A.N:
Still forcing prompts out of Leo...I might be killing her phone's credit .
and a big cheer to the person who kick-started this AU idea in the first place. DamnyouPipkin Bl I have too many muses...
Song: The ketchup song – las Ketchup, Colour: green, Word: mirror.
His voice is oddly soothing, when he actually bothers to speak; you listen. Willem learnt that quickly.
It had started as a simple question: all he had wanted was for Erik to explain to him the stories in slightly more detail. He had wanted to get a proper feel of the creatures and their stories before he would start drawing and painting the scenery around them.
Because he strives for accuracy.
So what was supposed to simply be a few words of explanation, soon Willem finds himself sitting in one end of Erik's bed, long legs drawn up towards his chest as he cradles a cup of coffee that went cold hours ago. He doesn't notice, he's to absorbed in Erik's voice and how he weaves the most magnificent tales in his deep and soothing voice.
Spread in front of Erik is his leather-bound sketchbook and a lot of loose pieces of paper. For each page of Erik's illustration, Willem has made a sketch of a potentially suitable background or scenery.
However, by page 80 of around 200, Willem stopped drawing and just listened.
He listens to how animated and happy Erik sounds as he weaves more and more details into his stories about the daily happenings of his imaginary friends.
It's like listening to a small child. The only difference is that Erik speaks with much more conviction and realism. Not to mention the spark of magic in his eyes that becomes more and more apparent with each new story.
The excitement and liveliness however; are the same.
"...problem is that usually when you build something so small, it's so easy for bigger creatures to accidentally knock it over..."
Erik is explaining to Willem how faeries build their houses, and to Willem's ears it well and truly sounds like Erik was once a carpenter of sorts. No way can anyone know that much about structures and not have studied it.
"...and cement is really unheard of, but soak some moss and hold the structure up with sticks and not only will the stones stay in place, it also creates great insulation..."
Willem smiles and manages to finally doodle a little fairy house.
"Hu? Did I bore you or something?" Erik gives the blank pieces of paper a quizzical look – he was too absorbed in his own storytelling he never noticed Willem put down the pencil and paper in the first place.
Shaking his head Willem chuckles at Erik's concern "No...far from it. Your stories are fascinating, I didn't want to draw anything...too focused on your little faeries' daily lives..."
Erik's pale cheeks seem to take on a slight shade of pink as he smiles. "Good...I was worried I completely put you off this project,"
"Nah, if anything I find it more fascinating now..."
Stretching his hands above his head till a satisfying crack from his spine is heard, Willem resumes doing a few quick sketches and ideas for each page in the book. Watching him from across the bed, Erik shifts his position slightly and edges closer to Willem and his sketchbook.
Picking up one of the sketches of a large waterfall, the Norwegian holds it next to his own drawing of a water spirit.
When Willem looks up from his sketch he's met with a sight that makes him laugh. Erik is sitting cross-eyed and cross-legged, staring at their separate drawings – obviously trying to picture the two drawings being merged into one.
"Oi..," Willem pokes the blonde's forehead with the end of his pencil, "Don't do that...the wind will change and you'll stay like that,"
Erik snaps out of his daze and rubs his eyes, suppressing a small yawn. They've been awake sine 7 am, both choosing to eat both breakfast, lunch and dinner in Erik's room while planning the storybook. To an outsider it might seem like a trivial and stupid thing to focus so much time and energy on.
There is, however, some things an outsider will never understand. Finding hobbies while in such an institution is important. It doesn't matter to Willem or Erik that no one but they (and possibly Margaret) will ever see the finished book. Right now it's something to occupy themselves with. Something to keep their minds alert and active while simultaneously forgetting they are in a 'prison'.
After a few moments of silence – filled only with the sound of pencils on paper – Willem desperately needs to break the comfortable silence despite himself. Erik is so much more willing to share things, so perhaps: just maybe – he will answer his question
"Level 4...what's it like? I mean...compared to Level 3?"
To his surprise, Erik doesn't ignore or give him an evil stare – he's meeting his eyes with a calm and collected expression before opening his mouth to speak.
Words not as full of joy as before – instead they match those dark and lifeless eyes.
"Level 4 is more like a prison... no personal items except your clothes are allowed – and even those are controlled," Erik frowns but continues speaking, his voice isn't as animated and enthusiastic any more. It's taken on the tone he first used when Willem met him – cold and uncaring.
"Anything that is deemed inappropriate will be confiscated,"
"What is considered inappropriate then?" Willem has a hard time trying to think of how an article of clothing can be seen as inappropriate.
"Any article of clothing with images or text that has connotations to things that the doctors fear will trigger bad behaviour in yourself or other patients." Erik seems to be quoting some official asylum document with that tone of voice – Willem doesn't doubt he has read through the entire asylum library while locked up in here.
So far he's convinced the doctors in this asylum are more insane than the patients. "Like what exactly?" Willem asks, almost worried about what will be deemed inappropriate. He was told to not wear too bright colours when he's in the garden – so his favourite orange football jersey was a big no-no.
Erik waves his hand lazily as he lists the various forbidden 'patterns' "Weapons, sports logos, psychedelic patterns, slogans, clowns..."
"Clowns too? You're joking..."
"Nope...I had this awesome t-shirt with a viking battle axe on it – they took that one away. Never got it back..." Erik sights sadly as he seems to mourn his favourite shirt. It makes for a rather comical image, but Willem can understand his sentiments – his favourite article is a scarf his sister knitted and having to part from it would be a killer.
"Wow...that's certainly strict." scratching his head he slowly begins to sketch a few flowers. He dreads asking the next question. He doesn't even know if Erik will tell him, yet he wants to know so very badly.
"What are the rooms like?"
Erik ponders the question for a while, running his fingers over the pages in his book.
"A lot like this one, except there are no bookshelves or desks. The pillows and duvets are without covers, a precaution in case someone decides strangling themselves or others with a bedsheets is a bright idea,"
"Sounds..unhygienic" in a place that deals with sick people (albeit not really physically sick) Willem would have though they'd be very keen on keeping high standers of hygiene. All the corridors smell of sterilising spirits at least...
Erik shakes his head
"They take everything from the mattress to the pillows and power wash and steam the whole pile every two weeks."
All Willem can do is stare. He though Level 3 was bad enough already.
"I'm afraid to ask what Level 5 is like..."
"To be honest, all I know about level five is what Preben told me..."
"Who's Preben?"
"The guy who attacked his cousin with an axe...he's Danish..."
"Oh" not that it was a satisfactory answer he got, Willem simply couldn't think of a reply to that. It didn't help Erik was still speaking in that dead cold voice of his.
"Well, anyway...Preben is possibly the nicest guy in this place,"
Willem frowned and gave Erik a playful punch to his shoulder.
"Oi, are you replacing me?"
He actually found the though more frightening than he should have. He probably depended on the friendship with Erik as much as he depended on him.
"Not at all...let me finish you idiot,"
Willem frowns again but motions for Erik to continue.
"Well...Preben is really nice, always smiling – after a while he can get on your nerves. He's oblivious to any form of mockery or insults..."
"Let me guess...he was your best friend," the sarcasm in Willem's voice is bitter and overflowing.
"Self proclaimed best friend, thank you very much..." Erik rolls his eyes and sights "But he's not as crazy as the doctors think,"
"You mentioned he was drugged,"
"Yeah...he likes to drink, and one day some guys figured they wanted to see him on drugs. So they slipped god-knows-what into his drink and ten minutes later he's broken one of those "in case of fire: break glass"-cases and is swinging the axe around at anyone getting to close. His cousin tried to overpower him, and he did manage...after getting a very large gash across his back that is..."
Willem shudders at the though.
"Sounds unpleasant," he mutters.
Yet it isn't the story that's the scariest part, it's the way Erik tells it. He much prefers the tale of the trolls who eat Christians than this story of fellow 'inmates' in the asylum. Erik's voice is no loner soothing and comforting – that's the scariest part of it all. He's speaking as if it's all so common and matter-of-fact, the only thing keeping him curious is his damn morbid curiosity wishing to be satisfied with gruesome tales.
"Yes...Preben is so incredibly sorry for the incident. He's always so cocky and happy, but the second Berwald comes to visit him, he becomes this humble and broken person – it's frightening,"
Willem shifts uncomfortable and runs a hand through his spiky hair, if Level 3 and 4 are so dead sterilised that he dreads what the answer to his next question will be "Level 5...what does Level 5 look like then?"
"Level five..." Erik scratches the back of his head. The small curl in the nape of his neck bobs up and down at the motion "Well...Preben described it as a white-painted hell. The bed even has leather straps...to keep your limbs secured and restrained during the night...walls and floors are padded and the only light is this soft-yellow hue that can only be regulated by the nurses or doctors from outside your room. And while Level four only has rules about clothing, Level five restricts any clothes of your own." He pick at one of the loose threads from his woolly sweater.
"Everything is provided by the staff and it's all white."
"That's not fair...nor does it sound like a place where you'll get better,"
"No, it's not fair, but if you protest to loudly, on come the straight jacket..."
Willem subconsciously curls a little bit more up and wraps his arms around himself. The images his mind is conjuring up is truly frightening. It's all so alien and wrong. Little Alice went through the looking glass to find a world full of strange creatures who spoke nonsense. Right now Willem can see himself standing on one side of a grand mirror – and what is supposed to be his reflection is instead Erik.
Willem wants to break the glass – free the other man.
However: if he breaks that final barrier between them, who knows what other more dangerous creatures he'll let slip into his own safe world.
Befriending Erik was a good idea, but for how much longer can he be sure of Erik's sanity? That cold uncaring voice is frightening - yet so understandable.
Perhaps; perhaps if he does it gently. If he slowly melts the glass (as if it was ice) instead of breaking it, he can rescue the Norwegian from this hell – then he'll close the gap and leave the place forever, never looking back at his own reflection.
Because his own reflection has for weeks haunted him. He knows he's gotten better, yet he still has those slightly sunken inn eyes that makes everyone know he's done illegal things. He's got a long way to go, and every time he sees a mirror he's reminded of just how far he had to sink before he realised he couldn't swim back to the clear surface.
He's so used to colours – so dependent on them, that these white washed walls would certainly be hell. The artists in him would long to fling large buckets of paint on the walls. Red, yellow, green, blue, pink, black – anything but a blank and boring canvas.
He needs to divert his attention, talk about anything else but this prison of the mind and body.
Erik seems to somehow catch on to his nervousness, because the Nordic man stops talking about Level 5 and goes quiet for a moment.
"Hey...Willem...can I ask you a question?"
"You just did..."
"Stop being a smart-ass..."
"Fine...yes you can ask me another question,"
Erik rolls his eyes but resists sticking his tongue out at the taller male – childish antics aren't very dignified at the grand age of 28.
"How did you get that scar on your forehead?"
Willem stiffens slightly – he had hoped to evade that question, because it's a stupid story that he used to tell to sometimes gain a little sympathy. It won't get sympathy out of Erik – he has had it far worse than him, in so many aspects that the story becomes insignificant in comparison.
"Just a childhood accident...no awesome fights or battles, just naivety and perhaps some bullies,"
"Wow, riveting...and such details. You blow my mind Willem," Erik deadpans in reply.
"Shut up, not everyone is a story telling genius like you,"
"Never know until you try,"
"I was 8 okay? And some idiots made me fall. A jab to my pride more than anything," Willem frowned and crossed his arms in a slight huff.
Erik places his chin in the palm of his hand and leans closer
"Well...I'd like to know more none the less...I've entertained you for a while, can you not at lest return the favour?"
Oh how he dislikes Erik's logic – it's near impossible to argue against it.
Soon he finds himself telling Erik everything he can remember himself – and a few things Margaret told him when he woke up.
Erik listens with interest, never taking his eyes of the spiky-haired man except to occasionally close his eyes. Yet when his eyelids flutter open, his blue eyes are again focused on Willem's green ones.
A.N:
Cliff hanger~ or maybe not. Take it as you want really.
Cheers for the reviews so far, hope no one minds I seem to flood their in-boxes with story alerts.
