“Are you alright?”

My eyes snapped open. That hellish battlefield was gone, replaced with something less familiar. My legs suddenly felt weak, shaking as I struggled to keep balance, but a pair of hands on either side of my arms helped me stay up.

They were so... warm.

I slowly raised my head and saw a familiar pair of blue eyes, the ones that held the vivid scene of the ocean yet carried a certain warmth. There was also this strange air of concern laid bare in them.

It was him again. That man.

“You should’ve stayed in bed for longer,” he said, his hands gently guiding me towards a nearby bed and sitting me down.

He knelt down before me, studying my expression and eyeing the visible stress on my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his finger moving up to my cheek but I roughly caught his wrist before he could touch me.

He stared at me for a moment, seeing the glare I was giving him as my fingers gripped around him. But, he didn't say anything and only carefully pulled my hand away from his wrist. I couldn't resist him, my fingers were strangely weak.

When his hand approached my face, I flinched. I waited for something to happen, for him to do something to me, but all he did was brush a wild strand of hair from my eyes.

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

I shook my head, not saying a word. It was difficult enough trying to relax my breathing as adrenaline pumped relentlessly through my veins, refusing to calm the beating of my chest.

“You’re safe here now." His thumb began to caress the side of my cheek, his skin barely brushing against my own, but branding mine with its heat. But he quickly pulled it away and cleared his throat. “I’ll get you some water.”

He stood, about to turn around and leave, but I grabbed onto the edge of his sleeve. He stopped and stared down at my hand as my fingers tightened, refusing to let go.

“Don’t go."

What was I saying? Why was I like this?

The warmth from the nearby fireplace burned a reflection in his eyes, shadows dancing against his dark hair. He brought his spare hand to mine, prying my fingers off his sleeve, but he didn't let go. His fingers wrapped around mine and held them close to his own.

“I won’t.”

—

There was this feeling of emptiness in my chest when I woke up.

The thumping against my ribcage and every heavy breath echoed the same hollow feeling. Those blue eyes faded from my vision, but they'd already branded themselves in my mind.

I didn’t expect to dream of that man again.

It was strange.

The dream was just as vivid as the last, from every smell to the lingering heat of his finger on the cheek. I was never one to have any dreams, and the few dreams I did have were always blur, nothing more than the echo of the noise and chaos of the war. But the two I'd had of that man so far resembled nothing even close to that.

Just who the hell was he? The idea that it wasn’t just a dream felt foolish and beyond naive, but that inclination towards it being more than just fantasy irked me.

I took a deep and steady breath, trying to calm my heart rate as I’d often done in the past. I focused on my surroundings, remembering the room I was currently in and sat up on the bed.

My body was still aching with exhaustion, but I was unsure if that was from the six-month coma or a consequence of being forced to socialise with all those people today. But, amongst them, one stood out in particular.

Edwin Davis.

He seemed earnest in his claim in wanting to help me, and he was kinder than the soldiers I'd been assigned to in the past, but that alone made him untrustworthy. That's not even mentioning his poor attempts at making conversation. It was almost pitiful how hard he tried.

As for the rest of the staff, I thought their mannerisms with one another felt too casual for what was considered a professional business environment, except perhaps for Hendrik. His attitude of ignoring me was honestly preferable.

I let out a loud sigh as my head fell back down onto the pillow. It was too soft, uncomfortably so. The mattress was also too soft. I almost considered sleeping on the floor since that was what I was used to, but I couldn’t bring myself to crawl out of the covers. I pulled the sheets over me and closed my eyes.

Morning would come soon.

—

“Alright, so have you worked in a funeral home before?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that," Alfred said, his shoulders slumping with a sigh.

He'd brought me to this office space which was essentially a crowded room with bookcases and filing cabinets lined along the walls which only made it appear more cramped.

"Look, I'm only going to explain this once so listen up. Basically, as a general hand, we do a lot of the setting up and cleaning for funeral services. Besides that, we also do pick-ups, deliveries, some admin work and whatever errands the others need us to run. You got all that?"

“I did, sir.”

“Good. And quit it with the whole ‘sir’ thing,” he said, seeming visibly annoyed by it but quickly moved on. “You see that over there?” He pointed towards a box sitting on a shelf that was sandwiched between several others. “The old director left behind a bunch of records, but they’re all out of order with documents separate from their files, so we need to sort that out.”

I understand, sir.”

“Hey, didn't I just say— You know what, forget it," he grumbled with a tone of defeat. I watched as he walked over to that box, picking it up from the shelf before moving it onto the table.

It was practically overflowing with documents, each covered in an excessive layer of dust and I could've sworn some had mold. Dust particles were sent through the air as the box hit the table Some invaded up into my nose and caused me to let out a small sneeze.

“Bless you.”

That was inconvenient.

Alfred eyed me as I reached out for one of the documents at the very top before I skimmed across the words on the page. The task Alfred had assigned me was straightforward, almost insultingly so if not for one problem.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, noticing something off with how my eyes kept moving across the same line of words.

“I can’t read.”

“Wait, what?”

“I don’t know how to read.” I was never taught.

He stared at me with a blank expression for a few seconds, as if trying to determine whether I was being serious or not.

“You’re kidding.”

I wasn't.

“Will that be a problem?”

“Well yes, that’s going to make it harder to do the sorting,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. A few thoughts seemed to run through his mind as he looked down at the document in my hand.

I’d assumed whatever I’d be made to do at the funeral home wouldn’t be difficult. And yet, I was already proving to be an inconvenience to him because of my inability to read. This man already showed a lack of patience, so I expected him to just give up on this task and either assign me a new one or hand me back to Davis to deal with.

That's what usually happened in the past.

But instead, he pointed to one of the words near the top of the page. “You see this word here? That says ‘name’ so you can assume the words following it would be their name.”

He then turned back to the box, rummaging through the contents before pulling out a file. He showed it to me and pointed towards the top right where another set of words was. “There should also be a matching file with their name on it.”

He handed it to me and as I glanced between the words on the document and file, I found that the letters, despite what they might've meant, were indeed the same.

“You can match the documents to the names on the files, and I’ll go about sorting them by date. How does that sound?”

With how reluctantly he accepted the role as my mentor, I would've thought he'd be more eager to leave me to my own devices. And yet, here he stood, looking expectantly at me after offering to work on this menial task together.

“That’s fine with me.”

Without saying another word to each other, we began sorting. I emptied the box onto the table before scanning between all the aged documents and files for matching names. Meanwhile, Alfred took a set by one of the filing cabinets and began inserting individual files according to their dates as I handed them to him.

And after some time, we eased into a steady rhythm. There was no chatter between us, no small talk, just a mutual agreement to keep working.

“Mister Alfred, I’ve finished,” I said, breaking that silence between us once I’d cleared the desk and placed the final file beside him.

“What? Already?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as he looked down at the pile of files stacked beside him. “That was fast.”

“Would you like me to start on the next box?”

“No, it’s alright. I don’t think I’d be able to keep up with you anyway,” he said with a tired sigh, before patting the spot on the ground next to him. “Come here.”

I hesitated, unsure of what exactly he wanted. But I couldn't disobey him so I eventually sat down beside him and crossed my legs just as he did.

“I’ll show you how to read the dates and then you can start helping me sort them into here.”

He began to show me one of the dates on a file, teaching me the different numbers, how to read them as a date, and where to put them into the cabinet. Similar to the names, I found this to be a matter of character recognition, but admittedly, I was slower at this than the previous task. Reading these dates took longer, but I eventually managed to match Alfred's pace after the first dozen or so.

“You should learn how to read and write. I don’t think you’d have any trouble since you seem to pick up things pretty fast already," he suddenly said, breaking the silence between us.

I glanced at him and narrowed my eyes. "Are you offering to teach me?”

“Who me? I do have other things I need to get done, you know.”

“I see. I’ll ask Mister Davis then––”

“Wait, don’t go asking that old man,” he said, quickly raising his hands as he cut me off. “Screw it, you know what, I’ve already taught you this much so I might as well teach you the whole damn alphabet.”

Even though his language was somewhat crude, I could still distinguish a sort of reluctant kindness in his words.

“I didn’t expect you to be this patient,” I remarked as I picked up another file and read the date.

He shrugged and inserted another file into the cabinet. “You have to be when you work in this industry.”

I didn’t quite understand the meaning of his words, but I didn't get a chance to ask when he loudly pushed the cabinet drawer closed after we'd reached the end of the pile.

“Alright, now that's all done, how do you feel about getting some food?”