Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 2: The Stranger’s Home

Eddy's eyes slowly fluttered open, the world around him a blur of light and shadow. His head was heavy, as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders, and the air felt thick in his lungs. The softness of the sheets beneath him did little to comfort the unease gnawing at his mind.

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Where am I?

A wave of panic surged through him, but it quickly gave way to confusion. The room felt strange, distant, as if it didn't belong to him, and yet... it was all he could see. No recollection of how he got here. No memory of who he was. The void in his mind was deafening, an emptiness too vast to ignore.

His body felt heavy, as though he had been asleep for days. Panic started to creep in as he tried to sit up, but a sharp dizziness hit him, and he fell back against the soft, cool sheets. The room around him was minimalistic but comforting, with neutral tones and large windows that let the sunlight stream in. There was an old wooden dresser with a mirror that reflected his bewildered expression.

The creak of a door opening broke the silence. Eddy turned his head, his vision still blurry, and saw a man standing in the doorway. His figure was solid and sure, but his face was unreadable.

"Mr. ?" The man's voice was deep and measured, but there was a gentle quality to it. "Are you awake?"

Eddy's heart jolted at the sound, He tried to speak, but his throat felt dry, his voice little more than a hoarse rasp. "Who... who are you?" he croaked, the question slipping from his lips before he could stop it.

The man paused for a moment, his expression softening. He stepped closer to the bed, his weathered hands resting at his sides. His clothes were simple, practical, faded from use, but they carried the weight of someone who had worked hard with his hands.

"I'm Dand," the man said quietly, his eyes never leaving Eddy's. "I found you out in the water. You were far from the beach, unconscious. I brought you here. You've been resting for several days."

Eddy tried to process the words, but his mind felt sluggish, each one floating just out of reach. The water? He could vaguely remember the sensation of being pulled by something, carried by forces beyond his control, but everything else was a blur.

His body ached, but his memory... my memory is gone.

"I don't remember," Eddy muttered, each word feeling foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. "I don't... I don't remember anything."

Dand's face softened, but there was no pity in his gaze. Only a quiet understanding, the kind one might find in someone who had seen loss before. He didn't press Eddy further. Instead, he gave a small nod and moved toward the door.

"I'll get you something to eat. Try to rest," Dand said, his voice a low murmur as he exited the room.

Eddy stared at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing, but it was difficult to grasp onto any thread of his past. The emptiness in his mind expanded with each passing second, and the harder he tried to reach into it, the more everything slipped away.

His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened again. A tall figure stepped inside, his presence commanding, though there was a cool distance in his eyes. The man had dark hair and eyes that carried a sharpness, a quiet intensity that Eddy couldn't quite decipher.

Eddy's pulse quickened. Who was this man? And why did he feel the sudden urge to look away?

"I'm Artur," the man introduced himself, his voice calm but firm. His gaze lingered on Eddy for a moment, though there was no recognition in his eyes, no sense of familiarity. "My father has been taking care of you."

Eddy's throat tightened. He searched Artur's face, hoping for some flicker of recognition, but there was nothing—nothing that made him feel like this man was anything other than a stranger.

"Do you... know me?" Eddy asked, his voice small, uncertain. The question seemed to hang in the air, and he immediately regretted it, feeling vulnerable under Artur's gaze.

Artur's expression remained neutral, but there was something in his eyes—something that felt like sympathy, or maybe concern. He didn't respond immediately, his gaze flicking briefly toward the door.

"No," Artur said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't. But my father does. You're safe here, that's what matters."

Eddy's mind spun as the words settled over him, but they didn't make sense. Safe? Here? He didn't even know where here was, let alone who he was supposed to be.

Artur took a step back, a quiet finality in his movement. "I'll leave you to rest," he said, before turning and walking out, the door closing softly behind him.

Eddy lay back against the pillow, his body heavy with the weight of confusion. He tried again to recall anything—his name, his life, the people who should have been part of it—but nothing came.

The room felt colder somehow now, as if the distance between him and the life he had known was only growing, stretching further with each breath he took.

The room remained silent after Artur's departure, the soft hum of the house barely audible. Eddy sat there for a moment, letting the stillness settle over him. There was no sense of urgency, no pressing need to act, and yet every part of him wanted to stand up and run—to leave this strange house, to search for something he could grasp, something familiar.

But there was nothing. Just emptiness.

He slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet touching the cool floor. The sensation of the cold against his skin was grounding, like a small reminder that he was still alive, even if he wasn't quite sure who he was anymore.

The room around him was simple, far removed from the bright lights and luxury he imagined his life had once held. The wooden beams above creaked faintly with each movement of the house. It felt old, lived-in, worn in a way that made him feel small, like he had been placed into someone else's story.

His gaze drifted to the window, the thick curtains drawn tight against the world outside. For a moment, he considered opening them, letting the light in, seeing the world again. But hesitation stopped him. What if the world outside wasn't what he remembered? What if the faces he once knew weren't out there waiting for him?

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts, and the door creaked open slightly. Dand's figure appeared in the doorway, holding a tray of food. The smell of warm bread and something savory made Eddy's stomach growl, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in what felt like ages.

"Thought you might be hungry," Dand said, his tone gentle but knowing. He stepped inside, setting the tray on the small table beside the bed. "I'll leave it here for you. Take your time."

Eddy nodded but didn't move immediately. His mind felt foggy, as if the hunger wasn't the thing he should be focused on right now. It was the memories—fragments that felt like they were on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach.

"Thank you," Eddy said softly, trying to find his voice, trying to connect with the simple kindness being offered to him.

Dand gave him a small, reassuring smile. "You're welcome. I'll be outside if you need anything."

As Dand left, closing the door behind him with a soft click, Eddy felt the quiet seep back into the room. The loneliness crept back in, but this time, it wasn't so sharp. It was something more like an old friend, familiar and yet unwelcome.

Eddy reached for the tray and hesitated again before picking up a piece of bread. His fingers brushed the crust, and he found himself staring at it for a long moment, lost in thought. The food was a simple offering, but it felt like more. It was something he could control, something tangible in a world where nothing else felt real.

He took a bite, the warmth filling his mouth. It was good—comforting, in a way he hadn't expected. He chewed slowly, letting the sensation ground him.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the door, faint but deliberate. Eddy froze, the bread still in his hand. He wasn't sure what it was, but the sound unsettled him. Dand's voice, Artur's voice—he couldn't tell if either one was coming toward him or if it was someone else entirely.

The door swung open before he could react, and there was Artur again, his dark eyes glancing at the tray before meeting Eddy's gaze.

"Are you alright?" Artur's voice was neutral, but there was something else there, something like curiosity—or perhaps concern, though it was hard to be sure.

Eddy sat up straighter, a sense of unease settling over him. "I'm fine. Just... eating," he replied, his voice still raw from the lack of use. He couldn't quite meet Artur's eyes. Something about him, the way Artur carried himself, made Eddy feel exposed, vulnerable.

Artur didn't say anything for a moment, his gaze lingering on Eddy. There was a stillness in the air, an unspoken tension that neither of them addressed. Finally, Artur broke the silence.

"We don't have to talk right now," he said, his tone softer than before. "But when you're ready, we can. You don't have to feel lost here."

Eddy swallowed, the bread suddenly feeling dry in his throat. He wasn't sure what to make of Artur's words—whether it was sympathy or just an offer of patience. Either way, it felt like too much, too soon.

"I just... don't know who I am," Eddy admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The confession left him raw, but it felt necessary, like ripping away a bandage.

For the first time, Artur's expression shifted—just a flicker of something softer, something almost human. But before it could settle into something more, Artur nodded, his face unreadable again.

"I understand," Artur said simply. "Take your time. I'll be here."

With that, Artur turned and left, his footsteps fading as he made his way down the hallway.

Eddy stared at the door long after it had closed, the words echoing in his mind. I'll be here.

For how long? And what did that even mean?

Eddy's fingers tightened around the edge of the tray. How long could I stay like this?

The silence in the room felt like an anchor, weighing him down. There was no easy answer, no sense of closure, no path forward that he could see. All he had was the fleeting sense of Artur's words, the promise that maybe—just maybe—he wasn't alone.

But for now, the only thing he could do was wait. And in this moment, that felt like all he could control.