Of all the people he had expected to be reasonable, Artemy had not expected one to be Mr. Cassius Beckett, grandson of the famed detective Reginald Beckett, whom had built his empire on the exact grim situations they were now faced in. It was relieving, and yet all the more troubling.

It felt like a response given too late, and Artemy felt like he was waist-deep in the problem now, with no way to swim out.

“I hope we can,” he responded, his voice barely a murmur. “Lock your door when you decide to retire - for safety’s sake. I believe I have some writing to do.”

Artemy left Cassius to his room, his hopes for surviving the night plummeting with every step he took through the cold house. The old wooden floors creaked with every step, and he felt that at any moment, he might fall through it and into a coffin already fitted for him. He stopped at the front door briefly, ensuring that it was properly locked before continuing on.

He did not particularly like the small study in the furthest corner of his house. The dusty bookshelves loomed over his desk, casting long shadows across the room. The entire room smelled stale with disuse. There weren’t even any windows in the bloody thing, but for once, that fact comforted him.

The desk he sat behind was favorable, with smooth wood covered in papers and ink pots, messes from previous work that he had simply neglected to clean up. Cassius would have fainted at the sight, firmly believing that a clean desk was the key to life. Artemy thought a desk was just that - a bloody desk.

Sensible as always, he tried not to let his emotions cloud his judgement when he drew out a fresh sheet of parchment, writing what could be his last document - his final will.

— Full

His first beneficiary to inherit everything would be his mother, of course. Artemy had no spouses or children, nor did he have siblings, so the decision was easy enough. Perhaps it was a bit of a taboo, but at the end of his will, he gave everything his mother wouldn’t want to his only real friend in the world - to Cassius Beckett. He had told himself that he would remain collected, and yet his hand shook with every swipe of his pen, ink running and mixing with the drops of wet forming on the document. His life had not been terribly remarkable, and yet he knew why he wasn’t ready to die.

It was time, then, to admit to himself what he had been desperately trying to fix, the beast in his own wardrobe that shook the house every time Cassius looked at him. It was why he didn’t regret choosing his own death over Cassius’s. It was why he would miss him the most.

It was illegal, it was foolish, it was still undeniable, and that was why Artemy set his will aside and drew another sheet of parchment, setting to motion what words he had never courage enough to say, words he barely had the strength to write.

He wasn’t entirely sure when it began, nor was he sure when his feelings of friendship began to form into admiration, and then further into love. All he knew was that, in the years he had known Cassius - not more than five - he was deeply, irrevocably, utterly in love with him.

Such a confession would have put him in prison and expelled from the university, and a written confession was practically a death sentence. Artemy shrugged at the thought of it. He was dying anyways.

He took a breath, and then began with, ‘To a Mr Cassius Beckett’.

He prayed Cassius would forgive him.

—

The words came too easily for Artemy, and he could have sworn that he didn’t breathe for the entire time he was writing, though his clock told him that he had been forming the words for well over two hours. He looked at the letter with a finality that felt all too real, knowing that, even if he somehow survived, his future fate would be in Cassius’s hands. He could just as easily turn Artemy in for his unchangeable crime and send him to his death.

Artemy couldn’t help but to trust him, despite the nervous feeling climbing in his gut, making him more and more nauseous as he stamped the letter with a wax seal. His legs shook as he carried the letter with both hands to the front door, ready to be delivered the next morning to Cassius’s own home. Perhaps it was rather silly to do since Cassius was staying with him, but he didn’t want to risk the humiliation of him finding the letter too soon.

Perhaps he also just didn’t want to see Cassius’s face when he read the damned thing.

At once forgetting why he wrote his will and confession, Artemy lingered a moment on his doorstep, breathing in the fresh night air, crisp with the promise of winter to soon come. The bitter cold often made his mother sick, but Artemy always enjoyed the snowy walks to class, his scarf nearly wrapped up to his nose. It was far more desirable than the summer heat, at the very least.

Feeling a little more peaceful than he had in the last few days, Artemy locked the front door as he went back indoors, ready to end the night on a better note. He fell asleep quickly, his mind less troubled and perhaps even coming to terms with it all.

A scream in the night pierced his eardrums, forcing Artemy to the floor before he had even opened his eyes. He was a tangle of limbs and blankets as he fought to stand, terror spreading like ice in his veins as he realized at once what the killer had meant when he demanded Artemy make his choice.

Artemy didn’t even realize that he had chosen the wrong thing.

He ran out of the room, devoid of any weapons but he didn’t care. Cassius was screaming in the next room and Artemy would be damned if he hesitated a second too late.

Artemy came upon the guest bedroom to find that the door had been forced open, the lock hanging limply on the door and cracks running down the wood. The room itself was dark save for a single candle that had been burning, but Artemy didn’t need it to see the killer’s figure hovering over the bed, Cassius’s screaming form below.

Cassius’s eyes met his, tears streaking his face as he breathed, and then he spoke just once. “Artemy-“

Artemy rushed forward, unsure of what the killer was doing nor why he was just standing there, holding Cassius’s face. The killer looked to Artemy with a slow grin on his face, and then he was breathing onto Cassius’s shocked - and disgusted - face.

“What are you doing?” Artemy asked, grabbing the man’s massive arm and trying to tear him away. The man pulled away with ease, evidently having decided to leave Cassius alive.

He looked down at Artemy with those same eyes, though they looked wrong in the candlelight, reflecting orange, fiery flickers in his irises. “I’ve infected him. He won’t last.”

“What the devil does that mean-?” Artemy asked, his voice rough with anger, reaching volumes that could have rivaled Cassius’s screaming.

The killer ignored him at first, walking towards the door as if he had lived there all his life. He was in the hall by the time he turned back to Artemy, enveloped in the darkness and yet still reflecting orange. He made an amused sound. “I tried to warn you.”

The house was filled with silence as he walked away, but Artemy did not follow. He rushed back to Cassius upon the sound of a whimper, worry wrinkling his brow. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

Cassius was shaking, curling in on himself like a child. “He didn’t do anything! He just - breathed on me!”

Artemy couldn’t pretend to understand, but he knew that whatever the killer had decided to do, that it wouldn’t be over with a single break-in. He knew Cassius enough to enter his bedroom, and yet he left him alive.

His home was no longer safe for him.

“You won’t be safe here,” Artemy said at once, pacing the room, his hair disheveled from the excitement. “Whatever he’s done, he knows where I live and he-“

“You’re not safe either!” Cassius exclaimed, rushing to his feet to grab Artemy’s shoulders. “For God’s sake, it’s like you’ve forgotten to live for yourself! You were the one who ran after the killer, and you ran after him again to save me! Why can’t you be selfish for once?”

“I would do it again.” The words spilled from Artemy’s mouth before he had even realized what he was saying, and then all he could do was pray he didn’t say anything worse. “I would do it twice, three times over if it meant you lived. And if I couldn’t run and save you, I’d walk. And if I couldn’t even do that, I’d crawl. I do believe you’d do the same for me.”

Cassius swallowed, looking at him with misty, unreadable eyes. “There’s very little I would refuse for you, Mr. Silvercrest, but running from a killer and abandoning you is one of them. I will stay here until someone stops this wretched man.”

“You could die. You - You will die, next time.”

“I care not.” Cassius’s words were sincere, and Artemy was crossed between taking him in his arms and rushing outside to burn the letter that would ruin their life together. If they only had a few days to live, why then, should he ruin it?

Artemy supposed it was because, even if the law denied it, he still held hope for the barest chance of a happy ending.