He slashed your face, your eye... oh god, do you even still have it?!

You have no idea, you’ve got your hand covering it, you don’t even know if you’re blind.

You think people are talking to you, but you just keep running. You gotta get home, you have to get to Socrates and Mana, they can help you, they can keep you safe? Right?

Right?!

No, he threatened to hurt them!

If Dartz can hurt you, he can hurt them...

You stop, gagging at the thought, at the horrible feeling of dread and terror.

You empty your stomach into the snow at your feet, blood, from your mouth, your wound. You get sick again, before you run once more.

You can’t even tell what direction your going in.

A patch of black ice.

You’re down and you can’t move, your body aches from the pain, the freezing cold, the blood loss. You just want to sleep...

--

You hate cold weather, its nice like this but not when everyone just HAS to get a hot drink at the same time you do. You would have gotten a cup for yourself at the office, but you hate that shitty coffee, and besides, you like this cafe anyway.

With a loud sigh, you wait in line, glancing out the window. Not much traffic, too much snow, it’s rather late anyway.

But someone catches your eye.

A man is stumbling about on the fresh snow, before slipping and slamming hard into the middle of the road after he tried to cross the street. You frown and move to the door, looking outside to see if the stranger is okay. Normally you wouldn’t give a shit, but no one else seemed to be paying attention, and... well... someone might as well be nice, yeah?

He’s not moving, and you see lights. Glancing to the left, you see a truck coming down the road. The driver doesn’t seem to notice the man, fuck! You rush outside and stop in the road, grabbing the stranger by his arm and yank him out of the way, just in the time. The asshole driver had sped up, driving off down the road. He’ll skid if he goes faster, what a prick.

You huff and turn, looking at the man you helped, about to ask him what the fuck he was doing, when you see blood all over the thin, long sleeved shirt he wore. His right hand was covered in fresh blood.

Shocked, your eyes trail down his soaked arm, down to his face, where you see half of it is covered in red. A lone, wide eye stares at you from under wet, silver bangs. He’s wheezing, he looks so scared and alert. “S-Socrates... I gotta... Socrates is gonna...”

“Holy fuck,” You hiss, trying to get him to his feet. “Sir, are you alright!? What happened to your face!”

He shuddered, before retching at your feet, gagging hard. He’s in shock, shit...

“Socrates, I gotta... he needs me...” The stranger says as he tries to pull away, but you just hold onto his arm tighter.

“Hey, hey! You need to get to a hospital, shit...” You’re so lucky you parked your car in front of the cafe...

--

He won’t stop mumbling ‘Socrates’, but his words are terribly jumbled, and he’s shaking like a leaf, he’s only in jeans, boots, and a thin shirt. It’s 3 degrees Fahrenheit, where the fuck did he come from without a jacket?

You sigh, parking in the hospital parking lot, at the emergency section.

Getting out and going to his side of the car, you help him out, taking him in as he stumbles with you, still saying that name. What does a dead philosopher have to do with any of this?

You bring him to the front desk, telling the nurse there that you found him in the street, bleeding. She’s quick to get a doctor.

In the light of the hospital, you see that he’s rather blue in the face from the cold, but also pale from the blood loss. How is he not dead?

His hair is black and greenish at the ends, his bangs are silver, with some of it running through the black and green. He’s shaking like there’s no tomorrow and he looks up at you with his one eye, a shade of blue, but its so unfocused, he hasn’t snapped out of his shock yet.

“Hey, do you have a phone? I can call someone to come for you, yeah?” You ask him and he looks like he didn’t understand your question. “Did you hear me? Give me your phone so I can call someone for you.”

With stiff, shaking hands, he fumbled with his pockets, pulling out his phone with trouble.

A doctor comes and takes him away, while you sit down with his phone.

There’s no password, the image of the lock screen is the same as the home screen, a picture of a smiling boy who looks very much like him, posing with a girl at some water park. You see that he has several missed calls, two from someone named Mana, and five from Socrates.

You decide to call that number.

One ring, and its picked up.

“Timaeus! Oh God, there you are! I’ve been trying to contact you, where are you? The weather is suppose to get worse and I don’t want you staying at his pla-”

“Excuse me.”

The rambling stopped and the worried voice became serious. “Who.. who are you?”

“My name is Critias Pendragon, are you Socrates?”

“... Yes? Why do you have my brother’s phone?”

“I have it because he handed it to me, he’s in the hospital right now.”

“Oh god! What happened?!” The boy’s voice cracked with worry.

“I don’t know, I found him laying in the street, he almost got ran over by a truck. The right side of his face was slashed and it looks like he lost a lot of blood. He was also outside with nothing warm on.”

There was silence. “What hospital is he at?”

“The one of fifth, the main one. He kept saying your name, and that he had to get to you. I think he’s in shock. He got taken into the ER just a few minutes ago, you might want to hurry down here.”

“I will. Thank you, Mr. Pendragon.” The call ended and you decide to sit and wait for this Socrates guy to come.

--

It didn’t take long for you to see someone come in with ridiculous hair. It looked a lot like this Timaeus guy’s hair, except closer to blue than green at the tips. A blonde haired girl was with him as they approached the counter.

Getting up, you approach them. “Excuse me, are you Socrates?” You ask and the boy looked, eyes wide.

“Y-yes! Do you know how my brother is doing?”

“No, I haven’t been told.” You hold out the phone to him. “Here, this is his, he let me use it to call you before he was taken back. I need to go, but do take care of him, he was in shock when I brought him in.”

Socrates frowned, taking the phone. “Thank you, sir.”

You pull something from your pocket, a business card. “Just give me a heads up on his condition. I dunno the guy, but I’d at least like to know if he’s alright, that cut on his face looked really bad.”

“Thank you.” He took the card. “I’ll be sure to call you once I know more.”

You just nod, turning away. You do hope that the kid calls you, you’re rather curious of his brother.

Jumping at the sudden noise, you turn to see Hermos staring at you and Critias, his bright, golden eyes are wide and he’s mouthing something. You... think he just said ‘what. the. fuck.’

And considering the offended looks on some people passing by, you think you’re right. Pulling himself from the window, Hermos storms away, just seconds before opening the door to the cafe and making his way right to your table.

He grabs a chair from an unused table and pushes it up to your table, sitting down in the chair. He folds his hands in front of him on the table and gives Critias a very forced, very angry smile.

Critias makes no move to remove his hand from yours.

“Hi!” Hermos forces out through clenched teeth as his forces on the blond. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Enjoying a nice hazelnut latte with Timaeus.” Critias replies, being rather polite, though the smirk on his lips tells you that he is enjoying this.

“Ah, and I see that you are holding Tim’s hand.”

“Hermos... Critias...” You begin, but Critias speaks over you.

“Oh? Is that a problem? Do you not like seeing my holding the hand of my boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You raise an eyebrow.

“BOYFRIEND?!” Hermos screeches, catching the attention of the other people in the cafe. “Excuse you?! What do you mean ‘my boyfriend’!?”

You hiss out the redhead’s name, trying to get him to calm down, to catch his attention, but you seem to be forgotten as he glowers at the taller of the three of you.

Critias picks up his coffee with his free hand, taking a gentle, careful sip, before turning his attention back to Hermos. “Yes, my boyfriend. We’re on a date.”

“We are not.” You reply, but once again, you seem to be ignored

“Oh, oh, that’s fucking funny...” Hermos growls, quieting down after he realized that he had drawn attention to your table. “Wanna know why that’s funny?”

“Why?” Critias asks, egging him on.

“Cause Timaeus here is my boyfriend. We’ve been together for two weeks.” He smirks, leaning in close to say this to Critias.

You want to tell Hermos that you aren’t boyfriends, you are... somewhat dating, yes, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you were officially boyfriends. Besides, you’ve only gone on two dates, and one of them was just you hanging out in the hobby shop, eating take out together while playing card games.

But you don’t say anything cause he will ignore you. It’s like you’re not even here, even though you are clearly the topic at hand.

The violet-eyed man just chuckles and pushes Hermos back, out of his personal space. “Listen, Timaeus and I have been in a relationship of sorts for longer, three weeks. Now stop thinking you have the upper hand here, little gecko.”

Hermos blinks, making a face. “Wait... did you just call me a gecko? Tim, did he just call me a gecko?”

You sigh loudly and stand right up, grabbing your coffee, glad it’s in a to-go cup. “Thank you for the coffee, Pendragon. But we are not really dating. Hermos, we are not technically boyfriends. I’m not sure where I stand with either of you right now, but at the moment, I am not putting up with either of your petty bullshit. Also, if you’re gonna talk about someone, one, don’t fucking talk about them like they’re not there. And two, don’t speak for them unless if they say so. Good day, gentlemen.”

You turn and make your way for the door, ignoring them as they get up to go after you.

Nope, no, not dealing with their childish antics, you’re just gonna go home and forget men for the rest of your life. Yep, that sounds like a good plan, at least for the evening.

--

Critias called Hermos a gecko cause his first time seeing him (this scene), Hermos is smacked against the glass with big eyes, like a gecko.

Hermos will have to come up with a nickname for him later.

Quickly, you approached him, gently tapping his shoulder... only for him to grab your wrist tightly, squeezing it. He looks at you with one, wide eye, a dark blue. The other is under a white, medical eye patch, but you can see a bit of scar tissue peaking out from under it.

“Can... I help you?” He asks, his voice as deep and as rich as you remember it being that night last winter.

You blink, snapping back into reality. “Heh, sorry, I... do you remember me?”

“Clearly not.”

“Of course, I figured as much.” You smirk a little. “You were in terrible pain last time I saw you.”

He looks at you, eye wide, before it narrowed. “What are you talking about...?” The grip on your wrist is starting to hurt, you can sense how nervous and cautious he is.

“December, the year before last, just before New Years. You were stumbling down the street, it was late, and you were bleeding terribly from your eye.”

The smaller man grips you tighter in fear, his jaw clenched just as tight. You wince, he could break your wrist if he wanted to. “You... you saw...”

“I saw and brought you to the hospital. Come, let’s sit and talk, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

He looks so uncomfortable, so nervous, but he releases his hold. “No, I-I don’t want to...”

“I would like to talk, I’d like to get your story, you were babbling that night. I only was able to really speak with your brother that night a-”

“My brother?” This catches his attention. “W-wait, are you the one who told Socrates I was at the hospital?”

You give a nod. “Yes, Socrates, you kept saying the name and I found him in your phone contacts when I was given your phone. So, shall we keep talking, I am curious to know of the man whose life I was able to save.”

“You didn’t save me, I could have gotten to the hospital just fine...”

“You collapsed in the street and having a panic attack. You were almost run over.”

He inhales deeply, looking uncomfortable again. “Fine, just a coffee, no funny business. This seems like a trap...”

“No trap, just small talk. Come, I know a nice place that will serve you the best coffee in the world. By the way, the name’s Critias. Critias Pendragon.”

“... Timaeus Wyvern.”

--

By the way, Critias is Welsh in this, so he’s got an accent.

Timaeus is of Greek origin, but he’s also got British in him, but he doesn’t have any accent really, he’s from the US.