this excerpt, like others, is supposed to be placed in the middle of a full story. it assumes the audience knows various facts about the main character. however, without supporting context, this may look odd.
for example, a character here--elias--is a professor at a school. another character--reed--is a thief who masquerades under their persona, "the phantom."
Every night, when the moon rose on the Institute and the school became blanketed in darkness, Elias’s nightly routine stayed the same.
Until 10, he would continue working on whatever the day had left him with. For ten minutes from then, he would take a break. Afterwards, he’d begin his nightly review paperwork, filing debriefings and reports on every experiment he’d done that day. He’d work through that stack until about midnight. Around then, he’d hear a rustle at his lab’s window, stealing his attention. A figure would appear in its frame, picturesque in elegance. They would sweep in like the summer breeze and waltz about the room until they ended up at his side, hovering over him and observing him as he worked.
They were the moonlight and they were the shadows. They were the nightly wind and they were the stillness in the trees. Somehow, they were everything at once.
Elias didn’t know how they’d ended up this way. You let a wanted thief into your lab one time, and now they’re visiting nightly. Well, almost nightly. They’d made the courteous promise not to visit on nights they were planning to steal, so as to keep Elias safe from any potential legal persecution. But on these quiet nights in which they did visit, it was strange. Every time they entered the room, the air became electric. When they’d talk, the static would vanish. When they’d go silent, it would return.
Reed, best known for their second life as the Phantom, was a talker. They had a silver tongue and they used it well. Every word that they spoke fell from their lips like silk. Yet at the same time, they could be so eerily quiet. At times, they and Elias would hold a conversation, words lightly passed between them. Other times, they’d be completely silent. Reed seemed to like watching him work. He’d noticed their blue eyes, deep in color like the finest sapphires, tracing the movements of his hands as his pen flew across paper. When he rose from his desk to pour a shot of Elias, they watched his posture, his form, his hands as they poured the ground beans and set the coffee in the brewer. Elias should have found it strange, but he waived his concerns; something in their energy, in their intentions, told him their fascination with him wasn’t malicious.
No, it was simpler than that: they’d seemed to have taken a liking to him. It was in their words, their interest when talking to him about magic, and their subtle ways of showing affection that confirmed Elias’s held suspicions. Reed enjoyed watching him work, yes. But they also enjoyed talking to him about his profession and even about life in general. They enjoyed giving him light taps on the nose when he’d least expect it, relishing in his surprise and the not-truly-upset scorn they’d receive after. More than anything, though, they merely enjoyed being close to him. The closeness was all they appeared to need to be satisfied, and Elias did not mind it one bit. In fact, it was nice to have somebody else around – to have somebody to share his thoughts with.
It was nice. Their arrangement was nice.
As much as Elias did not want to admit it, he liked having Reed around. A lot.
The closer they grew, the more they shared. The more Reed shared their coat with Elias on cold nights, the more Elias urged Reed to perfect their disguise magic. The more times Reed offered up their home and bed for Elias to sleep in, the more times Elias did the same for them. They kept each other in check. Breaks and sleep came easier for Elias now, as did further caution during their heists for Reed.
Beyond this simple arrangement, the two scarcely saw each other. Beyond this simple arrangement, Elias did not know if he wanted more from Reed, nor what he wanted, if he did. He did not want to acknowledge the warm, shining, glittering feeling in his heart when the two would (incidentally, surely) share a bed to sleep, nor did he want to acknowledge the sinking feeling in his chest when Reed would bid him their nightly farewell and slip out the window.
There was nothing there.
(He knew there was something. He just didn’t want to come to terms with it.)
Nothing, surely.
…
And when Elias finally came to terms with it, his world seemed to crumble and collapse at his feet.
Elias did not need love. He knew this because he’d loved in the past and it had brought him nothing but hurt. Love brings vulnerability, and vulnerability invites people to hurt you, to take advantage of you. People that you thought you could trust. That you thought you loved. People that immediately, when given the chance, will see you as nothing but an object for their own pleasure and treat you exactly that way. People that you thought you loved. Love — something so beautiful, so joyous — left him so broken. So he chose not to. He ignored his impulses and lived alone.
Elias told himself that he did not need love. He told himself over and over again when he found himself wishing for the company of another, for someone to kiss him, to hug him, to hold his hand. He didn’t need it. It was unnecessary. Useless, a waste of his precious time. It brought him heartaches to be without love, but he told himself it’s worth a little bit of hurt to never be shattered again. And he believed it.
Until now, because he’s realized that he is crushing on this — this thief, and he wants to love them so badly.
It hurts him to deny himself, so he puts it to the back of his mind. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of mind, out of… life, surely. Surely, surely.
Always wishing, but he knows his wishes are empty. Yet he does it anyway like the fool that he is. Elias knows the only way to beat his crush on Reed is to shoo them away entirely, but how could he do that? He can’t. He loves them too much.
He fights with himself, and he loses.