"Ugh..."
A young boy whose hair was as dark as the night.
He lay quietly on an aged bed, trying to open his tired eyes, which felt as heavy as stone.
Occasionally, a soft grunt escaped his lips. Resonating against the light oak ceiling above him.
Before long, his eyes moved at last.
At first, his brows furrowed weakly as if debating whether he wanted to get out of the bed yet; his joints felt numb and distant, his neck as stiff as a log.
Another groan followed, this time slightly deeper and more conscious.
Hesitantly flickering at the dim light glowing beside him, his eyelids crept open, just barely at first to take in the white noise hiding at the corner of his eye, then fully as his vision adjusted to the light.
His dry lips parted briefly without a sound, opening and closing as if intent on speaking aloud.
But then, they closed without a word. Because there was no one for him to talk to.
Good morning…
Greeting himself in his mind, the boy's thoughts dispersed into thin air, drowned out by the exhaustion overwhelming his insides.
As the boy's mind slowly regained clarity, his eyes locked on the ceiling above, his brows rising and falling.
He didn't have anything particularly interesting in mind, only passing thoughts that dispersed as he blinked with his heavy eyes, taking yet another heavy breath.
The ceiling was dark; the color of oak that blended in with his surroundings seamlessly as his pupils traced along the lines separating each segment of planks above his head, slowly making their way towards the wall in a zigzag pattern.
Furrowing his brows, he looked to the side absentmindedly, at the faint source of light that woke him up in the first place.
An old-school lamp stood next to him, adorned in colors of tarnished silver and bronze, reflecting the light of a single stained lightbulb blinking from time to time as if ready to burn out at moment's notice.
It stood on a dark, hazel nightstand made of polished wood, accompanied by a glass cup of water and a plate on which lay a single white pill.
Just like the room's interior, the person inside it was just like it.
Poor, in both condition and taste.
Everything looked old and unkempt, strangely hospitable, but still poor.
"Where... am I?"
His words left his lips, weak and silent, not even reaching the other end of the unfamiliar room around him.
Despite being in a completely unfamiliar place, he was too tired to worry about any potential threats to his life. Even the fact that he woke up in a dimly lit bedroom couldn't faze him; he had simply yet to acknowledge it.
Is this some sort of joke? If so, whoever thought about it sucks.
The boy exhaled a raspy sigh; the disappointment carried through it was meant for both him and the person who brought him here, though there was no one to actually commit to something like this.
Valentine didn't have any close family, nor friends or colleagues of sorts.
He preferred to be alone, not bothering anything or anyone in life.
Maybe it was because of this that he should be on guard or, at the very least, try figuring out why he's suddenly there.
But... he just felt so incredibly tired.
To the point that his eyelids felt heavier than himself.
Valentine took another raspy breath, which, to his surprise, pained him to do so, the very motion of his neck made his stomach churn.
What—
And in the blink of an eye.
His mouth instantly burned at the motion, liquid rose the walls of his throat, before he knew it, crimson splattered all over his body, covering him in a sickly metallic smell.
His rough coughing was drowned out by the sound of something breaking, like the sound of dry paper cracking all around him.
Before he knew it, his face was drenched in his own blood, its warmth cold against his pale skin that shuddered the instant he tried to wipe it all off.
His hands couldn't budge, just like his torso, his legs, spine, anything at all.
It felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water was dropped on him in the middle of winter; his mind immediately sobered up at the stench invading his nostrils and the pain that came with each haggard breath.
Everything was still... and with that stillness, the sound of raspy coughs was echoing louder with each drop of blood dripping from his lip.
He looked down at his body, or rather, what was encasing it.
Thump.
Although he could barely make out what it was due to most of it now being covered in his blood, he recognized the material it was made of; the hard, rough shell that didn't break despite his struggles was seen by him countless times.
Valentine's body was wrapped in layers upon layers of bandages, so thick that he couldn't feel anything below his neck!
His eyes darted to the side, to the wooden door that stood at the corner of the room, barely visible in the shadows surrounding it.
He tried to run toward it, but forgetting he couldn't move in the slightest, his body only managed a single budge before sending a searing shock through his veins.
Spitting out another mouthful of blood on the floor, his voice, sharp and strained, escaped him in a stutter.
"H-help me! Someone, please, he-"
His screams were followed by the pain of his vocal cords pulling tight; his voice was cut off like a broken radio, his desperation only managing panicked mumbles and moans as his breaths turned into nothing, unable to draw in any air around him.
Thump.
He was drowning, drowning in his own sick, viscous blood that came back each time he spat it out on the white plaster encasing him.
Not only was he struggling to breathe, but the blood he was losing was far more than what a regular human could handle; his face, already pale from exhaustion, was turning different shades of violet while his body heat started dropping by the second.
Why... 'Is this happening to me?'
Valentine wondered in pain, trying to figure out what he had done to deserve this.
Even the strength to form thoughts was leaving him as his last attempts at trying to draw air were met with the gurgling of his blood in his throat.
The light in his eyes slowly dimmed, like the very broken lamp next to him that struggled to illuminate this room.
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It was blinking next to his eyes, turning on and off as if possessed, yet Valentine could not care any less about it as the faint movement of his face slowly ceased.
His seaside eyes turned broken, no longer trying to open and close.
The lamp next to him hummed weakly right before also coming to an end, the lightbulb inside it gradually losing color and letting darkness take its place, accompanying the boy's last breath…
Just like the weak light accompanying him, his life went out in the blink of an eye, as easy as accidentally stepping on an ant... or did it?
Thump.
Behind the door he was trying to reach, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed.
They came from behind it slowly, muffled yet loud enough to shake the dark room awake.
Each carried a weight greater than the one before, almost as if the person behind them was but a growing giant.
The door opened wide without warning; the sound of footsteps against the hard wooden floor became clearer and more distinct as heavy leather boots stepped into the room, bringing light with them.
The cup on the nightstand fell over and rolled onto the floor, spilling water on the boots along with a white pill that rolled past, finding its way under the bed.
As the sound of hard leather against wood ceased, they stopped next to the bed where the boy lay, his eyes half-open, looking up at the dark ceiling.
Under the cover of the dark, a hand, no bigger than the boy's head, touched the burnt-out lamp with its index finger lightly.
Beneath it, a tiny light lit up the broken wires, their shape changing along with the lamp's decor.
Its surface shimmered gently like crystal water, shedding its old layer that crumbled into dust, revealing a new, clear, silver coating.
The hand retreated, too awkward for its great size.
Then, it turned to the boy.
The smell of his blood was pungent there; half of his front, already colored in different shades of scarlet, was glistening under the light of the lamp.
For him to end up in this state was truly a tragedy.
The man standing above him did not know why someone would resort to such a cruel thing, treating another human being with little to no compassion.
His hand fell down on the boy's face, wiping away the excess blood that stained it.
He looked young, too young to succumb to the cruelty of this world.
"It seems that times have changed since..." A voice came from the man, heavy and old, but carrying deep care for the one lying before him.
When he pressed his palm against the boy's chest, a tiny flame lit up beneath his palm, illuminating the room even further, to the point that the man's face became clear.
He looked no older than thirty, with a bushy beard decorating his chin and soft eyes that didn't quite fit his imposing build.
Standing tall, so tall that his short hair was inches from brushing against the ceiling.
On his shoulders was a simple doctor's coat, along with a warm, dark sweater and light, beige dress pants.
His voice washed over Valentine like a cool breeze, clearing out any uncertainties in his mind.
"Do not be scared, my child, for you are safe with me." He spoke as the light from his palm extinguished, disappearing the moment another one appeared within the boy's gaze.
Drawing a sharp breath, life brimmed within his failing lungs, accompanied by a couple of bloody rasps for fresh air.
He tried to stand up, but having forgotten he was in a cast, he could only yell out of pain and grit his teeth.
I-Im Alive!
Valentine shouted inside his mind from his short-lasting joy.
The smile on his face faded the moment he laid his gaze on the man above him, or rather, his pair of blaring golden eyes that glowed in the dark shadow covering his features.
I-Im Dead!
His chest moved faintly up and down, casting tall shadows over the boy's pale face that froze over at the sight of a living giant at his deathbed.
The bearded goliath looked more like a bear than a man, with hair all over his skin except for his eyes and nose.
Valentine, despite being half-dead just moments ago, tried to bite his tongue off the moment he watched the man's heavy palm placed over his chest.
Each of his fingers alone was around the size of Valentine's fist; not only that, but it seemed that simply placing his hand alone was enough to feel like a metallic press was crushing his chest.
He didn't even care that the man was supposedly helping him; who the hell birthed this monster?!
Seemingly sensing the boy's consciousness return, the giant took a step back, looking down at the spilled water.
He knelt down to clean it, and as his knee hit the floor, the whole room shook for a moment, the nightstand and Valentine's bed almost breaking on their own.
Holy sh... Am I in Narnia or something?
Valentine wanted to rub his eyes out of disbelief at what he was currently seeing.
There was simply no way this man was a real human.
Without a word, the man stood up with the cup in his hands, the tiny glass barely visible in his fingers.
"I apologise for leaving you alone; that will not happen again..." He spoke in a saddened tone, most likely referring to Valentine's condition.
He seemed to try to say something, holding onto his hairy chin in contemplation. On his face was painted a complication, unreadable from Valentine's angle.
Finally, after a moment, the goliath turned his face to the boy, sending him a simple, reassuring smile. "I will make sure you recover."
Valentine felt a shiver crawl up his spine. Seeing a man like this smile with such ease was just too strange.
"You..." He stopped at the doorway, hand on the door handle. "...may call me Sunday." He walked out of the room with those same heavy footsteps.
Leaving Valentine alone, the door closed shut, leaving only the lamp's light to illuminate the dark room.
Valentine's stiff expression eased, taking deep breaths that stung but did not bring him to the brink of death.
He would have laid down on his bed and thought about what the fuck had just happened, but to his luck, he was already lying down, with no idea where he was or who he was.
His voice sounded distant, yet it was so that even while Valentine's mind was going blank, it stayed to accompany his complicated mind for the nights to come.