Chapter 4
When Lionel finally opened his eyes, for a moment, he wondered if he was dead. Everything came flooding back so quickly it felt like he’d only blinked.
He wasn’t in the middle of a fight with those monstrous creatures anymore; instead, he found himself lying flat on his back on a surprisingly comfortable couch.
When he tried to sit up, the same darkness that had pressed into his eyes appeared again, his peripheries quickly going out of focus. He groaned as he fell back, bringing up his hand to rub at his temples. His hand jerked back in surprise when he felt something against his forehead.
“Oh, you’re awake?”
Lionel startled at the voice and looked up, still a bit dazed, at the man who was walking so casually out of his kitchen.
The man didn’t look like someone who belonged in the middle of an apocalypse.
His shirt was pale blue, rolled up neatly at the sleeves, and he wore dark slacks without a speck of dust or blood on them.
Everything about him was tidy—refined, even—as he moved through the apartment with casual grace, drying his hands with a towel like he’d just finished the dishes.
He looked like he belonged in a magazine spread, not in the middle of whatever hell Lionel had just crawled out of.
It made Lionel pause.
The apartment didn’t help. It was warm and well-kept, shelves of books lining the wall behind the couch, and a sleek little kitchen tucked off to the side. There was no blood, no evidence of monsters emerging from the walls, and everything smelled faintly of citrus cleaner.
Lionel blinked hard, trying to get his bearings. His head ached dully, and he moved to sit up with a quiet groan, only to feel hands on his shoulders a moment later.
“Careful,” the man said gently, crouching beside him. “You hit your head. You shouldn’t be moving around too fast.”
Lionel startled slightly at the touch but didn’t pull away.
Instead, he found himself staring at the man.
His features were all so light that Lionel had even noticed them in the split second he had seen the guy fighting the creatures.
His hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes were so blonde they were nearly white, and his skin was so pale it looked almost pink.
But now, with the man kneeling down beside him, so much closer, the thing he noticed first was his eyes.
He was smiling at Lionel, such a gentle smile he didn’t think he really deserved, that rounded the bottom of his eyes—eyes that were a color Lionel couldn’t really place.
They looked almost red or purple, and his pupils flicked back and forth, too fast.
Lionel swallowed before speaking up. “Sorry. I just…where am I?”
The man gave a small smile and pressed his hand briefly to Lionel’s forehead like he was checking for a fever. “My apartment,” he said. “I found you in the hallway.”
“Oh.” Lionel hesitated, eyes drifting again over the clean lines of his face, the way he moved—precise, calm. “Right,” he murmured, glancing away before something in him forced his gaze back. “Thanks for helping me.”
The man only smiled again, and this time it felt almost too steady. “Of course.”
“Who are you?” Lionel asked slowly after a few heartbeats of silence. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
The man smiled and put out his hand. “My name is Mads.”
Lionel slowly shook his hand and raised an eyebrow. “Mads?” he asked, “like Mads Mikkelson?”
The man’s head tilted to one side, “Who?”
Lionel huffed out a laugh. “Your name is really Mads, and you’ve never heard of Mads Mikkelson?”
“I can’t say I have,” Mads said, his hand slowly pulling away from where Lionel was still holding it.
“Look him up sometime,” Lionel said. “He’s hot in an old guy way, and he’s in tons of movies and TV shows.”
“I will absolutely do that if I don’t get eaten by monsters today,” Mads hummed softly, reaching out to adjust the cloth that rested against Lionel’s forehead. Lionel twitched at the touch, instinctively swatting his hand away, but it was more reflex than resistance, the motion lacking real force.
“Sorry,” he muttered, but Mads didn’t seem fazed. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before lowering.
“I’m only trying to help,” Mads said gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I brought you all the way here, so I’d rather not have you bleed out on my couch after all that effort.”
Lionel nodded once and didn’t resist when Mads moved in again, gently pressing the cloth to his head. The pain flared in a sharp line through his skull, and he hissed quietly, but stayed still beneath the touch.
“Weren’t you… fighting the monsters?” Lionel asked after a few seconds, watching the other man carefully.
“Fighting?” Mads echoed with a faint laugh, glancing at him. “That’s a bit dramatic. I was just trying to keep one from eating you, Lionel.”
Lionel blinked at him. “I didn’t tell you my name.”
Mads looked at him like it was obvious. “You’re the maintenance guy, aren’t you?” he said. “I have your contact card on my fridge. The name on it is Lionel Olivard, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Lionel murmured, a bit sheepish now. He leaned back slightly as Mads stood and took the cloth with him, disappearing into the kitchen.
Lionel figured he should probably be more overwhelmed—he’d just been nearly murdered by a monster he’d only ever imagined seeing in movies, carried into someone’s apartment, and was now sitting on a stranger’s couch with a cloth pressed to his head—but instead of panic, all he could really focus on was the man in front of him.
Mads moved with a quiet kind of grace, his sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow, his slacks fitting just right, accentuating the lean taper of his waist and the broad set of his shoulders.
He looked put-together in a way that felt surreal against the chaos of the last few hours.
Lionel’s gaze lingered a little too long before he caught himself and looked away quickly, a sudden flush creeping hot up the back of his neck. “Why’d you save me?” Lionel decided to ask. “Shouldn’t you have been running from the monsters like everyone else?”
“I didn’t really think about it,” Mads said with a shrug.
“Were you thinking about every choice you made in the last couple of hours?” Lionel didn’t answer, and Mads turned to him with another smile.
“Would you like to change clothes as well? I’m sure I could find something to fit you,” Mads offered.
Lionel couldn’t help staring at the man at his words, wanting to point out the fact that he had to have a good six inches on Lionel in height, and Lionel had to have about sixty pounds on him in muscle mass. “If you have something besides dress shirts, then maybe.”
“Ah,” Mads said, running a hand over his shirt with a laugh. “I just grabbed the first thing I had hanging in the closet.”
“Well, I’m fine. I don’t need anything,” Lionel finally sighed.
He figured whatever he put on would probably get ruined anyway if he had to fight those things out there again.
Lionel froze as he realized they should definitely not just be sitting here casually talking—those things came out of the fucking walls.
He had watched one phase through a solid piece of metal for fucks sake.
He sat up, ignoring Mads’ sound of annoyance and the pain that sliced through his skull, and looked around quickly.
He tried to get to his feet but nearly vomited at the quick movement.
Mads caught him before he could tumble forward or hurl his guts up, and helped settle him back on the couch. “You need to-”
“We need to go,” Lionel said quickly. “Those things—those creatures—can move through walls. They could be in the walls here. They could attack us at any moment!”
“It’s okay,” Mads soothed him, putting one knee on the couch so he could lean over and pat Lionel’s head with the now-damp washcloth. “They haven’t bothered us yet. We’re okay for right now.”
Lionel realized then that the cloth Mads was using was slowly turning red. He raised a hand and hissed when his fingers made contact with what felt like a massive gash at his temple. His hand was knocked away a second later as Mads tsked at him. “Don’t touch it. Are you dumb?”
His teachers would probably say he was, but Lionel wasn’t about to admit that.
He clenched his jaw instead, looking around again to try to figure out escape routes.
If this place were like the rest of the building, all the windows lining the wall would be no help, and the front door would only lead out into the hallways.
He vaguely wondered which end of the hallway they were on—if they were closer to an escape route or not.
“I really don’t think we have time for this,” Lionel muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at his lap as Mads continued to hold the towel to his head.
“I’m just waiting for the bleeding to stop,” Mads said quietly. “Then I can hopefully patch you up and give you some medication, and you’ll be fine for a bit.”
Lionel peeked up at him. The man was awfully close, leaning into his space a bit too much, a bit too familiarly.
When he looked at him, he couldn’t look away from those ceaselessly moving red eyes.
It suddenly hit him what they looked like—like the white mice he used to feed his pet snake he had in high school.
Those little creatures never stopped moving, and their red eyes were always a bit startling, even after years of bringing them home from pet shops every month.
“Are you a doctor or something?” Lionel asked, finally pulling his gaze away.
“Or something,” Mads said, lips curling upwards again.
Lionel didn’t press anymore, just focused on keeping his breath steady until Mads deemed him done.