The bathroom mirror reflected two very different faces. Milo's was smudged with dirt and a smear of blood that wasn't his, his eyes wide with a lingering fear and a new, quiet determination. Elias's, on the other hand, was pale and drawn with exhaustion, a stark contrast to his usual vibrant composure. The bandage on his side was a crisp white bandage against his tan skin, and the small cut above his eye was a thin, angry red line.
Milo finished taping the gauze in place and stepped back. "Okay," he said, his voice soft. "That's the best I can do. I'm not a doctor."
Elias, who had been sitting on the toilet seat with his eyes closed, opened them slowly. He looked up at Milo, and in his dark grass-green eyes, there was a profound, aching gratitude that made Milo's heart ache.
He didn't say thank you.
He didn't need to.
The look in his eyes said it all.
"We need to get this door fixed," Milo said, his voice more practical now, trying to ground them both in reality. He led Elias out of the bathroom and into the hallway. The broken front door was a gaping maw in the wall, a testament to the brutality that had invaded their safe space. The cold night air was now seeping into the apartment, a constant reminder of their vulnerability.
Elias ran a hand over the splintered wood, his expression grim. "They will be back," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "He is relentless."
"I know," Milo said, wrapping his arms around himself. "But we can't just leave it like this. We need to do something. Block it off. I have a bunch of old furniture in the basement. We could pile it up, at least for tonight."
Elias looked at him, a flicker of surprise in his weary eyes. "You would… stay?"
Milo scoffed. "Where else am I gonna go? Leave you here all wounded? Hell no. We're in this together, remember?"
Elias's gaze softened.
He looked at Milo, who was now a beacon of stubborn, compassionate resolve. The roles had flipped. Elias, the powerful, ancient being, was now the wounded one, and Milo, the clumsy, ordinary human, was now the protector. It was a strange, but strangely comfortable, new dynamic.
For the next hour, they worked in a quiet, synchronized rhythm. Milo went down to the basement, dragging up an old wardrobe and a broken bookshelf. Elias, despite his protests, helped as much as he could, his powerful, though wounded, body making light work of the heavy furniture. Together, they wedged the wardrobe, the bookshelf, and a few old chairs against the broken front door, creating a makeshift fortress.
The room was a mess of splintered wood and displaced furniture, but the cold air from outside was now blocked, and a new sense of safety, however fragile, settled over them. They sat down on the couch, side by side, their exhaustion finally overwhelming them.
The silence was not awkward[1].
It was comfortable, filled with the quiet understanding of what had happened, and what was still to come.
Milo looked at Elias, who was now slumped against the cushions, his eyes closed, the exhaustion from the fight and the teleportations finally catching up to him. He was a perfect portrait of quiet, wounded grace. Milo reached out a hand and, with a gentleness that surprised even himself, placed it on Elias's head, stroking his soft, wolf-like ears. Elias's eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Milo, a look of simple, profound trust in his eyes. He leaned into the touch, a low, contented sound rumbling in his chest.
The fortress was compromised. But inside, a new, stronger one had been built, one made not of wood and metal, but of understanding, trust, and a fierce, unspoken love that was finally, truly, in sync.
The world outside their apartment in the city, was a terrifying, violent place, but inside, they were finally, truly, and irrevocably safe.
[1] sureee