Chapter Text
Phoenix woke abruptly in the middle of the night, gasping for breath. Even though his room was filled with shadows cast by the dim night lamp, he felt as if he were still being swallowed by the darkness.
His dreams had always been vivid, too vivid. Ever since he was a child, they came not as dreams but as something closer to memories he didn’t remember living. But never like this. Never this violent.
When he forced himself upright, his heart was still slamming against his ribs, as if trying to escape.
The cruelest part was how quickly it all slipped away.
In the dream; everything had been sharp, painfully real. Every sound, every movement, every sensation had felt carved into him. But the moment he opened his eyes, it all began to rot and fade, leaving behind nothing but the echo of something terrible.
He knew there had been pain. Real pain. Something that had ripped him out of the dream, not gently, but violently. Like being dragged out of a battlefield.
But he couldn’t remember where it had hurt. Or why.
Only fragments remained.
Screams.
The frantic thunder of hooves striking the ground.
And the cold, metallic ringing of something. Something that had no business being that loud, that close.
He sat on his bed until his breathing steadied, then got up and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was nearly six in the morning, so he was surprised to find the kitchen lights already on.
“What are you doing?” he asked his housemate, who was sitting at the table eating cereal.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Harvey said. Whatever he had been watching was paused now, and he was studying Phoenix’s face carefully. “Why are you up?”
Phoenix shrugged as he reached for a glass from the upper shelf. “Dream,” he said simply but he could barely remember anything about the dream that had woken him.
As he poured water into the glass, he strained his mind, trying to recall even the smallest detail but nothing came. While he was still focused on remembering, Harvey called out to him.
“Nix?”
Phoenix blinked and turned to him. “Sorry, did you say something?”
“I asked if this is normal,” he said. “You wake up because of your dreams at least four nights a week.”
“If it’s only four, that’s good,” Phoenix said with a smile. “It used to be worse.”
Harvey didn’t seem pleased to hear that and frowned. “I know dreaming is normal, but there’s something off about yours. Have they always been like this?”
“Always. So much so that this is my normal now.” Not wanting to dwell on the topic any longer, Phoenix added, “Anyway… are you excited for the museum?”
Harvey tilted his head slightly, as if weighing his feelings. “Eh, kind of. But I’m sure you’re the one who’s really excited.”
As his housemate returned to his cereal, Phoenix sat across from him at the table. “I am. I know you don’t like museums, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy this one.”
“I doubt that.”
Phoenix let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he rose to his feet. “I’m going back to sleep, wouldn’t want to miss a single detail tomorrow. You should get some rest as well.” He hesitated, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was already half past six. “Or don’t. You’ll be up in two hours anyway.”
“Yeah, if I do fall asleep, I may not wake in time. I think it’s better if I stay awake.”
Nix had retreated to his room with one last smile and curled up on his bed. In his dreams, everything that had occupied his mind and heart was now forgotten, rendered insignificant. His heart beat fast with excitement. Tomorrow, he would finally go to the museum he had longed to see since childhood.
He had deliberately chosen to study in this city just because the museum was here. It was an obsession. He had to see the statues, the paintings, and the artifacts related to Troy with his own eyes.
Even though his excitement made it hard to fall asleep, his eagerness eventually lulled him into sleep, as if to make morning come faster.
When he woke up once more, breathless, a message from Beren was waiting on his screen. Before checking it, he waited for his heartbeat to slow. Whatever had woken him like this, again, he couldn’t remember.
Taking a deep breath, he reached for his phone and opened the message.
“Morningg, you guys don’t have to pick me up. Let’s meet there. IM SO EXCITED!!!!”
Beren was Nix’s second closest friend after Harvey. Even though they had only known each other for a year, she was so warm and genuine that it had been impossible for Nix to resist letting the friendship bloom.
After replying, “Me too! See you there!” he checked the time. The museum had already been open for two hour, which irritated him. He had wanted to go early, to examine everything without crowds. Apparently, his dreams had delayed him again.
As he listened to the quiet of the house, he realized Harvey was silent too.
He hurried through his morning routine and got dressed. When he stepped into the living room, he found Harvey asleep on the couch, fully dressed as if he had planned to go out.
He must have only been asleep for an hour, maybe an hour and a half but it had already been two hours since they were supposed to leave.
Even though he was sure Harvey wouldn’t wake, he tried anyway. “Harvey?” No response. He looked deeply, peacefully asleep.
He tried again, nudging his shoulder this time “Harvey?”
Still nothing.
Shaking his head with a small laugh, Nix accepted his fate, grabbed his jacket and keys, and left the house.
The weather was beautiful. Spring had just arrived, and the sight of trees blooming in soft colors made him smile.
He texted Beren that he had left and would be at the museum in about half an hour, then headed toward the bus stop.
At the stop, on the bus, even throughout the twenty-five minute ride, his heart beat rapidly with the overwhelming joy of finally doing something he had wanted for so long.
When he reached the museum, his steps were quick and impatient. Beren was already there, waiting for him.
“Finally!” she said when she saw him. Beren had light brown hair, chocolate colored eyes, and the warmest smile. She was just as excited as Nix, her phone already displaying the QR code of the tickets they had bought online.
“Harvey fell asleep,” Nix said, pulling up his ticket from his email and readying the QR code.
As they walked toward the entrance, Beren laughed.
“He wasn’t that eager to come anyway.”
“True,” Nix admitted. But he wasn’t giving up that easily. One day, he would come here with Harvey too.
They passed through the turnstiles with ease, and Nix held his breath. There were many things he wanted to see but the most important, of course, were the pieces related to Troy.
Beren knew this well. “I’ll start over there,” she said, pointing to the left entrance. “You stay in the Troy section as long as you want. You’ll probably spend at least half an hour on each piece, we’ll run into each other there anyway.”
She knew him so well that before Nix could even protest, Beren was already walking off with a smile. Nix wanted to follow her but his impatience wouldn’t let him. He headed up to the second floor.
The museum was just as crowded and vast as he had expected. It took him fifteen minutes to find the section he was looking for and when he did, his breath caught.
There were statues of various Greek gods, paintings, armor and helmets, weapons and even a miniature of the famous Trojan Horse.
Phoenix felt dizzy. He didn’t know where to start. He was excited but there was something else too.
His chest tightened.
As his breathing grew increasingly irregular, as if he were on the verge of a panic attack, he stepped aside and tried to steady himself with controlled breaths. When it helped, even just a little, he lifted his head… and the first thing he saw was the statue of Achilles.
A thousand different emotions hit him at once. First came happiness, then excitement, then a strange sense of safety and peace. But they shifted so quickly that his stomach churned. He was breathless again.
This time, he didn’t let it stop him. He walked slowly toward the statue.
All the positive feelings from moments ago had now turned into a deep, unbearable ache in his heart. When he finally stopped in front of it, the pain was so intense he nearly dropped to his knees.
Phoenix’s eyes slowly traced the statue. Achilles had curly hair and for some reason, Nix knew it was golden, soft as silk.
His fingertips tingled, and he clenched his hands into fists.
The expression on the statue’s face was hard. A massive spear rested in his hand as he stared forward.
People came and went, sparing no more than a few minutes before moving on but Phoenix couldn’t move. It was as if he had taken root where he stood. He couldn’t look away.
And even worse, he suddenly felt physically ill. The pain in his chest refused to fade.
As he pressed a hand over his heart, the paintings to the right of the statue caught his attention. There were many but one in particular stole his breath.
Beneath it, the title read: “Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus.”
And suddenly, his eyes filled with tears.
What was happening to him?
Why did his chest hurt so much? Why had breathing become the hardest thing in the world?
He cast one last glance at the statue of Achilles and stepped toward the painting…
But just then, the crowd parted for a brief moment.
And he noticed someone else standing in front of it.
A guy, around his age. Short, wavy blond hair. Piercing green eyes.
Nix knew the color of those eyes because they were fixed directly on him.
Nix glanced at him for a brief moment, then turned all his attention back to the painting. It was a beautiful yet deeply sorrowful piece. A tightness in his chest spread through his arms, leaving them numb. He felt such profound grief that it seemed as if he could reach out and touch it.
“Captivating.”
When Phoenix heard the deep but soft voice, he looked to his right and saw the guy from before. He was still standing in the same place, in the same posture, looking at Nix with an affection he could never fully comprehend. There were golden specks in the green of his eyes.
Nix couldn’t quite understand why the man had used that word, because his eyes didn’t leave him for a moment. They were fixed solely on Nix, with absolute focus.
Nevertheless, Phoenix nodded and turned back to the painting. “It really is.”
Something about this painting was hurting him. The dull pallor of Patroclus’ body, Achilles holding him tightly despite everything, refusing to let anyone near and the grief on his face… Nix took a deep breath.
He wanted to study the painting longer, but the boy was still there. And Nix could feel those green eyes still on him. His mind was already in chaos. He was feeling too many things at once and this stranger, staring at him so intently, wasn’t helping.
Finally, he turned to him. “Did you want to ask something?”
“Yes.” The guy swallowed hard, his gaze unwavering. “Why did you take so long?”
Nix frowned. “I’m sorry?”
The guy extended his hand. “I’m Atticus.”
His hand lingered in the air, waiting.
Nix looked between his face and his hand, confused. This sudden introduction made no sense but eventually, he set it aside and reached out.
“Phoenix—” he began. But the moment their hands touched, something surged through him.
Something familiar, something overwhelming.
He wanted to pull back.
Atticus didn’t let him.
His grip tightened, his gaze deepening, as if he had no intention of letting go.
“Phoenix,” he repeated, as though testing how the name sounded in his own voice. Then he smiled, like he had just remembered something.
The guy’s eyes, lips, and nose were perfectly structured. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and Phoenix feared that the longer he stayed there, the more this irrational situation would start to feel normal because of his appearance.
And the pain in his chest was still there. In fact, it was getting worse. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to pull his hand away, but Atticus still refused to let go.
“Yes, that’s my name,” Phoenix said eventually, his voice tight. “Can I have my hand back?”
“Oh, of course.” As if only now realizing, Atticus released his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Nix said but the numbness that had started in his hands and spread up his arms now seemed to be taking over his entire body. He needed to get out of here, quickly.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, turning away. He rushed downstairs, then out of the museum entirely.
His breathing was completely out of control now. When he finally managed to text Beren with his trembling hands, fifteen minutes had already passed.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked at the hand Atticus had held. As if he might see the reason for what he had felt, he stared at his palm for a long time.
But not a single one of the questions in his mind had an answer.
Not yet.
And he didn’t know it, but for a while longer, they would remain unanswered.