"Sorry"
Arthur murmured helplessly. He only wanted what was best for Karel, yet the words of farewell stuck in his throat.
He knew that if Karel stayed with him, he'd never be happy—not with his limitations, not after losing his sight, and certainly not after losing his company.
Yet, for a fleeting moment, selfishness surfaced. Could he ask Karel to stay by his side, even if he knew it wouldn't bring him happiness?
Before he could dwell on it further, he felt Karel shift. Warmth enveloped him abruptly, arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace. Arthur stiffened, startled—but his body reacted faster than his mind. Trembling hands rose, hesitating before finally settling against the back of the man he loved so desperately.
He drew in a shaky breath, fighting to steady himself. Just one moment, he thought. Let me have this—just one moment—before I let him go forever.
But then, he noticed something. The fabric of his shirt clung damply to his skin.
Arthur froze. Carefully, he lifted a hand, fingers threading through Karel's slightly overgrown hair. The familiar scent of blueberries filled his senses.
"Dea..ehm Karel…?" he whispered.
No answer came. Only the tremors wracking Karel's body, the desperate grip on Arthur's shirt, the silent sobs muffled against his chest.
Panic surged. Arthur had no idea what to do.
"Don't cry—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry"
He stammered, voice thick with helplessness. He'd never faced anything like this before, had no clue how to comfort someone so shattered.
"Don't apologize" Karel's voice was rough, raw.
"You've been suffering all alone, haven't you? Did you really think I'd leave? How could you not trust me?"
Arthur went utterly still.
Karel only held him tighter, as if loosening his grip even slightly would make Arthur vanish. His face remained buried against Arthur's chest, tears soaking deeper into the fabric.
He didn't look up.
Arthur's entire body locked in place, yet his resolve crumbled with every word. Slowly, he dipped his head, lips trembling. His hand, still tangled in Karel's hair, slid down to rub slow, soothing circles over his back—though in truth, he was the one who needed calming.
"...I just wanted you to be happy. I didn't want—"
The words died as something soft, warm, and faintly sweet brushed against his lips—lightning-quick.
Arthur's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away, frozen in that fleeting, breathless instant. It was too brief to even call it a kiss.
Before his mind could catch up, it happened again.
This time, it lingered.
Karel fisted Arthur's collar, dragging him closer, demanding a response. Then, a hand cupped Arthur's cheek, stilling him for a heartbeat.
No warning. No hesitation.
Arthur kissed him back—tentative at first, then harder as his resistance shattered. His hands gripped Karel's waist, yanking him flush until not a sliver of space remained between them. Their mouths moved in a fevered rhythm, breaths mingling, desperation pouring into every touch.
A low whimper escaped Karel when Arthur suddenly flipped their positions, pressing him back against the couch. Fingers twisted into Arthur's hair, pulling him deeper, drowning in the kiss as it grew wilder, hungrier—
After what felt like an eternity of shared breath, Karel was nearly lightheaded from lack of oxygen. In moments like these, he regretted being reborn as a human—barely capable of holding his breath for two minutes.
When they finally broke apart, gasping, their lips still lingered close, chasing the fading warmth neither wanted to lose.
Karel stayed silent, his thumb brushing Arthur's eyelid before sweeping aside the sweat-damp hair stuck to his forehead.
Seeing Arthur like this - blind and vulnerable, Karel could no longer hold back his tears. He surged forward again, crashing into Arthur's body and clutching him desperately tight.
"Stupid Arthur," he sobbed into the crumpled fabric of Arthur's shirt, "stupid, stupid... I hate you."
O0O
Karel blinked awake, his eyes gritty and aching. His skull throbbed—last night's migraine had spiked until he blacked out. Ever since the accident, the headaches had gotten worse.
His hand groped the empty space beside him. Tch. He'd half-expected Arthur to follow him to bed.
A glance at the clock: 5 AM. His usual time for workouts and study, but today his face felt stiff from dried tears. Thank God Arthur can't see me like this. The humiliation would've killed him.
He rolled out of bed and padded into the hallway, doors looming in the dim light. Where's Arthur's room? One by one, he turned knobs until he found it—a spare bedroom downstairs.
The door creaked open. There, sprawled stiffly atop the covers, Arthur slept with measured breaths, his face serene despite the bandage obscuring his eyes. Even unconscious, he looked unfairly handsome.
Karel's mouth twitched into a smirk. He crept closer, perched on the mattress, and poked Arthur's cheek. No reaction. Another poke, harder this time. Still nothing.
Satisfied, he stood to leave—then crack!
"Goddamn it!"
He clutched his elbow, pain radiating from where it had slammed into the wooden table's edge. The hallway seemed to taunt him with new horrors: sharp corners, low furniture, that godforsaken vase at the end.
Arthur was blind.
What if he tripped? What if his head hit that cabinet? What if the vase shattered and left glass shards for him to step on?
This isn't a house—it's a fucking death trap.
Karel rubbed his face in frustration before turning to survey the room. Too many sharp edges. Too many breakables. The furniture was cluttered and cramped—a hazard for someone who couldn't see.
"Guess I'm renovating"
He muttered, striding toward the kitchen.
A small door beside it led to the storage shed. When he yanked it open, dust motes swirled around ancient tools. Without hesitation, he grabbed sandpaper and got to work, grinding down every jagged table corner until the wood turned smooth under his fingertips.
Next, he rearranged the chaos—shoving chairs aside, widening pathways, banishing fragile vases and glassware to high shelves. A quick call to his assistant secured safer furniture for delivery.
An hour later, he exhaled. Better. The house no longer seemed hell-bent on murder.
Then his gaze snagged on the window. Beyond it, the garden wilted under the morning sun. Arthur loves sitting out there.
Karel pushed outside, watering can in hand—only to trip over a body.
"What the—?!"
Men in black suits lay sprawled across the porch: slumped in chairs, snoring on the steps, one even curled on the ground like a discarded coat. Exhaustion clung to them, as if they'd stood guard all night.
Karel clicked his tongue. "Damn, I forgot about Tristan's goons."
O0O