11 Fear Is For The Weak

I lied awake against the soft comfort of my bed, surrounded by the fluff of pillows, with eyes darting across a seemingly empty room. Pigmented by the heterogeneous mixture of white and gray colors of light coming from the outside, it's finally Winter, I thought, as I took a quick look at the view of my window; the snows have finally fallen from the sky, drifting, dropping to the ground and into clumps and piles.

The unforgiving feeling of cold surrounded my room, sending small shivers down and up my spine. It crept up my body and chilled me from head to toe, burrying deep within my core as I felt the icy sheaths of air gust around the atmosphere. My usual clothing couldn't work as I struggled to snuggle between the sheets and covers. My hands, however, were vaguely warm to touch. The heat lingered like the surface of a hot cup of brewed cocoa. One was used to paint, to draw, and another had been used to hold his hands. I vividly remember the power of my grip, the smooth texture of his skin, the embarrassing things that I might've said, and the smooth texture of his skin that surprised me that almost made me never want to let go.

Two days have passed since then, and for two days I wake up and stared at the surfaces of my palms for a couple of minutes contemplating the feeling before finally coming to the realization that I needed to start my day. Two days have passed since then, and I wondered how Zachary had been doing.

"Don't go off staring into oblivion again or your food will get as cold as the snow outside, young master."

Louis darted his eyes toward me, doting. I caught his smirk and his expression smiling from excitement as he walked around the room.

"You've noticed, Louis."

"I've known you for many years; I'm well-versed to who you are."

Of course, he'll notice. Louis is as observant and perceptive as ever. He had been working under our family name for as long as I can remember. Just as he's a virtuoso in taking care of the house, knowing its nooks and crannies, he basically knows the mannerisms of each member of the family. From my subtle nail biting because of the cold and anxiety, to the way how my parents and sister acts whenever they're together in one place.

He knows the ins and outs, the gossips and information, the way how each of us operates. Louis knows almost everything to the point that sometimes it almost make me scared.

"As a matter of fact, I am quite surprised," he said as he smiled, weightlessly walking towards me to serve me a fine platter of breakfast he prepared and cooked himself, with a fine cup of coffee still steaming from the mix of sugar, heat, and foam. It was the daily, perfectly cooked eggs and mashed potatoes on the sides with toasts as colorful as oakwood. If only I could smell them if not from my blocked sinuses due to the cold.

"To which aspect were you surprised, Louis?" I watched him arranged the porcelain-colored tablecloth above the table in front of me, nudging the dents and dusting the specs before placing the plates, cups, food, and drinks. He gracefully handed me a pile of tissue with a bottle of disinfectant.

"A lot of things," he said as he arranged the tableware and cutleries on the table and around the platter. "Particularly you bringing someone into your family's domain, specifically into your room. You haven't done anything so bold as when you were young, not with that kind of cynical, stoic, and secretive personality of yours." He gave me a teasing smirk as he emphasized the words "my room."

"Is that the reason why you left us both alone all throughout that day?" He noticed the sudden sharp tone of my tongue. Perhaps I should be a little softer when speaking, especially to someone whom I am very close with. "Leave it, Louis. He doesn't swing that way. He only came to work on our project." I said as I sighed, grabbing my silver-made stainless spoon and fork.

"A, yes, the project. Be it as it may that there were no ulterior motives for such invitation, the matter of fact still remains that you, yourself, prefer either mussels or eggplants any day," he said as he poured a glass of clear, lukewarm water onto a tall glass. And as for the food puns, he wasn't talking about the literal food themselves. "And for the record, young master, if I can correctly recall, you invited him into your abode. For him to accept such invitation was another perculiar thing for me to wrap my head around." He said as he took care of the kitchenware, placing the used cookingware inside a stainless dishwasher.

"I'm only offering him our house's hospitality. You've seen him, yourself, Louis that he would never take interest in the same colors that I am flying."

"What if he does? There's no shame in holding on to a small sliver of hope."

"You of all people know me very well, Louis. You know that I could not." To carry hope and hold on to it, that is. "What would my friends say? What would the rest of the family feel if..."

Louis's voice silenced as he slowly walked and stood beside me, watchig me try to finish my meal, arms crossed and subtly shaking his head in disagreement. The grumble of his voice shook the chair I was sitting. "Your utmost happiness through my services, personal or not, is my priority, young master. You do know that you also have your sister on your back."

"She's busy enough as it is diplomatically arranging our interests with other family affairs, so I wouldn't think that she would take pride about the interests of her own brother," I said as I took a sip of water, followed by a sigh. "I wouldn't want to burden her from our squabbles, let alone burden her to the trivial and mundane."

"Yes, but the point still remains that she always remembers to support you."

"If only I could've listened it out from her own mouth, then maybe I could think about trusting her and think that maybe she really did care."

The room filled with silence after my sentences. I could hear Louis's subtle grunts of disbelief not only because of how I managed to weave my words but also because of our familial internal struggles. He has been working here for so long, so many years, so many things that had gone through him that bothered him. He knows all that had and will be going to happen.

"You're too good for this house, Louis. I'm surprised you've never presented your resignation letters yet, having to juggle your work and this house's problems." I said as I stir the cup of coffee he gave. "I could imagine our daily banters constantly ringing inside your ear."

"The thought of leaving this house never really crossed my mind, young master." Louis said. He placed a bowl full of sugar cubes next to my cup of coffee. "Though it is not my concern to prive on your familial affairs, I'll try my best to help your costs no matter the consequences."

"Even if there's nothing in return for you. You've said that yourself, a while ago. I remember." He smiled as he neatly arranges his white gloves and uniform, properly placing his stature, poise, and grace.

"Fear is for the weak." He said, stepping closer to me. "Did you know where I learned that phrase, young master?"

"Do tell," I said, having a spoonful of a meal.

"It was from various Greek mythologies that depicted Achilles's and Patroclus's relationship. I happened to be reading a bunch of them a few years before my occupation in this house, and I must say that I have an underlying favor for the stories."

"Ah, the ever-classical Trojan War. To where when the gods played among the men, and to where when love is as destructive as war itself."

"Yes, but perhaps you missed the point of their trials and tribulations." He said as he walked around the table. "They lived their lives filled with joy and sorrow, but their romance was undoubtedly unmistakable. They lived and people tried to tear them apart; they died in the war, and people still tried to tear them apart."

"Where does this tale going, Louis?"

"Patience, young master." He said as he cleaned up my platter, half-finished. "The majority knows that the both of them are considered lovers, yet some still dubbed them as, quote-end quote, dear friends. Did you know what happened to them in the afterlife?"

"No..." In fact, I did not. I've read Homer's Iliad once and never thought about these characters.

"They were both cremated on their deaths and their ashes were intermixed, and then buried." He said as he washes the dishes, placing them on a small cupboard. "They soon met each other in the afterlife and reunited, residing there for eternity on an island paradise."

"I don't quite understand what you're pointing at, Louis," I said as I gathered my things for school.

He looked at me with a solemn smile. "You'll understand, young master, once you let go of your fears."

I contemplated those sentences Louis had said to me. "Let go of my fears," I thought. It repeatedly played like a broken record. How could I, if what I have were not fears but something more terrifying than they are? Surrounded by people on their Winter clothing, I looked outside the moving train. I could barely see the silhouettes that passed by, let alone the metal tracks covered in thin ice and snow. The window's covered with dew, its surface cold to the touch. It lingered and spread like wildfire, seemingly freezing the underneath flowing blood of my fingers.

I remembered my mom in the hospital and my dad being cynical and overworked. I remembered my sister on an office somewhere, with eyes as cold as the season itself, the way her gaze could pierce through glaciers. I remembered Louis and his vague words, such pieces of a puzzle that I still could not get a hold. I got out of the train as my breath visible in the cold air, the puff rose and thickened until it evaporated into thin air. I looked up the gray sky as it continuously poured snow, puttint inches on a walkways. They were like cotton fields without the grass, twigs, ans roots. Soft to step on yet cold to stay and try to enjoy.

And then I remembered Zachary and how we had spent our days together. The joys, the laughter, the apologies I had to say. I vaguely remember the tone of his voice ringing like an alarm clock on a Monday morning, let alone remember the way he always tried to stand tall. How his hair flow with the wind, and how his eyes sparkled with every light that covered its silky surface. And then, just like a ray of sunshine, a brimmed feeling of warmth overpowered everything.

I touched my chest, felt the beat of my heart. And I could've sworn that I heard a galloping of a thousand horses.