Vita Mors

What would one find if they closed their eyes, shut the rest of the world out in favor of resonating with their deepest thoughts?

Terrance, once listless and inexperienced, used to answer so assuredly; nothing.

His dreams, his passions, his fears, so tainted by the world's crushing reality that when he was taken by deep slumber, he'd find that from the beginning of it, all the way to the end, he'd dreamt of nothing.

The world was as gray as the lens he viewed the world. It was monochrome. Whatever color his childish mind had mustered cruelly stolen by his father, beaten to the ground by his peers, and reinforced by strangers that surrounded him with ghastly whispers.

Was he insignificant? Was he monstrous? Was he weak? He seemed to play the role of all of those in his black-and-white film.

So could you blame him? When light itself sauntered into his life, painting over his dullness with a prism of colors, he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to it. There were pinks, there were yellows, and there were dreams again.

When he met Ambrosia, he discovered many things; his blood was the color red, his breath was capable of becoming unsteady, and the touch of a human hand, when given to a man so greatly deprived, was warm—so unbearably warm that it burned.

He was content in watching her flicker from afar, in the beginning of their story at least, but whatever kindness she had so forcibly stored into her soul in copious, overflowing amounts compelled her to chase after him as if he was light itself, not her.

It was an almost embarrassing affair, how she searched for him the day after she caught him in the middle of being bullied by one of her acquaintances, stumbling into his classroom during lunchtime to catch him midway into his meal and halfway into finishing the latest edition of his favorite horror novel.

"I've seen the show!" She exclaimed, and whoever was left inside the classroom had their gazes locked on their interaction. She shone daringly, but remained aware of the attention she garnered, remained aware of the way Terrance uncomfortably tensed up once he felt his classmates' nosiness mark him as their latest victim.

When Ambrosia reached out to him and offered to continue eating in the nurse's office, who was he to deny her? The nurse, already so charmed by Ambrosia's good-natured whims, allowed them to finish their lunch on one of the beds. His senior's lack of proper cleanliness, especially when it came to munching meals down, was just another thing he learned to love about her.

They conversed the entire time, something Terrance found difficult at first, but eventually eased into, even as crumbs fell from Ambrosia's mouth and onto the bed's dull, white sheets. They talked about the novel in his hand, she asked questions, so many questions, prying him open for her childlike curiosity. Before he knew it, he'd already been smiling along to her spontaneous quips, chuckling to jokes only she laughed out loud to.

He discovered more things that day. He had a beautiful smile. He spoke eloquently. He was mature for his age. He showed signs of being a genius. He had really cool interests. He as a person was interesting.

An entirely new perspective was birthed from her ungraspable mind, delivered to him with her extremely soft-looking lips. Words he never thought would be associated with him were strewn into his identity like he had been born wonderful.

His favorite of all to hear, "You're my favorite junior, so you have to return the favor and make me your favorite senior, okay?" She'd said it jokingly at that time, but he stayed loyal to the promises he made to her, even the unspoken ones. Because in moments like those, he felt how she truly believed it—he had been born wonderful.

It was the first time someone cared. It was the first time someone gave him something so delightful for simply existing, left him happy for simply existing.

Was he insignificant? Was he monstrous? Was he weak? In Ambrosia's fanatical play, he seemed to be none of those.

Decidedly, if he was going to exist in a cruel world, he wanted to live in one where he could dream. One where Ambrosia could boldly declare to him that his dreams would come true if he kept them close to his heart. One where Terrance believed her, welcoming his dreams with a warming heart as he snuggled into one of her stolen shirts.

When Terrance opened his eyes, he was greeted with the same sight as when they were shut close—Ambrosia.

Terrance's shrine was more expansive than hers, something he took pride in. Pictures, some candid and some meticulously taken with the intent of highlighting her most desirable features, hung on the walls of his secret room. He sighed, caressing the largest one hung on the center of the entire collage, movements so meticulous and gentle anyone would be convinced that the photo would crumble under a more careless touch.

She'd unknowingly stirred a deep-seated obsession within him. Now, he didn't blame her, he could never blame her, for anything at all. But he knew that it wouldn't be long until he became restless and chased after her.

He grabbed the jacket Ambrosia returned to him after their trip to the mall, bringing it closer to his face. Her sweet scent invaded his senses, causing a tingle to overtake his entire body and mind.

All of a sudden, Lucy's words rushed to interrupt his blissful thoughts, the glimmer in his eye dangerous, undaunted.

"Are you really going to let things keep going the way things are going? Ambrosia likes it when people are clear about their motives. If you want to pursue her, you'd be better off being over-the-top with the advances, really mean it."

He stared at the image before him, Ambrosia's printed eyes a poor mimicry of the actual luminosity the girl radiated so effortlessly.

What did he have to do? All he'd ever known in his life was to stand back, tolerate, let people take what they wanted, and work with what he was spared.

But apparently, he had to step out... even more so than he already had. Take so that she'd give him what he wanted instead of just a few articles of thrown clothing.

Lucy's voice rasped in his head. "She's a big fan of corny gestures. Especially unpredictable ones. She likes attention that doesn't come in easy which is probably why she's so hung up on Hugh, he must remind her of some early 2000s drama, practically perfect and a bit emotionally stunted once you get to know him."

His eyes moved back down to a minuscule glass container holding two front teeth inside. Terrance had reaped it from a fellow student, it was a reminder not to approach his beloved senior with ill intentions. Safe to say, the last student to have attempted to mess with her wouldn't be showing his face to school anytime soon. The news of his family sending him to a foreign boarding school pleased Terrance greatly, and he made sure to greatly compensate the employees who dealt with the cleanup.

Now the bloodied teeth were a tribute, an offering to the light of his life, proof that he was capable of protecting her, even when she had not an inkling of awareness to the lengths he was ready to reach for her.

"Have some love for theater, kid. She isn't going to consider you a man if you keep walking eggshells around her. Assert yourself! Assert your potential as a romantic interest!"

The young genius gritted his teeth, how the hell could a person assert their potential as a romantic interest?

Was Lucy urging him to confess? Was this his cue to finally wipe Hugh off the map? Theater, love for theater... What did that have to do with anything?

His exasperation grew when he realized that he hadn't just gotten cryptic love advice from an equally cryptic person, he also left the mall void of any idea on what to do with the territory dispute between the clubs. He sighed, hand moving to rub at his temples.

When he removed it, his eyes blinked open to his classroom, most of his classmates already gathering their things to leave. Right. He'd spent most of his day thoughtlessly staring out a window, wondering about the control he had over his life or more accurately the lack of it.

"Uhm, you're Hunton, right?" An unrecognizable student asked, eyes nervously watching as Terrance's exhausted expression morphed into one of momentary surprise before the coldness returned once more.

"Yes. That's me." He replied, unable to muster up a better response in his current state of mind.

"Senior Felicity wanted to tell you that she has a few things to discuss with you, although the Student Council's about to hold a meeting in a short while so you might have to wait."

He gave the jittery stranger a polite smile. "I have nowhere else to be so I'll just be waiting outside the council's room," he mumbled, standing up from his seat. "Thank you."

"Oh, wait—!" Startled, Terrance turned, almost on instinct, to meet a look that challenged even his most anxious moments. "I... I'm heading there too, so I.. should, uhh, come with you."

"Sure. That sounds practical." He said, trying his best to hide the grogginess in his voice. Damn, his face felt like it was practically drooping. Had he gotten any sleep at all last night?

The nervous boy stumbled over to his side, struggling to catch up with his hasty walking pace, something Terrance certainly would've noticed had he gotten more hours of sleep.

It was silent. The headache pestering his head started to mellow out and the prodigy could barely fight back the small smile that emerged from his face. Terrance's sense of duty fought for its life, the devil's proposal for a short nap—something he knew would not at all be short—repeating in his ears like a broken record.

He would've been content with the silence, sleep be damned. But apparently, that day would be anything but silent. Terrance didn't know it then, but the student that accompanied him would only mark the beginning of the turbulence, its end still impossibly distant.

"You know... I've always admired you." The meek thing started, eyes deliberately avoiding Terrance's questioning ones.

"Oh?" was the only thing Terrance could muster, despite the multitude of inquiries rushing through his mind. Having difficulty comprehending and forming words must've been a side-effect of sleep deprivation.

"Y... yeah, you might not know me, but I'm part of the school paper. I wrote the piece about your latest gold medal in archery and wow, it was an honor being able to immerse myself in your greatness. I was impressed the entire time."

Terrance smiled, a bit wary but genuine nonetheless. "Thank you. I wasn't aware I was so well-appreciated in the school."

"Of course! I mean, everyone has bad rumors here and there, especially hotshots like you— oh wait, that's impolite. Sorry. I mean, people have a lot of things to say and it's a journalist's job to discern the truth from gossip, and well... so far, all the facts about you have been nothing short of awe-inspiring and you aren't actually as scary as most people say. You've actually been giving off a really gentle vibe lately, Mr. Hunton— oh wait, you aren't that old!"

"No, it's fine." He corrected, his amused laughter chiding throughout the halls. "You can call me Terrance though. We're from the same year, right?"

The nameless student could only nod enthusiastically, attention stolen by the vibrations coming from his pocket. Terrance watched curiously as he read through his recent messages, the content presumably stressful as the boy's face morphed into an expression of frustration. "I'm so sorry for being a bother, but can you hand these over to Felicity? Something came up and I honestly can't—"

"It's not a problem. Please, go ahead." Terrance received the folder gracefully, his hand raising to wave politely as his newest acquaintance dashed in the opposite direction. Taking a few steps forward, the prodigy considered himself to be quite lucky to have been able to discern the Student Council room from all the other similar doors, considering his current mental state.

He stood beside the wooden frame, leaning against the lavish walls as he, using whatever was left of his wits, tried his damn hardest to stop himself from opening the folder meant for Felicity. It was none of his business, none of his busi— But on the off chance that it had something to do with Hugh Windsor, maybe it was.

Before he could open whatever knowledge had been concealed from his eyes, commotion, specifically commotion coming from the Student Council's meeting room, drove away his attention.

That voice was unmistakable. Hugh Windsor... who seemed to have been yelling and scolding someone?

He stepped towards the door, debating his rationality on whether he should act on his impulses or not. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop himself from pressing his ear against the door and he especially couldn't stop himself when his body stumbled forward, realizing that the door had never been closed in the first place.

On the ground, his eyes met Hugh's startled ones and... mini-Hugh's wide ones?