looked at the backseat, which had a shopping bag on it. After a moment of contemplation, he reached into the glove box, took out a sticky note and a pen, and wrote, "For Mattias Wren."
Lucian then pasted the note on the bag, took out the sweater inside it, and unwrapped its packing. He folded it neatly and placed it back in the bag. After completing his task, he got out of the car and placed the bag on a small bench outside the building where Mattias would clearly see it. He glanced towards the reception and saw that Mattias was not there. He walked over to the receptionist and inquired about the building as if he were interested in buying an apartment. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman dressed in a blue uniform, handed him a few brochures, which he accepted with thanks.
Just as he was about to leave, he saw Mattias stepping out of the elevator. Feeling a jolt of panic, Lucian turned around and faced the wall, pulling his sports cap low over his eyes. He positioned himself in such a way that Mattias wouldn't notice him. After Mattias walked past and exited the building, Lucian turned back towards the door. He saw Mattias wearing the sweater, a smile illuminating his face under the night lights. Lucian felt a strange warmth looking at this man.
After a few seconds, Mattias got into a cab and drove away. Once the car disappeared, Lucian stepped outside and rushed towards his car. He sat in the seat and let out a deep sigh. How could he have done something like this? It was the first time he had dared to make a move on his own without it being an order. The feeling was foreign and unsettling, but there was no time to dwell on it. Without a second thought, he started the car and drove towards the lion's den, his mind occupied with thoughts of the shivering man with piercing eyes that seemed to look right through to his soul.
Lucian knew he would be seeing him again soon.