The Last Esper [BL]
Chapter 24: The calm after the chaos

Chapter 24: The calm after the chaos

The meeting room was quieter than usual. Not even the usual murmurs or exasperated sighs floated in the air. Only the faint hum of the hanging lights broke the stillness.

Milo spoke without embellishment, listing damage and losses. The number of dead, the missing, the homes reduced to dust. Each piece of information fell like a stone into the bottom of a deep well, where not even the echo dared to respond.

"Let’s take a moment to honor the fallen," Milo said at last.

They all bowed their heads, looking tired and tense. Sad and upset that they hadn’t helped more.

Rhys lowered his head too, but his mind wasn’t there.

In his mind, Rhys was still standing in the midst of the destruction, the sky dyed black and the ground covered in blood. He saw Eun-woo, his eyes glowing like live coals, with that crooked, mischievous smile that didn’t fit the setting.

Rhys still felt the pressure of those lips on his, the sudden heat, the intensity with which he had kissed him, as if he were leaving an impossible-to-erase mark.

And then, the way Eun-woo fell into his arms, as if his body was no longer lifeless.

Rhys had held him tightly, afraid it would break. He’d felt it burn, as if his skin were pure fever. That image haunted him, pinned behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. Even now, surrounded by people arguing about rebuilding, loss, and future plans, all he could think about was that dark room where Eun-woo slept, unconscious.

A whisper brought him out of his trance.

"You’re not listening," Caelan said, sitting next to him, his voice low and soft.

Rhys blinked repeatedly as if emerging from the water. His eyes briefly rested on Milo, who continued to talk about the collapsed electrical system, food rationing, and overcrowded shelters.

"Just go. I’ll handle the rest," Caelan added.

Rhys nodded slowly and stood up slowly. His steps were silent as he left the meeting room. He didn’t say goodbye to anyone. And he left The Burrow without looking back.

Outside, the remains of the city lay before him like an open corpse. Black smoke rose slowly from the bowels of collapsed buildings, and ash floated like dirty snow in the stagnant air. The crunch of broken glass beneath his boots accompanied every step.

He paid no attention to his surroundings, but he wasn’t indifferent either. He heard the cries, muffled by the distance, as if coming from behind a thick wall. The wails of women, the hoarse screams of those who had lost everything. Barefoot children rummaged through the rubble with dirty hands, searching for anything: a piece of clothing or a can of food.

He saw a man tearing shoes off a corpse with trembling hands, a woman stuffing other people’s clothes into a bag without even looking at the lifeless face lying next to her.

The survival instinct made its way through the remains of a city.

Rhys walked as if the world around him was on pause, his gaze fixed beyond the ruins, oblivious to the screams, the looting, and the filth.

A motel stood on the outskirts of town, standing between two collapsed buildings. A survivor ignored by the chaos. On the facade, peeling paint, exposed brick, and broken windows covered with old boards. The sign hung on one side, and every time the wind blew, it produced a high-pitched squeak.

Rhys watched him for a moment, puzzled that he was still standing. He walked through the front door, head down. At the reception desk, an elderly woman sat knitting behind the rickety counter. Her fingers moved with surprising agility, as if knitting was all she’d ever done. She didn’t look up, nor did she say anything to him.

Rhys ignored her too.

He stepped into the rusty elevator, the metallic groan of the doors closing behind him like a wail. Seconds later, the elevator stopped with a sharp jolt. The doors opened reluctantly, as if unwilling to let him go.

Rhys stepped out into the hallway, which was narrow, damp, and dark. The low ceiling seeped in the sour smell of years of accumulated damp. The wallpaper on what remained of the walls was peeling and covered in dark stains. With every step, the floor creaked under his weight.

Rhys stopped in front of the door at the end of the hallway, one of the few that still had its rusty number. The frame was swollen with moisture and gave off a musty smell, mixed with a faint hint of sweat and cheap disinfectant. Rhys pushed the door and entered.

The room was plunged into darkness. The blinds were closed, allowing only a few slivers of light to filter through the cracks. And the ceiling fan turned slowly, creaking every so often.

Jae was sitting in a chair next to the bed, his shoulders slumped and his face lined with fatigue. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together, as if he’d been praying.

He looked up as Rhys walked in, but said nothing.

Eun-woo was still lying on the old bed. He was covered with several blankets, but his skin was still pale. He was breathing heavily, his hair was tangled and damp with fever, and his sleeping face looked tense.

Rhys approached silently, his gaze never leaving the body lying on the bed.

"How’s he doing?" Rhys asked.

"No change. He hasn’t woken up," Jae replied.

Rhys took a couple of bills out of his pocket and gave them to him.

"Go get some food. Anything."

Jae hesitated for a moment, but took the money and stood up.

"I’ll try."

When Jae left, silence fell again in the room. Rhys slowly approached the bed. He knelt at the edge, his gaze fixed on Eun-woo’s sleeping face. Gently, he lifted a damp strand of hair from his forehead and brushed it away. He still had a fever.

Rhys held his breath. He needed to find some water and a cloth to cool his temperature.

At that moment, Eun-woo opened his eyes.

The eyes that looked at Rhys weren’t the same as usual. The red remained, so intense that for a second Rhys thought he was seeing a distorted version of reality. His body reacted instinctively: he tensed suddenly, ready to retreat.

But then Eun-woo’s palm closed around Rhys’s wrist, warm and secure. He tugged gently. Rhys fell onto the narrow mattress, sideways, Eun-woo’s body barely separating his. The bed creaked with their shared weight, but neither of them said anything.

Rhys looked at Eun-woo, still alert, but no longer afraid.

"You’re burning up," Rhys murmured, touching Eun-woo’s cheek. "I’ll find something to bring it down."

Rhys barely sat up, placing a hand on the mattress to push himself up, but before he could, Eun-woo stopped him.

His hand slowly moved up, resting on the back of his neck, and gently pulled him closer.

And then he kissed him.

It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t rushed or chaotic. This time it was calmer and more deliberate. A prolonged touch of lips. Intimate and secure.

Rhys didn’t resist.

He closed his eyes, letting himself be swept away by Eun-woo’s warmth, by the way their mouths fit together. His body reacted as if it had been waiting for that touch forever. His fingers sought the fabric of his shirt, gripping it tightly.

Rhys wanted more than a kiss. He wanted it with an intensity that frightened him for a moment. But then, he remembered Eun-woo’s burning skin and the weakness in his breathing, the trembling in his muscles still tense under the covers.

With an effort, Rhys pulled away slightly, his lips still brushing Eun-woo’s. Rhys closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Eun-woo’s. His fingers slid over his cheek with almost reverent care.

"Medicine..."

"The only medicine I need is you," Eun-woo whispered.

Rhys stood motionless and breathless.

The words went through him like an electric shock, straight to the center of his chest.

I can give myself to Eun-woo body and soul.

I’m going to be okay.

I want to be with Eun-woo.

Not out of duty, not out of fear, not to survive; but because he wanted Eun-woo. Because, for the first time in years, Rhys wanted to be truly touched, not to please, but to give himself away of his own free will.

His hands began to unbutton his shirt, each movement slow and shaky.

This time is different.

It’s not like with Magnus.

And yet, he couldn’t stop his body from shaking and tears from blurring his vision.

He wasn’t afraid of Eun-woo, but of the memory of Blackwood on his skin.

But then Eun-woo stopped him and looked at him closely. Not with desire, not with shame. He looked at him with a serene seriousness, as if he could see beyond Rhys’s skin. As if he could sense that something wasn’t quite right.

"Forget it," Eun-woo said, turning away from him as he pulled the blankets over himself.

Rhys blinked, still with his shirt half off, confused.

"You want this bond, don’t you?"

There was no immediate response.

The silence between them, for the first time, was awkward, not from a lack of affection, but from the weight of what remained unsaid. Rhys felt his heart pound in his throat, fearful of what might happen next.

"Not if I’m forcing you," Eun-woo replied.

Rhys looked down. The air in the room grew thick, difficult to breathe. He wanted to say something, anything, but he just sat there on the edge of the mattress.

"You’re not forcing me," he said finally. "I want to do this."

And it was true. But it was also true that a part of him had felt an instinctive shudder. Something Eun-woo had noticed even before he did.

Eun-woo looked at him over the blanket. His eyes were no longer glowing red.

"Then maybe I’m the one who’s not ready. Not yet."

Rhys felt a pang in his heart. Not of rejection, but of sadness. Because he recognized the anxiety in Eun-woo, that desperate urge to cling to someone so he wouldn’t sink. He needed the bond, and yet he preferred to wait until Rhys was well to do it.

"Is it really you, Eun-woo?"

The question escaped Rhys’s lips before he could gauge his tone. He sounded more serious than he intended.

Eun-woo wasn’t offended. He didn’t flinch or avoid his gaze. He just nodded, firmly.

"It’s still me."

Rhys lay down beside him, the mattress creaking slightly under his weight. He stared at the ceiling.

"I’m sorry," he murmured after a few seconds. "I promised you answers... but I didn’t give them. I just dragged you into all this without having any idea what the hell I’m doing."

"It’s okay," Eun-woo replied with his characteristic calm and tenderness.

Rhys smiled. He turned and hugged Eun-woo from behind. Eun-woo didn’t move. He just snuggled up against him, seeking more contact.

They stayed like that, wrapped in the silence of the room, listening to the whirring of the fan and the beating of their hearts.

Rhys blinked slowly, his body giving in to exhaustion. And as sleep began to creep up on him, he understood one thing.

He liked all versions of Eun-woo. The one who kissed him without asking, as if the world were ending. And the one who spoke softly, afraid his words might hurt.

He loved every side of him.

Because they were all part of Eun-woo.

And he wasn’t going to let them go.