Even if it’s only for a few minutes. Zye is up and moving for the door. He scoops up his keyring, wallet, and phone. The backs of his sneakers fold in as he steps into them in a desperate attempt to hurry. He hops from foot to foot until they slide on all the way. Once that’s done and the door is locked behind him, he’s moving. Breathing gets a little easier with each step. The rising panic dwindles as well.

The way people look at him or step around him doesn’t bother him today. If he cared he would have worn a pair of glasses. Even still, he can’t seem to keep his chin held high to make them think it doesn’t affect him. Zye simply walks behind the groups and keeps his pace slow.

There’s no destination in mind to begin with so why hurry?

Zye only makes it a couple of streets with his hands in his pockets. The convenience store at the corner gives him pause. He knows he shouldn’t go too much farther than that. He still has to walk back. There are dull aches in his lower back that say he shouldn’t have left in the first place. A selfish ploy for distractions.

Turning on his heel, he huffs. He’s only irritated with his own mind and how at odds it is with itself. So much so that he doesn’t even notice the presence behind him until they’re running into each other.

He frowns down at the shorter man, hoping a single glance of two-toned eyes will send him scurrying. Yet…the opposite happens.

“Terribly sorry for that. Are you alright?”

The man takes a step back with a smile on his thin lips. Yellow eyes gaze up at Zye under the long sweep of dark-brown bangs across the left side of his face. He flicks the braid of hair over his shoulder to where it surely goes past his waist.

“Ah, I remember you. How have you been?”

Zye hesitates, quite openly so at that. His brows narrow and his eyes squint. It’s not the first time someone has acted…friendly. Yet, wouldn’t he remember someone like this? He has the memories of all those that he took on as customers when he tried doing it on his own. This guy doesn’t fit any of their descriptions.

Nothing is coming save for a small itch of memory long since past and he doesn’t want to be here long enough to find out why.

“Sorry buddy, you got the wrong guy.”

He’s about to shoulder past the man when a hand presses against his torso. Fingertips touch the hem of his shirt while the rest of the man’s palm connects with his skin. It has a tingle dancing along his stomach and chills shooting up his spine.

“That saddens me. My name is Hax, remember me now?”

For a moment, his memory frazzles. It splinters and reconnects. He does remember this man. At least somewhat. The strange name elicits something. He’s seen him before, talked to him, and even introduced him to his mother. How could he forget someone that stands out so much?

The sleeve of Hax’s white-button-up crumples around his elbows as he relaxes his stance. Zye peers down at him and tries to rip some shreds of memory from the corners of his mind. He does recall a man such as Hax dressed in a fine suit, not unlike the attire he has now, coming to his aid.

Zye cares less for the looks people shoot them and more about the hand moving to his arm. Hax gives him a pat, urging Zye to walk with him. “Come, talk with me. It’s been a while.”

“Look,” he starts as he begins to walk back to his apartment, “I don’t remember you that well. So if I screwed you over somewhere, today isn’t the day to mess with me.”

Hax laughs at that. “Still not a charmer are you? You should smile more, maybe people wouldn’t be as afraid of you.”

Zye shoots him a glare.

“Ah, see! Like that. It’s probably why you got into all those fights. The time I interrupted it I didn’t think you’d make it much longer. Six to one isn’t fair.”

The pieces are tingling, wanting to reconnect. He does remember that. Yet…that was so long ago— one of the several memories that usually pops up to haunt him at night. Sixteen years in fact but this man looks the same. That smile looks the same. The smile that shone down on him as he was picked up into the man’s arms, carried away as he lost consciousness.

“I can handle myself just fine.”

“Very brave to say. But strength doesn’t come from bravado, do well to keep that in mind.”

Hax slips his hands into his pockets as they walk. He keeps up with Zye, not minding that Zye picks up the pace. Obvious enough to say he doesn’t care to reunite with his once upon a time savior. Not when he doesn’t know why or what Hax wants. He just doesn’t have time to entertain this man.

“Whatever you say.”

“Tell me, how’s your mother these days? Such a kind soul she was.”

“She died.”

Flat, empty, and sharp. He doesn’t want to talk about Lyra and especially not with this man. Not that he wants to talk with anyone at that rate. He just wants to go home. But he can feel the dizziness in the background. Something is off and he hates when his equilibrium tilts like this.

Not much further now at least. One more block.

“Ah, my condolences. Life is fleeting. But it’s because it is that it’s beautiful.”

“What are you, a poet?”

“No, just someone who has lived. If you’re smart, you’ll learn that life is beautiful even when it’s burning down. Every small moment, enjoy it. Feel lucky you’re alive and stay strong.” He chuckles, almost as if he can’t help himself. “Otherwise you just get snared by others that wish you harm. Right?”

Zye scoffs. “I don’t remember you being so talkative. Or weird.”

“And you, you used to be small and cute. But things change.”

“I—”

He can’t finish. Not with the stab of pain that races up through his chest. It’s a shock to his system, one that demands he stop moving. One that is heeded only because he stumbles. Zye manages to catch himself even without the hand that reaches up, pressing against him in hopes of stopping him from tilting over.

One over his heart, the other on his arm.

Normally, Zye would be adamant that Hax let go of him. He dislikes people touching him or even invading his personal space. Friends barely get away with it. Some guy that helped him out when he was a kid? No way.

“I’m fine. You can—nngh—”

The pain doesn’t leave. Any other time it strikes and it’s gone like a bolt of lightning. Yet this time it lingers and throbs. It hurts so bad that the world dares to try and move from beneath his feet. The only thing Zye can do is stand there, waiting for the sensation to pass.

Sitting down in the middle of the sidewalk is the last thing he wants to do. There’s already enough attention on him as it is. He cuts his eyes over at Hax, noticing that the man is staring at him intently.

“Can you walk?”

Zye keeps his lips drawn in a tight line as he nods.

“Then let’s step over here for a moment.”

He guides Zye over to the corner. The lights shine green and if he felt better he’d be hurrying to get across the street. Despite wanting to leave, now he wants only to be home. Hax tugs him over to the side of a building. The curtains are drawn on that particular window, allowing Zye to lean up against it without worry.

It’s only then that Hax lets one of his hands slide away. The one on Zye’s chest remains. Hax even adds a little pressure as he tilts his head so that their eyes meet. “If you’d like I can call a ride for you whether it’s home or a hospital.”

The words sound so far away. Zye strains his ears to hear them, to make out just what Hax is saying. It’s as if he’s talking to him through a rainstorm. There’s just noise — so much noise!

Zye closes his eyes, pinches them shut tight. When he opens them he’s breathless. For the smallest of moments everything is bright, saturated, and in focus. He lifts a hand, wanting to cradle at his face, only to stop.

On his fingers is a color— a color that shouldn’t be there.

Little wisps of purple energy crackle off his fingertips before turning to mist, melting away as if they were never there. Zye stares at his hand. He flexes his fingers for a moment until the visuals stop. Even the saturation dies back down to the bleak dark hues of a storm rolling in and blocking out the light in the sky.

“Zye?”

“Oh, uh…I’m fine,” he mumbles.

Hax continues to smile as he pulls away. “Good. I was saying I could walk you home if you’d prefer that over a ride.”

“N-no. Thanks, but I’m fine. Really.”

“Well, I won’t push as long as you’re sure.” He takes a step back, pulling away from Zye as well as the interaction. “Be safe on your way home then.”

Just as he goes to turn, Zye stops him. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for back then.”

Hax chuckles. “I didn’t do it to be thanked. Instead, do me a favor?” He waits for Zye to slowly nod. “Keep walking. No matter how hard it gets or if you stumble, just like that, don’t stop. Even you can have what you want most.”

Staring after him, Zye can’t help but think of how absurd that final line is. He’s never stopped moving forward. But that doesn’t mean anything. He’s just trying to survive. Living is different— no, it’s nearly impossible with this disease. So he thinks, despite having friends that’ll answer his calls.

His gaze shifts down before flicking back up. Lips part as he goes to ask Hax something, curious about him. Yet…he’s gone. There’s no one there except for the people passing him by with furtive glances. In any of the throngs of people, there’s no sign of Hax whatsoever.

Where he had been standing is a drop of water that darkens the sidewalk. More steadily begin to join until the light dusting of rain is falling down on the city. Some hurry their steps while others retrieve an umbrella at their side. Others quicken to the overhangs of shops to wait out the rain.

Zye doesn’t. He pulls his hood up and pushes away from the wall. He doesn’t have time to wait. It’s better than standing there contemplating what just happened or wondering about the odds of running into Hax here.

Home is calling and he doesn’t want to keep it waiting any longer.