The boy took deep breaths. He had dark brown hair, and he seemed to be steadying himself for something before opening the door and speaking. "I have your food, sir." There was a noncommital, slightly drowsy sounding reply, and the boy nodded before disappearing into the room for a minute, returning empty-handed and closing the door behind him. Another dark-haired girl came by, her brow furrowed as she wiped her hands on her apron. "Well...?" "He's asleep, I think. He's tired." He laughed dryly, brushing the girl's hair back. "Being a 'Mad King' is a demanding profession, I suppose." The girl bit her lip worriedly before nodded, turning and hurrying off. The boy followed closely behind her.
There was a figure at a desk. The tray was on the desk next to him, and he was in a strange hooded robe. His head was on the table and he appeared to be asleep.
There was a pause as she pulled the mask back and his eyes opened. "Who's there?" His blonde hair was messy and tousled now, much messier than it had been the last time he saw her. His face was so serious, worry lines between his eyebrows, and his eyes, his warm brown eyes, now no longer had a pupil, instead now a dull grey. He looked exhausted, dark black circles plaguing his naturally sweet face and he stood up suddenly, pushing back the chair to give himself room, to protect himself.
He tilted his head towards her, listening to the voice and stepping back nervously. He was terribly thin and his hand was shaking as he steadied himself on the desk. "Who is it? Damian? Claire?"
He flinched at her name and emotions flashed across his face suddenly, too fast for her to name. "You aren't..." He was breathless, shaking now. "You aren't Aspen."
He shook his head slowly, his shoulders relaxing. "No. You know, you're normally visible," he said, moving past her to sit at the desk again. "Go away and let me sleep. I don't like being woken by you."
He froze when she touched him, and almost as if he wasn't able to resist, he reached up and laced his fingers in hers. His hands were so shockingly thin and they were shaking. It would take a moment for her to realize that he was crying, tears running down his cheeks. "You've never been able to touch me before," he said shakily.
She held his hand tightly, using her other to gently wipe away some of his tears. "I'm here, August. I'm here.."
His head jerked back and the tray clanged to the floor as he stood up again, stepping back as if she were going to attack him. "No. Stop it. Stop it."
He seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack, his breathing rate increasing. "You're not her. She left. An-and if you were her, then that's bad too! S-she's not coming back and you're not her and she can't come back because..." He was gasping for breath now, leaning against the desk. "She can't do that. So stop it. Get out of my head. Stop talking in her voice, stop having her hands, stop it, stop it, stop it!"
She seemed upset, her voice breaking slightly. "It really is me, August.. It-It's been a year. I came back. I came back.."
He moved suddenly, making his way slowly to the bed in the corner, his shoulders slouched. "You'll leave if I go back to sleep. You always leave. You'll be gone if I go back to sleep."
