The day turned into several days, and then a week had passed before Artemy heard from Cassius again.
Every day that Artemy awoke was both relieving and anxiety-inducing, for he knew that one day the killer would come, and yet he had no way of knowing when, nor why he was drawing it out so terribly.
On the second day of not hearing word from Cassius, he set out to speak to him after class, assuming that the Beckett manor had demanded all of Cassius’s undivided attention. The two had parted on warm terms not long ago, and so he wasn’t even thinking of other possibilities when he found their bench to be empty. Artemy lingered a moment before shrugging the thought away. The two often went days without seeing each other, and it was always for a reason.
The days passed, and Artemy started to worry when he never saw Cassius in class nor at his bench. A week into the tense silence, Artemy had walked down the university streets and, if but by fate, overheard the conversation of two law students he only barely recognized.
“He’s not been in class since - oh, a week?”
“Who, Mr. Beckett? Rather unlike him, that is. Is he ill?”
The law student shrugged as if he wasn’t talking about Artemy’s best friend, responding with, “Must be.”
Artemy rushed home, the bitter cold biting at his lungs as he crossed the frosty streets. Winter had come earlier than usual, and it no longer felt welcoming. The trees were losing their leaves quickly, and Artemy shuddered at the sight of the barren wilderness behind his house, as if the killer had left all of his windows open for the world to peer into. He locked the front door behind him as if that would ease his fears.
Before he knew it, he was in the study and preparing to inquire of Cassius’s health. He had Mr. Beckett’s first name written on the parchment when a sudden recollection hit him - the first time he had thought of such a thing in a week.
He had already written to Mr. Beckett once already, which could only mean that the dreaded confession had been read, comprehended, and ignored. Perhaps Cassius wasn’t sick after all, he realized, slumping in his desk chair.
He thought he would be prepared for it, and every rational part of his mind had told him that this would occur, that there was no way that Cassius could ever accept him or - God forbid - love him. He had once told Artemy that love was a fleeting thing, but never before did Artemy expect it to so feel like grief. And yet, he still found himself mourning for someone who never died.
He rested his head in his hands, his hair spooling out his fingers in wild curls that he didn’t have the energy to tame, feeling as though it would only be fitting for the killer to come today.
Perhaps that’s why he flinched when someone knocked at the door urgently, some time after he had sat down.
Rain was battering on the roof by the time Artemy realized that he must have fallen asleep, and he looked out the window to see that night had already fallen. His back ached terribly, protesting with every step he made towards the door, caring not if it was the killer nor if it were his own mother.
That’s what Artemy told himself, at least, and yet he still found his hand hovering over the doorknob, unsure if he wanted to know who would be mad enough to come visit at night during a storm when a killer was on the loose.
Whomever was waiting for him knocked again, louder this time, and so Artemy flung open the door, though he nearly stumbled when he saw a rather-drenched looking Cassius standing in the rain, shivering.
He inhaled sharply, only barely moving in time before Cassius shoved his way inside with all the fury of the storm, slamming the door shut before pacing about in such a rush that Artemy thought the floor would crash under him. His blonde hair, normally carelessly wavy and tied out of his face, was soaked from the rain, revealing thick tangles that would likely take hours to fix.
Artemy couldn’t help but to focus on the dark bags under his eyes, the way the candlelight shadowed his cheekbones hollowly. It must have been true, then, that he had fallen ill. Perhaps for quite some time.
That fury turned on Artemy the moment the door shut, looking at him so intensely that he found himself backing into the wooden door fearfully. Cassius’s jaw trembled with the cold, still staring at him as he breathed heavily, his lungs wheezing.
“Cassius, are you-“
“-How could you?” Cassius’s words were sharp, spoken so harshly that Artemy might as well have torn himself in two. His words shook as if unsure of himself, and yet Cassius stood firmly before him, unmovable.
Artemy flinched so hard that his head hit the door clumsily, though Cassius showed no remorse. “You’re ill. Why did you walk through the rain? What could have been so important for you to risk your life-“
“You know damned well what brought me here!” Cassius shouted. As if on cue, he reached into the inner pocket of his thick coat, producing a letter that had, horridly, survived the rain entirely. He gripped it with pale hands, his white knuckles nearly tearing it. “You know what could happen if this were to escape me! You - You wrote that it was your death sentence, and yet you still spoke it into existence. Shall I remind you?”
“Cassius-“
Cassius cleared his throat. “‘I, Artemy Silvercrest, have found that, over the course of our friendship, that I am irrevocably, utterly in love with you.’” Cassius stopped, then, though Artemy knew that it was not the end of the letter. He had all but memorized it. “I don’t mean to harm you, but you must understand that this - this cannot happen!”
Artemy swallowed, his eyes watering against his will. “I thought you were-“
“You thought wrong!” Cassius snapped, though the way he looked at the ground momentarily, the way his cheeks turned pink despite his illness, told Artemy that he was not entirely wrong at all.
“You have to forget this. You - You must put it behind you before someone finds out. Before it’s your death sentence!” Cassius continued, though the words felt like little more than the barest threat. Cassius stepped closer to him, then, having read something in Artemy’s expression that he couldn’t understand. “Why don’t you care about what they’ll do to you?”
“Because I’m already going to die.”
The words, finally spoken, hung in the air like the bells at a funeral - Artemy’s funeral. Cassius looked at him in bewilderment, his brows furrowed. “Explain yourself. I don’t like this talk, Artemy.”
Artemy looked out the window, though it was barely visible from the kitchen behind Cassius’s tall figure. Still, he knew that the woods were there, and in it, his fate. “I’ve lied to you, I’m afraid. The killer told me that he would either kill you or myself.”
He looked up at Cassius as if daring him to tell him that what he felt was wrong, that he had made a mistake. The intensity of his stare made Cassius’s eyes widen in disbelief. “I chose myself, that day. I do not regret it. Even if you shall hate me for this - for the letter - I won’t regret it.”
Cassius stared at him in a stunned silence, then, tears running down his pallid face. “He’s - He’s lying to you. If he wanted you dead, he would have came after you all those nights ago and not me. He wants you compliant. He wants to scare you.”
“I’m not scared, Cassius!” Artemy exclaimed, circling the room agitatedly. “You’ve no idea the dread one feels when they wait to die! You may be ill, Cassius, but you’re nowhere near that ill.”
Cassius moved so quickly that Artemy would have never expected him to be sick, and then he was being gripped by the shoulders tightly, shaken gently. “Why did you chose yourself? Why not me?”
“Why not me?” Artemy countered, forcing himself to step back from his grasp. “Why should I determine whether someone else lives or dies when I could instead spare them?”
Cassius made a frustrated sound, and then he was turning towards the door, running a hand through his hair in a rush. “I won’t believe it - I don’t believe it. You’ve fallen for his bluff, and all it’s done is forced you to write a love letter. Tell me, Artemy, do you at all care for women the way I do? At all?”
Artemy shook his head quickly, desperate for Cassius to not say the very words he knew he would say. “No, Cassius. I don’t. But-“
“I would never ask you to do something without reason, Mr. Silvercrest.” His back was turned towards Artemy, as if even he couldn’t stand the words he was about to utter. “But for your sake, you must accept your mother’s offer. Get married to the first girl you can stand - hell, maybe you could even find a woman with the same struggles - and put this behind you. I’ll - I’ll burn the letter, if it means no one gets it.”
“But you don’t have to.”
Artemy’s words were barely a whisper, a pleading little thing that made Cassius flinch as if he had struck him. Cassius sighed heavily, only barely turning to look at him. “You chose to save me from death. Let me choose then, to save you from an execution. Promise me that you’ll marry - you’ll marry and stay alive.”
A moment’s hesitation. The front door opened as Cassius looked at him hopelessly.
“I cannot promise such a thing, Mr. Beckett.”
Cassius turned, ensuring the letter was still safely tucked away in his coat, though Artemy didn’t see why it mattered if it was to be destroyed. “Think on it. A day, at least. Perhaps two. Don’t write to your mother until you’ve an answer. Goodbye, Artemy.”
Artemy’s throat was so tight that he couldn’t form the words before the door was closing, and then he was collapsing on the first chair he saw, unable to form any other emotion besides simple shock. He had prepared for rejection in the worst of ways. He had not at all prepared for Cassius to be frightened for him, to try to convince him to hide what illegal feelings he held.
He thought it would be rather easier if Cassius had decided to hate him.
The wind howled through the trees outside, but Artemy did not look to see if the killer was waiting outside his window again. He retired to his bedroom, determined to sleep through his own death if it decided to come. Cassius might have been convinced that the killer had been lying, but he knew that something was to occur. The killer had meant something when he asked to choose between himself or Cassius.
He only prayed that he hadn’t managed to make yet another mistake.
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