Raider wants to bury his face in Rune’s hair and tell him how perfect he is, over and over. He wants to talk to Rune for long enough, tell Rune enough of himself, that someday Rune feels safe to talk about himself in return.
But Raider’s not selfish enough to push if Rune doesn’t want that too. Maybe Cupid was wrong, and Raider isn’t Rune’s perfect match. Even if Raider’s pretty sure Rune ishis.
Taking a deep breath, Raider buttons his jeans. In the bathroom, he washes his hands and face. The cold water shakes his thoughts back in order. He stares into his immortal-gold eyes, then returns to his phone.
Praying Rune hasn’t blocked him, Raider sends a text message.
Raider:I’m sorry for asking to see you in person. I wasn’t thinking, and there’s no excuse. You’ve been totally clear, and I fucked up. I was calling to apologize and make sure you’re okay.
Raider:You’re such a sweet, clever, special person. You deserve to have exactly what you want. I’d love to be part of that, in whatever capacity you might let me.
Raider:Totally understand if you don’t want to talk tonight. Or ever. So I’ll let you be after this. I’ll message you again tomorrow night, but feel free to text or call whenever you want. I’ll be here.
When Raider lowers his phone, his room is emptier. Everything was refurbished according to his tastes, right before he moved in. He’s spent the better part of the past year setting up this home and shop as a new homebase. A project he believes in, something a little more stable and a lot more ethical than the treasure hunting gig.
Suddenly, Raider can’t see himself still living here a year from now. Five years from now. He won’t be able to stand the silence. Six more months, tops, and he’ll be ditching everything to race around the world again. Chasing something he’s never found in all his perilous adventures. A sense of purpose. A sense of self.
Raider scrubs his hand over his face. Fuck, it’s way too late at night to rethink his entire life. Time for bed, if he can fall asleep. “You’ve only known him for a few weeks,” Raider tells himself. “You haven’t even met in person.”
He’s halfway to the bathroom for a sad, cold shower when his phone buzzes.
Skidding across the floor, Raider stumbles over his laundry basket in his race to the bed. He scrambles for the phone and answers before realizing it isn’t a voice call.
A pair of flickering dark eyes fill the screen. They blink, then retreat, as Rune holds his phone far away enough that Raider can see more of him.
Dark hair loose over his bare shoulders, hunched in front of a bare gray wall. Even in the dim lighting, Rune is even more captivating in motion than in still photos.
Something burns deep in Rune’s eyes. Like he isn’t human.
“Hi,” Raider says stupidly, then sits on the floor. He leans back against the bed, cradling Rune’s image in his hands. “Are you okay?”
Rune’s shoulders rise with a deep breath. “No, I’m not okay. But that isn’t your fault.”
“I pushed. I forgot, and that’s my fault.”
Rune shakes his head. He’s so small and pitiful, Raider aches to reach through the screen and brush his hair behind his ear. “I want to meet you. I want it so badly, Raider. But I can’t.” The screen jostles as Rune covers his mouth with one hand. In a small voice through his fingers, he says, “I’m trapped here.”
Protective anger flares. Raider bites it back and says, as soothingly as he can through gritted teeth, “What do you mean, Rune? You can tell me anything.”
Rune takes another deep breath and starts talking.
Raider struggles to keep up. Rune’s story is rambling, fragmented. He’s clearly never relayed it to another person before—but the shattered pieces are razor-sharp. Raider’s worried anger only rises with each new detail.
That’s why Rune’s photos always looked off. His prison has no windows.
According to Rune, he’s a wicked demon. Unknown people led him into this empty chamber and sealed him inside. He doesn’t know how long he was alone in the darkness before the light appeared. A single lantern hanging from the wall. But over the years, more items appeared. Clothing. Furniture. A full-length mirror was Rune’s first true prize—a magic mirror that gave him glimpses of the outside world. He could even hear voices through it, but nobody could hear him.
Books. Paint. Items disappeared too. A clock, except Rune shattered the clock before it could disappear, because each tick hurt too much. One day, a television appeared in the parlor, and some of the pictures were the glimpses Rune was used to, but some were black and white and silent.
Raider has plenty of questions by the time Rune’s voice fades, but he’s certain of two things.
One, Rune isn’t a demon. Raider’s dealt with demons before. Rune is way better adjusted than any human would be in similar circumstances, but he’s not a demon.
Two, this is why Cupid matched them. Raider can’t resist one last treasure hunt.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Raider asks.
Drained by the story, Rune slumps against the wall. “I’m bad. I’m selfish. I can’t leave, but I thought I could at least… I just wanted to talk to someone. And once I met you, I wanted you to like me.”
