Aeneat’s eyes remained guarded as he pressed his palm more tightly over Doavin’s mouth, muffling the end of his screams. When it was clear Doavin was finished, he finally lifted his hand away, knees cracking as pushed himself up from the floor near Doavin’s head. His expression didn’t change when Doavin retched quietly, barely avoiding vomiting over the couch, nor did it flicker when the tears began to seep from Doavin’s eyes.
He turned to leave, but a sudden tight grip around his wrist gave him pause. “What is it?” he asked, voice low.
“I dreamed,” said Doavin. “I’m afraid.”
Frowning, Aeneat shook his head. “It was a nightmare. You’re fine.” He shook Doavin’s hand from around his wrist before turning to leave once more.
“But..!” Doavin reached forward, eyes shining in the near darkness. “Aeneat, are dreams ever real?”
“When they aren’t dreams, maybe.”
“I think my dream was real.” He stared up at Aeneat, his brow furrowed.
Sighing, Aeneat just wiped his hand over his face. “Then it wasn’t a dream. A vision, if you want to believe in that sort of thing. Possibly a premonition, “ He sounded tired, almost bored, “But not a dream.”
Doavin looked up at Aeneat, struck silent. Whatever had happened to Aeneat while he slept must have changed him, sapping all the warmth away and leaving him frigid. It seemed almost as though someone had quietly replaced the Aeneat that had appeared earlier, who had smiled as he invited Doavin away from his solitude, with the one who stood before him now, distant, and completely disinterested in Doavin’s obvious distress. He bit his lip, looking down at his lap. Even if Aeneat seemed not to care, he suddenly felt the need to tell him what had happened. He pushed himself up, hesitating for a moment as he tried to organize his thoughts into coherent sentences. When he spoke, however, it was quickly, his words rushing to surround Aeneat before he could turn away, and the coherence Doavin had stuggled to attain was replaced by language made awkward by his urgency.
“There was a lot of what came out of Lars before,” he began. “When he was hurt.”
“Blood,” supplied Aeneat.
“Blood,” repeated Doavin. “There was a lot of blood. Everywhere, blood. And a thing. It looked like me. And it said…” he trailed off, looking into the far corner. “I know my name now.”
Aeneat listened in silence, expression unchanging.
“It’s Doavin, my name. It didn’t say it. But I know."
Aeneat only nodded and, when Doavin failed to resume speaking, turned away once more. He had nothing to say about this dream that Doavin had elevated to the level of a vision. Nothing to say about the blood or the creature Doavin had allowed to name him. Indeed, he found he had nothing to say to Doavin at all.
Seeing this, Doavin felt his mouth dry and turn sour. His hand fell to the cushion by his hip, fingers fighting to gain purchase in the fabric when Aeneat began to walk away from him again. He realized now: nothing had happened to Aeneat while Doavin slept, but something had happened between the two of them and he had no idea what it was or how he could fix it.
“Aeneat!” he cried at Aeneat’s retreating back, “Why do you hate me so much? I don’t understand… what did I do?”
The anguish in Doavin's voice was enough to finally stop Aeneat, and his eyes targeted the television set when he shook his head. “I don’t hate you," he said quietly. "I feel for you. But I hate absolutely everything you stand for.”
For a moment, Aeneat met Doavin's gaze and Doavin could see a quiet sense of resignation. Then it was as if someone placed a mirror underneath the surface of Aeneat's eyes, locking Doavin out without preamble. He watched Aeneat leave, shocked silent by a rejection he hadn't even begun to expect.
The sharp sound of Aeneat’s door seemed to come out of nowhere, and it hit him like a closed fist, leaving him breathless. Suddenly, he felt more alone than he had ever known was possible. At least before, in his ignorance, he had never known anything else. Now that he had experienced warmth, even if only momentarily, its theft left him feeling as cold and empty as Aeneat's final stare.
Aeneat was gone by the time Doavin slunk from out of his dark room. Anai said he had been called on a solo mission and left a few hours earlier. He sat down at the kitchen table, wordlessly watching as she assembled a small bomb from the various parts spread out near her coffee cup.
"It happens like that a lot," she told him, reaching for a miniature screwdriver, "I'll be sleeping like a damn log and wake up with a note tacked to my door saying he's off doing whatever they told him to do," she paused, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she tackled a screw. "We're just one part of this outfit. I mean, it's not like there're many of us anyway. But they keep us pretty well split up, that way if one of the groups gets found out, the whole thing doesn't get shot to shit, you know?"
Anai looked up at him for a moment, unaware of his discomfort as her fingers drummed against the tabletop. "Anyway. He also said you'd figured out your name. Doavin, right?" She smiled at his faint nod, "Never heard that one before. What's it mean?"
She waited for a few seconds but he remained silent, not lifting his eyes from her hands as they stilled over the unfinished bomb. Eventually she heaved an exaggerated sigh, "Back to being all silent again, huh? Well I hope it's not because you think I'm angry with you over what happened yesterday. I mean I was pretty pissed at first, and I'm still not sure how you managed that whole thing, scrawny as you are, but I'd gotten all overzealous after all. I do that sometimes, so I'm sorry. No hard feelings, okay?"
She smiled when he nodded once more, watching him briefly before lifting the small explosive device up to her face. "Well, I think I'm done working on this little bastard for now. I'm hungry. How about I make us some french toast? I'll even make some for Lars, if he wants some. Go ask him for me, huh? He'll probably be nicer to you," her smile faded a little, trembling before returning to full strength. "I kinda got him shot after all."
Doavin was relieved as he pushed himself away from the table. Anai may have meant well, but her chatter left him exhausted at the same time that it fostered his headache, speeding its spread between his ears. He decided he would wake Lars and then go back into hiding; he wasn't particularly hungry anyway.
