Wanting to be off the campus for a little bit, Iolana took some time to head off. She had gotten into the habit of just wandering around. So far, she had a great amount of luck with not wandering into any place she wasn’t allowed to, at least not to her knowledge. So, she just let her feet take her wherever.
As the sun began to set, Lana couldn’t help but think back to Kekahi. Her reverie was broken as she caught the sounds of waves crashing onto the shore. Instinctually, she headed over until she came to the edge of the beach. The salty air greeted her as she walked toward the water and a wave of calmness came over her. She sat herself down and pulled her legs to her. She just stared out into the sea when she felt someone come up to her.
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There were few moments in Nico’s life, these days, that were like this. Calm, leisurely... quiet. He didn’t want to complain about success, of course not, and it seemed so overdone by performers anyway, but he had to admit - it was nice to eat a meal in public without being recognized. One might think a hat wouldn’t have that power, but a hat paired with a request to sit in the back of the restaurant? Much more effective.
He had planned to spend this part of the day alone. He had rehearsals, later, and had a gig the night prior, so rest was a much needed luxury. Really, he should be in his apartment, drinking tea and trying to avoid talking much, after the show he’d given last night, but he assured himself he would be fine. It was just a restaurant, he would only have to talk to the server. There wouldn’t be any issue there.
His food arrived and he’d made it through the entire meal without interruption, save for a request for a bit more water for his tea. He turned around once he was finished, eyes scanning for the server so he could get a bill, when his eyes landed on a familiar face. His eyes narrowed slightly, and his brow furrowed.Â
He knew him from somewhere. But where?
It was several moments of staring, quite intently in fact, before realization visibly dawned on his face. Pulling out his wallet, Nico left some money on the table, certain it would cover the cost, before standing from his seat and walking over to the other’s table. “Excuse me, m’sieur, I’m sorry to interrupt,” he started, “I recognize you from somewhere.” He continued, before pausing. Was he really doing the thing fans always did to him in public? “I apologize, this is rather strange.”
Shit. While out walking out of a coffeeshop, Chloe was sipping on her iced latte when she felt her left shoe give from right under her. Causing her to slip, her free hand flailed in the air for something to grab onto--anything--but found nothing. She landed onto the floor, coffee cup beside her. How fucking humiliating. Angry, she looked around and snapped at gawkers before her gaze landed on one who looked particularly concerned. She was about to let him have when she noticed he didn’t have a collar around him. Not a slave. Letting out a small huff, she did her best to compose herself and instead presented herself as a helpless, hurt woman.
“Oh, would you mind helping me? I broke a heel and can’t walk very far. Pretty please?” she asked softly, brow furrowing as she looked up at the man.
Enjolras paced back and forth along the table where he, Combeferre and Courfeyrac had been huddled for the past three hours. Today’s meeting had been more urgent than usual - their promised shipment of black powder from Lyon had been intercepted and their supplier had been shot before a firing squad in the square, a devastating blow both for their supplies and the morale of France.  The more word of such incidents spread, the harder it would be to get anyone to join in their cause. Enjolras was frantic, he would have kept the meeting going all night if he could have, but they were starting to chew over the same thing over and over and were getting nowhere. Combeferre was the one who convinced him to stop for the night. He left with Courfeyrac and the two of them were putting on their coats and hats while Enjolras stood leaning against the table and staring at the letter as if he could change its contents.Â
At first he didn’t hear the unfamiliar voice talking to him, when it finally registered to him that he was being talked to he blinked over in surprise at the boy he didn’t recognize, his own eyes large and confused and looking far more innocent than the thoughts that had filled his furious mind the entire evening.Â
“Apologies, were you speaking to me citizen?”Â
It all started when it became a terrible habit for Thomas to wake up nearly every night, drenched in sweat. It felt like it was hundred degrees in the room, even during the winter. Adorellan was sleeping next to him in the bed, seeming completely comfortable under the thick comforters. The radiator by the wall was silent. Thomas frowned. His head hurt like after a too long nap during the daytime.
Trying to stay as quiet as he could he slowly got up from the bed, his legs feeling a bit shaky. He'd seen a nightmare again. Adorellan was going to have a morning shift, and Thomas didn't want to wake him up.
Glancing at the clock he saw that it was barely four in the morning that night. Feeling like he was unable to sleep anymore despite the fatigue that stress had brought upon him, he slowly made his way to the kitchen, trying to be careful with the creaking door hinges.
The back of his t-shirt that he had worn to bed felt soaked, and as he made it to the kitchen, he pulled the t-shirt off, dropping it on the back of the chair by the table.
"Gross", he groaned quietly, keeping his voice down. He felt the cool air of the kitchen hitting his skin and he shivered. Nothing was good right now, was it? He was sweating like fuck and still he felt cold all of the sudden.
He turned on his heels, making his way to the living room and grasped the felt from the back of it, shaking it unfolded before wrapped it around himself, huffing quietly. He didn't feel like coffee anymore. He sat down on the couch, pulling his legs up against his chest and staid curled up there with the felt. His body ached and he laid down, wondering if he'd caught a flu, because he felt like shit.
-
Two months later the nosebleeds started, and Thomas freaked out a bit. He hadn't really gotten them before in his life. Time by time at work he had to dash to the backroom and hold his head back, squeezing his nose, trying not to get blood on his shirt. As if his days at work weren't bad enough. He was always tired and after few hours he had to sit down for a while.
First now and then, and then even the slightest bump on his nose made him bleed.
Adorellan told him that he'd gotten more slender, and asked if he'd been working out more. He hadn't, but with a smile he asked if Dore was liking what he was seeing and took him to the bedroom, bending over for him and having sex with him, falling asleep soon after it every time.
Next morning he would find bruises on his skin, as if their sex had been much rougher than the slow love making that they'd had, both being exhausted and tired but needing the touch. He could even see Adorellan's fingerprints on his hip.
-
After he'd gotten a bad fever and had to stay in the bed for nearly five days, trembling in cold and curled up under the blankets, he figured out that he should see the doctor.
Despite his state he took the car and drove to the ER himself, sitting in the waiting room for a good hour, face pale and skin sweating, his jaws clacking together.
The doctor finally took him in, and at the first look it seemed like he had caught some sort of infection which had made him this ill. Doctor prescribed him with antibiotics, and his fever went down. For a while it seemed like he was going to be alright again.
-
In the May, after four months of his symptoms starting, he collapsed at work. He blamed it on the heat, the stress, the busy day as they carried him to the ambulance. They took him to the hospital and did him some tests on him. He staid in the hospital bed until late in the evening, and soon his phone started ringing in the pocket of his jeans. He knew he couldn't use his phone in the hospital so he just let all the calls to go to voice-mail, and his text messages went unread.
The doctor was vague with his words as he came to see him later. He told him that it would be good for him to come and see the doctor for further tests in few days, and now he'd have to rest. Thomas wanted to argue about it - he had shifts tomorrow and day after -, but the doctor assigned him some sick leave anyway.
It wasn't like Adorellan wouldn't be able to pay for them both, but Thomas felt like he had to do his own part to make their relationship work. Adorellan had already been worried enough about turning into his sugar daddy at one point, and Thomas had worked hard to prove him wrong.
He came home not until eleven in the evening, and Adorellan was there right away, by the door, giving him loads of questions. Thomas explained to him softly that he'd fainted at work - it had been hot and busy and he hadn't drank enough - and that he'd been in ER where he couldn't have answered his phone. He apologized and told him not to worry, continuing that he'd gotten some sick leave from work. Adorellan didn't have to worry for him.
Thomas couldn't shake off the sick feeling in his gut, the worry of the fact that the doctor had told him to come back, but he didn't tell Adorellan. He didn't want to worry him.
-
In Sunday, his free day after the sick leave had ended, he went back to the hospital. He knew that Adorellan would have to be at work until late in the night - some big project was going on - so he'd have the time to be at the hospital without letting Adorellan to know and worry over nothing.
It was just probably the same flu from the winter.
The doctor, man in his middle fifties, began with some questions. Fatigue? Check. Nosebleeds and bruises? Check. The further the doctor spoke, more and more nervous Thomas became. His tone turned from joking and casual to formal and worried.
They took few bottles of blood from his elbow, and then he had been taken to have CT scans and other stuff like that done. With every passing by moment Thomas felt his hands sweating more and more and the cold, sick feeling wouldn't leave his gut anymore.
Despite the fact that some of the tests hurt like hell, his biggest worry was how the hell he'd tell Adorellan that something was probably wrong with him.
-
After five excruciating days the doctor called, telling him to stop by his office again. His results had came.
Just a hour later Thomas was there again, covered in hoodie. He'd lost even more weight now, and he tried to hide that from Adorellan as well. And he was feeling cold as hell all the time.
The news were desolating.
ACM. Acute Myeloid Leukemia. He had cancer.
"Five-year survival varies from 15–70%, relapse rate varies from 33–78%", told the doctor but Thomas was barely listening. He had cancer.
He buried his face in his hands and just sat quietly for a while as the doctor told him about his options. How the hell would he ever have the money to pay for all this?
And how he'd tell Adorellan?
-
He didn't cry until he got home. The old doctor, clearly uninterested in how he was doing, didn't deserve his tears.
Making his way to his and Adorellan's apartment, he swayed to the living room, slumping sitting on the couch. Few slow, shaky breaths. He slid lower, slowly bringing his hands up on his face, exhaling from between them.
There was a 15 to 70 percent chance he'd survive through next five years. He could die. He couldn't do this to Adorellan.
-
A panic hit him a hour later, and as he was crying, panting for air, he made his way to the bedroom, starting to shove things in his gym bag. Clothes, his belongings. He couldn't be here. He couldn't let Adorellan see him like this.
He managed to knock stuff down from the shelf over the bathroom sink and he soon sunk sitting on the lid of the toilet seat, his face in his hands again as he only cried harder, his fingers curled in his long, honey locks.
He'd broken a bottle of Adorellan's Chanel N°5 and the whole bathroom was reeking.
-
Adorellan came home earlier than he'd planned to, The meeting had gone more than well, and he was excited to tell Thomas everything. He wanted to celebrate.
It was already too late to take Thomas out for a dinner, but he'd stopped by in the corner shop and bought Thomas a bouquet of various flowers. He was holding it a bit too tightly as he arrived home, full of energy and joy from the successful deal.
The lights were still on, but Thomas wasn't sitting in the living room watching the TV like he usually was when he came home.
"Thomas?" he called out softly.
"I'm home, are you asleep?" he continued, settling the bouquet down on the small lobby's desk as he took off his coat and toed off his shoes. He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it on the couch, not bothering to care now.
Loosening his tie he grasped the bouquet again. It smell delicious, even though the flowers had started to wither a bit already.
"Thomas?" he called out again, heading to the bedroom.
-
Thomas had sat in the silence in the bathroom, at some point having moved to sit on the floor against the wall instead of the toilet seat.
He had his long legs sprawled out, his hands crossed on his lap. His hair was a mess and his face felt rigid from dried tears. The redness hadn't left his eyes yet, even though they had turned all puffy.
He heard the door, and he tensed a bit, but didn't have enough energy to sit up. He wasn't ready yet, and the ache in his heart, the dwelling sadness and fright made his face twist in a terrible frown and he closed his eyes tightly, feeling them watering again. He made a choked noise and pulled his legs up against his chest, leaning his arms on them, winding his hands on the back of his head.
He wasn't ready.
"Thomas?" he heard Adorellan calling out for him again, searching for him. It hurt him how happy the man sounded like.
The silence fell in the apartment again as he heard someone pushing the door open to the bedroom, and the hinges cried. Then, complete silence for a time that felt like eternity.
The steps moved through the bedroom, and stopped right behind the bathroom's door.
Adorellan hesitated, brought his hand up, hesitated again. Curled his fingers and then, finally, knocked his knuckles against the door once, twice, and a quiet 'Thomas?' was being breathed out.
Thomas let out a mix of hiccup and a sob and pressed his hands against his mouth. Adorellan tried the door knob, finding the door to be locked. Man's stomach clenched a bit and he clenched his jaws.
"Thomas? What's wrong?"
The quiet sobs turned into louder ones and then Thomas was crying again. Adorellan had never heard the man crying like this, not even when his parents had practically inherited him when he had told them that he was moving together with Adorellan.
-
Silence was long and painful between them, but finally Thomas moved just a bit, reaching his hand out to unlock the door.
Adorellan opened the door carefully, peeking in. The reek in the room was familiar, but terrible in such amounts. He wrinkled his nose a bit, but ignored the reek as he looked down at Thomas hunching on the floor on a small bundle, trembling and crying.
"Thomas", he whispered, voice wavering a bit. He didn't understand what was going on. He had abandoned the bouquet on the bed. "Thomas", he called out again, sitting on the floor next to him and draped his arm around him. "Come here. Shh... It's okay", he continued, some sort of a shock settling in him. The packed gym bag told a story, which he probably didn't want to know of. Was Thomas leaving him?
Thomas hid his face in his hands and curled up against Dore's side, feeling small.
"I've got cancer", he blurted, forgetting all about carefully telling to other man. Adorellan tensed next to him, fell silent. "I've got cancer", Thomas repeated, his voice thick from crying and muffled by his hands.
"I'm sorry I broke your bottle. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to."
Adorellan didn't want to go out and celebrate anymore.
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Adorellan had found a kitten on his doorstep. Most likely full of vermin and fleas, underfed, separated from her mom. Adorellan felt bad.
Adorellan had made an exception to the rule and picked up the little thing. Making sure that he wouldn't touch it again he picked it up with his gloves on, hanging it there from its scruff. Kitten mewled and tried to paw him gently, but Adorellan didn't give in. Didn't pet, didn't touch otherwise, just carried the kitten inside.
He put it in his bathroom, locked it there and headed out to find some food for it, trying to ignore the quiet mewls that carried from the room. Thomas would be coming home soon, and Adorellan knew that he'd have to deal with this situation somehow rationally. They wouldn't be able to keep the kitten, wouldn't they?Â
Adorellan fed the kitten, keeping it firmly away from himself despite the desperate attempts of the kitten giving him some affection. He didn't even like cats, he tried to tell himself, but he had to admit that the little thing was rather adorable. Small, grey, with intelligent, blue eyes. Maybe it was still so young that it hadn't changed its eye color yet. White paws and a white spot under its chin.
Adorellan should have known that Thomas managed to win him over to his side again. They ended up keeping the kitten and Thomas named him Mr Bombom. Adorellan didn't want to argue, but he had Thomas agreeing that the name was ridiculous. It staid, despite that.
They got the cat in a rather good shape, despite all the times that they had to take him to the vet. It was expensive, and Thomas demanded to pay for some of the costs; even though he didn't have a money for that.
Soon enough Mr Bombom was accepted as a part of the family.
Turned out that Mr Bombom had a bad habit of running past your feet when you opened the door, and one unfortunate day the cat escaped out when Thomas opened the door. Thomas couldn't snatch the damned thing, and then, bam.
Thomas hadn't cried that hard in ages as the vet had to put the one year old tomcat down after it had gotten hit by a car. Thomas had grown to be very fond of the cat.Â
Adorellan knew that he could fix Mr Bombom. He knew it, he wanted to, but he knew he shouldn't. One, he'd just end up touching the cat accidentally and kill it again; and two, he'd reveal himself to Thomas.
He had decided, since the beginning, that Thomas would never, ever know about him. He'd never know what he'd done, he'd never know what he'd be able to do.
But maybe it was the time to trust Thomas.
Thomas wouldn't stop crying over that cat of his. Â Apparently Thomas had really thought of the tomcat as part of the family.Â
He had the cat wrapped in old felt, and they were going to hold a funeral in their backyard. Mr Bombom would be buried in the middle of the roses.Â
Adorellan had staid up the last night, thinking. Thinking so hard.Â
When he knelt down next to the felt and undid it gently from around the cat's corpse, Thomas looked confused. Adorellan was anxious.
He poked the cat, once, and then it lifted its head again, now green eyes blinking up at him. It meowed, once, and Adorellan could hear Thomas' sharp gasp.
Sixty seconds. Adorellan waited, anxiously. His heart hammered against his ribs.Â
45.
50.
59.
He watched how a sparrow fell in the bush, and then fell, and died. Cat staid alive and slowly it dug its way out of the felt.
"What did you do?" Thomas asked, a small fright in his voice. Cat came closed to Adorellan and Adorellan just had to stand up and get away from it.
"Keep it away from me", he whispered quietly, voice stretched, anxious. Thomas gaped at him still, and moved to pick the cat up. Stood away from Adorellan, then walked inside. Didn't say anything for a while.
Adorellan hung his head as if in shame.
Mr Bombom the tomcat lived an year more before his unfortunate crash with Adorellan's foot.Â
Leukemia. Thomas should have known. Cancer ran in his family. But he had never had any sort of problems, so why now? It had came all of the sudden, boisterous and withering. It started with something that seemed like a bad flu, then came the bruises.
The doctors promised him much, telling that the survival rate for his type of leukemia was rather high. He'd survive. That's what they said.
Two and a half years later Thomas died.Â
Thomas was alone when his heart stopped beating. It was night. Visiting hours had ended ages ago and Adorellan wasn't allowed to stay since they weren't family.Â
First trouble of breathing. Then cold. Thomas was trembling in ague. Cold sweat. It was all over soon.Â
Adorellan wasn't informed until the next day when he arrived to the hospital to meet Thomas.
When Adorellan stood by Thomas' corpse in the morgue the following day, given a permission to meet him for the last time, he remembered the words that Thomas had told him more than once, more often the closer his death had came.
Don't.
Thomas mustn't had understood what he had asked of him. It was just plain cruel. Adorellan wanted to hate Thomas that moment, but he couldn't. He couldn't.Â
Thomas was as beautiful as he always was. They had done him autopsy the last day and the morbid scar told another story on Thomas' chest, peeking from under the white cloak that had been pulled away from his face.
Adorellan hovered his fingers over Thomas' face, wanting, needing to touch.
Thomas would be upset. But he could never be as upset as Adorellan was right now. He couldn't...
"Hello, is this Thomas?" Thomas Reyner hasn't been so nervous in his whole life, and he knew if Adorellan knew what he was up to, he would never forgive him.
Adorellan had barely mentioned his son, son, after Thomas had pestered him enough about it. With a little research Thomas had found a number from the phone book. Who would have thought that his lover's son would be his namesake?
Thomas Maddox lived in New York, apparently. Thomas thought that the kid would possibly live with his foster parents or so, thinking him to be around from age of twelve to fifteen.
It was rather a shock when a twenty nine year old man picked up the phone and introduced himself to be Thomas. Thomas uttered words out, clearing his throat. This couldn't be. Telling by his voice Adorellan's son was from twenty five to thirty. Something like that.
"Hello?" Thomas could hear the other man calling for him from the other end of the line. "Hey? You there?"Â