Page 15 of New Beginning

After Mikkel had dealt with Teddy’s mother, he didn’t go straight back to Sparlow. He told himself he needed a few days space, yet hated himself for it because he knew Teddy was struggling. The cottage wasn’t hidden from him, even at a distance. Mikkel could feel it, a fixed point in reality, like a lantern glowing through dense fog. Every day he was aware of Teddy moving through it. The scrape of a chair across the floorboards. Water running through pipes. The rustle of pages turning long into the night.

Azrael had told him that Teddy needed time and he was right. Anyone who’d survived days in The Drift would need a period of time in a reality they understood. Being watched, questioned, crowded… Well, that would only make things worse.

But Mikkel had a problem. He was attracted to Teddy. It was ridiculous. Pathetic. Wrong. But he couldn’t deny it. Something about Teddy appealed in a way he’d not felt for a long time. Mikkel couldn’t help wondering if Azrael had any hand in that. If there was some element to his request that Mikkel had missed. Maybe.

Mikkel had to be sensible. He was tasked with helping Teddy, not seducing him. So he closed his mind, busied himself with other things, tried not to think of Teddy holding his hand, tried not to think of how he’d felt in his arms.

Three days.

Now a week.

Mikkel lingered in the space between intention and action, caught in a battle that had nothing to do with Teddy and everything to do with himself. Tempted for the first time in centuries. Not just because he wanted Teddy in his bed. He’d had partners. He liked sex. He could have found someone while he’d been away, but he hadn’t. He didn’t want anyone else. Teddy was different. Teddy was special. Teddy was his.

And I’m a bloody fool.

The food in Teddy’s cupboards had slowly dwindled. Mikkel noticed because the house noticed. Not Teddy’s house but Mikkel’s, the two buildings linked in a way even Mikkel didn’t understand. Shelves that had once been full now stood empty. Fresh bread became crackers. Fruit disappeared, leaving only tins and dried pasta. Teddy rationed without even realising he was doing it.

The house showed Mikkel how Teddy washed the same mug over and over, placing it in exactly the same position in the cupboard. Every blanket was folded into precise squares. Every book returned to its place. Teddy vacuumed every day. And it wasn’t cleanliness. It was control. The only thing left that Teddy could control. The curtains remained closed. Teddy never even looked outside.

In the end, Mikkel’s house called him back, whispering not so much that Teddy was in trouble but that Sparlow was. Mikkel returned at once to find a Grief Storm churning above Teddy’s cottage, his emotions having overwhelmed the sanctuary Mikkel had woven around him. Dusk had settled over the rooftops but the agitation in the atmosphere was clear. No one but Mikkel could see it, but Sparlow felt it and so would those who lived there. It would have unsettled them.

He shouldn’t have stayed away so long. Mikkel walked as far as the cottage gate and stopped. Teddy should have gone outside by now, ventured into the garden, if only for a few minutes. Mikkel had impressed the need to be calm and safe and take time to think, but he’d not expected Teddy to hide away. There was no movement in the cottage. No lights. Mikkel fixed his gaze on the front door. He could almost see Teddy on the other side, standing in silence, listening for footsteps that never came, convincing himself that opening the door would shatter the fragile little world he’d built to survive.

Teddy needed to know that the world was still there. That snow still melted. That birds still argued in the hedgerows. That the sun came up every morning and set every night. Mikkel wanted to reassure him, hold him in his arms, kiss him, more than kiss him. Shit. And that was the worst thing he could do. If he walked into Teddy’s life now, he’d become another promise. Another person Teddy might lean on. Another person who’d disappear. What right did he have to become Teddy’s lifeline? No right. This was only temporary.

His hand reached for the gate. Then stopped. He closed his eyes. Stubborn fool. And he didn’t mean Teddy. Before he could lose his nerve again, he pushed the gate open and crossed the garden to the cottage. He wasn’t helping him by leaving him alone.

He knocked gently, then rested his forehead against the wood.

“Teddy, it’s me. Can I come in?”

His enhanced hearing enabled him to detect Teddy heading towards the door. The key turned in the lock, then Teddy fled. Mikkel walked inside and closed the door after himself. Bin bags were stacked up. There was an unpleasant odour. The lights were off. No sign of Teddy when he walked into the main room.

“I’m not going to force you outside,” Mikkel said softly, his voice low and steady as he tracked the faint, rapid breathing to the back of the couch. He slung his coat on a chair. “And I’m not here to lecture you either.”

“Why did you leave me?”

Mikkel’s shrivelled heart cracked. “You needed space and time to heal. The Drift plays with your mind.”

“You’ve played with my mind.” He sighed. “Sorry, no. You helped me. I’ve messed up my mind all on my own. Do you think you could put out the rubbish for me, please?” Teddy’s voice was barely a whisper, thin and trembling.

“I’ll help you do it.”

“You’re…you’re going to make me take it out?”

“I’m not going to make you do anything. But the bin lorry comes tomorrow morning. We need to do it now.”

“I can’t go outside. The thought of it makes me feel as though I’m going to fall and not be able to get up. I’m frightened of even the idea of being outside. And I know it’s my fault, that I’m being stupid, but I just can’t… I’m sorry.”

Mikkel walked over, keeping his movements deliberately slow. He didn’t stand over Teddy; instead, he crouched down behind the couch so they were at eye level.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know how loud and huge it feels. And this is partly my fault. I wanted so much for you to feel safe here, that this turned into a type of prison too.”

“I know what it is. Agoraphobia. I’m afraid of open spaces. I’ve had plenty of other things wrong with me, but never that. Now, I can’t even think about going outside without having a meltdown.”

“Agoraphobia doesn’t have to be a fear of the outdoors. It’s more of fear of feeling trapped or being unable to escape something whether it’s the outdoors or something else. But I’ll be with you when we go outside. We can do this together.”

“I can’t believe I’m so pathetic that I can’t even take out the bin bags. I’m fucking dead. What do I think is going to happen?” He gave a choked laugh.