Part of him still felt rather guilty for taking it, but another part of him knew none of those snobbish collectors would have cared for such a find. It would have ended up in a trash pile along with everything else in the apartment that couldn’t sell. He had no intention of selling it himself anyway. Instead, he opened a drawer and pulled out a box full of similarly odd and wonderful trinkets. Artifacts he’d found here and there that he wanted to restore himself with time. He placed the stone in the box, where it would be kept safe for the time being. 

Alas, he simply didn’t have enough space to display all his pieces. He’d picked the smallest room in the house out of courtesy for his family. His parents obviously need the master bedroom, and his sister required the room with the large closet for her ever growing collection of clothes. One day he hoped to finally leave for a place of his own, but currently, he needed to stay and work off the debts and loans of his family. His father was disabled after a work injury, and his mother had always been rather frail and sickly, especially now in her old age. For now, his dream of having a place of his own and quitting his merchant job was far, far in the future. 

He had to put his mind off it for now. There were things he wanted to do before he had to sleep. He slid over what initially looked like a pile of glued balsa wood, but in reality it was the form of his favorite tea shop taking shape. He’d just finished building up the walls, and carving out the shape of brick work. Today, he was ready to paint it. He spent time mixing his colors, and layed down coats of dark tones, and lightly washed it with the brighter colors. This gave the bricks a realistically worn look. Every step he would lean back and look at the whole piece from afar, and couldn’t help flap  his hands in glee as it came closer and closer to his vision. It was this quiet, meticulous work that made Symon the happiest. Every stroke of grey paint between the cracks in the brick work put him in a zen-like state of peace.

But as his night continued, he felt a touch nauseous, and his stomach began to twist and churn in protest. It made it difficult to paint with his hand shaking. He wondered if his food had been out too long and had spoiled. Or maybe the stress from the day's activities were finally catching up to him. Eitherway, he found himself too sick to his stomach to continue working. 

It was perhaps a good thing he decided to quit when he did, as when he checked the clock it had already struck 1AM. He’d only have four hours to sleep if he were to go to bed now. He could get lost in his work so easily, sometimes he wished time would stop while he worked.

The night was strenuous. He tossed and turned at the pain in his stomach, and was uncomfortable the whole time. It was a miracle he got any sleep at all when he awoke that next morning. He laid in bed, exhausted and aching all over. It’d been a long time since he’d truely felt ill, he hadn’t recalled getting sick once in the five years he’d been a traveling merchant. He was notoriously extremely cautious about touching other people and keeping things clean. One couldn’t be too safe with his job. But today, he was in quite rough shape. He didn’t even want to move, as his arms and legs were throbbing. He desperately hoped it wasn’t food poisoning, or worse a cold from yesterday's rain. He wondered if for just a moment he could simply go back to sleep, but that was interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Symon. Are you still there? Weren’t you supposed to be heading out of town today?” His mother called through the door.

Symon’s brow furrowed and his eyes slowly moved towards the clock. ‘8 AM’. His heart dropped into his stomach when he saw that time and he failed to get out of bed. But as he did, a sharp pain in his legs sent him falling onto the hardwood floor with a loud crash. Several objects from his night stand fell on his head, including his alarm clock; which on further inspection appeared to not even be set to go off.

“Symon?! What’s going on in there? Are you alright?” His mother continued calling through the door.

“I’m fine!” He called back, while rubbing his sore legs. But as he did, he felt a wetness on the back of them. He pulled his hand back to find they were smeared in blood. The patter of blood dripping on the floor informed him that his arms too were bleeding. 

“I may be bleeding actually. It’s fine though.” He clarified.  

“Oh dear, I hope you haven’t broken anything. Please hurry though, your boss called 5 minutes ago.”  

She was right, he had to hurry. He was already very late and now on top of getting ready for work, he had to clean up these cuts. He slowly stood up, but noticed no glass had fallen to the floor to cut him. He panned over to his white sheets and noticed that there was blood soaking them as well. He was confused, had he scratched himself in the middle of the night? He did have rather troubled dreams. 

He hobbled over to the bathroom by his room and proceeded to start washing off the blood when he felt a jolt of pain, like static through his arm. When he moved his washcloth, long dark hairs were burrowing their way through his skin. In a panic, he attempted to pull the unsightly hairs out, but instead was met with a searing pain that shot down his nerves and made his fingers numb. Whatever they were, they were extremely sensitive. 

He pushed down the lump of anxiety in his throat, he’d have to ask his general practitioner about that later. For now, he opted to hide the hairs and the wounds they left in their wake with gauze and bandages. 

By the time he’d gotten dressed and backed his things, he heard a ring on the doorbell. He let out a groan, he knew who it was before his mother called for him.

“Symon, your boss is here looking for you.”

“I’m aware.” He mumbled under his breath. He grabbed his aching head realizing it’s far too late to call in sick now, so he plodded down the stairs and towards the door, grabbing a piece of bread roll from the dinner table.

Raja began to rant in the tone he only used when he was trying to sound big and sophisticated around his parents. “Mr. Cantillo! Are you aware of what time-”

“Yes. I know. I’m sorry. Let’s go.” Symon blurted out as he rushed past the man and down the sidewalk.

Raja seemed a bit taken aback by Symon’s behavior. “Excuse me, I was talking to you.”

Symon was already 5 feet down the sidewalk when he turned his head to his boss, mouth full of bread. “We are in a rush, are we not?”

“Good luck at work darling.” His mother said before closing the door on Raja.

Raja let out an exasperated sigh. “This is coming out of your paycheck, Symon.”

Symon was quiet the whole walk to the train station. It was an oppressive, awkward silence as he munched on the bread roll to quell his stomach after missing breakfast. Even the crunch of biting into the bread felt like he was doing something wrong in Raja's eyes. Never in his years working with him has he ever been this late, and the thought of how angry Raja must be made his stomach tie up in knots. 

The two of them took a seat on the benches at the station, it would be another hour or so before another train could take them to their destination. Symon just kept his head down and tried to keep quiet, to not earn any more ire from his boss, with the hope that he'll feel better once they arrive in Linabo.

However, sitting still quickly became difficult for him, as his stomach was not settling in the slightest. It churned nauseatingly and it was becoming quite noisy, much to his embarrassment. He tried to distract himself by fiddling with the clip on his satchel, popping it open and closing it with the metal snap he found satisfying on his ears. Usually, fidgeting helped him when stress made him feel ill, but it just wasn't working. His stomach was cramping up now, and he couldn't stop himself from doubling over. He tried to pretend he was investigating his shoes to not draw attention, but it seemed Raja could feel his subtle trembling shaking the thin metal of the old bench.

Raja looked over at him with a raised brow. "Symon." He spoke suddenly, and the boom of voice caused Symon to flinch. "Stop actin’ so skittish, dear lord. Look, as long as nothing else goes wrong, we can chalk this morning's incident as a fluke, and you probably won't lose your job. Mostly because I'll be hard pressed to find anyone else with such an abundance of useless knowledge on antiques as you. But what I don't need is you shaking in your boots all day. That does not inspire confidence, Symon, and no confidence is no sales. The market is cut throat out in the southern cities. A meek merchant isn't gonna stand out."

It seemed Raja was convinced Symon was simply frightened of him after being retrieved from his home. And while that was certainly a contribution, Symon wondered if it was necessary to warn him about his condition. But surely he was just over reacting to a little stress induced nausea, right.

"Sir, I-" He stuttered for just a moment, speaking was difficult when he felt sick. "Sir.. I assure you, while I deeply regret this morning's transgressions, I'm not upset about… a-about…" Symon struggled to finish his sentence as bile rose into his throat. “Oh no…”

“What’s the matter with you, lad? Raja scoffed.

“Urgh…” Symon groaned. He was going to be sick.

He panicked, looking for a safe place to run to, but it was a rather sparse train station filled with people. In the heat of the moment, he couldn’t even remember what direction the bathroom was in. Without thinking he did the only thing he could think to do on such short notice…

He vomited over the platform edge and onto the train tracks.

He coughed and his nose and throat burned as he spat remaining bile out of his mouth. Symon quickly felt the hot shame rush to his face afterwards. He'd swiftly brought attention to himself, and he sat on the ground, unable to look up from the soiled ground, in some vain hope that if he stayed motionless, he wouldn't have to see everyone staring at him. Symon suddenly felt as though the world was watching him, judging him as if he were some drunkard, or an unruly child. He pulled the cape of his coat tightly around himself and it took every ounce of him not to break down. Breathe. Breathe.

"Hey!" The boom of Raja's voice once again shook Symon, who was now far more sensitive to loud noises. He feared that this would be where Raja would finally dismiss him permanently. He'd have to walk home a disgrace to his family. It was over!

"Symon!" Raja called again, now closer. "Look at me."

Symon slowly turned his head to his boss, like a puppy who was about to be scolded. "S-sir... I… I'm s-so sorry I-" 

"My god you're green!" Raja interrupted. "Why didn't you tell me you were ill?!" 

"I-"

"Get up! I'm sending you home."

"W-wait what??" Symon stumbled to his feet, the woosiness in his head threatening to send him tumbling into the tracks. Raja kept him stable with a firm hand against his shoulder.

“I’m not having a sick man with me on a trip to the other side of the country. I’ll handle the convention on my own. You’re going home.”

“But… but this is supposed to bring in a lot of money.”

“Not when you’re getting our customers sick! My decision is final.”

“Y-yes sir.” Symon finally conceded, gripping his satchel and holding back his shame.