My mind had fixed itself on those memories, refusing to turn to anything else.
So I chose to work. To work so much that no time remained for thought. I buried myself in a mountain of papers, contracts, and reports. I scheduled so many meetings that there was no time left even to eat, let alone return home.
It reached the point where the suit that had been gathering dust in the wardrobe at my office, kept there for emergencies, became a normal part of my wardrobe. I added another to appear a little fresher.
From time to time, I spent the night at the office. Because if I had returned home, my mind would have been free again. Then it would have wandered wherever it pleased, reminiscing and daydreaming.
Michael, of course, refused to leave me alone. He trailed after me to meetings and sat in my office for hours.
By the way, that bastard was sleeping on the couch now. His sleeves were rolled up, the collar of his shirt open, his legs stretched out over the coffee table, arms folded across his chest.
The jerk had the nerve to sleep while I was drowning in work.
Then again, while he slept, he did not slurp his tea or tap that idiotic teaspoon against the cup. At least it was quiet. He did not snore, thankfully, so I had little reason to complain.
I reached for another document from the stack beside me. My hand twitched. The entire pile slid off the desk and scattered across the floor, producing an unnecessary noise.
Of course, the noise woke my shadow straight away.
He yawned, stretching his arms wide, his shoulders giving a quiet crack.
"Could you be a bit quieter? People are trying to sleep in here. A little sympathy for those around you would not go amiss."
"Do piss off. The door is over there. If you have any objections, you may leave and never return."
"Oh, God. You are prickly as ever," he said. "I was joking. A joke. Ha ha. You know, people usually laugh at those. Though I have yet to discover what might make His Lordship of Seriousness smile." He rolled his shoulders. "Sleeping in this office is utterly impossible."
I said nothing, walked around the table, and began gathering the fallen documents.
"Hm. I think I'm hungry," he said after a moment. "Shall we go somewhere? Get something to eat? We have been sitting in this stuffy office for far too long. And, remarkably enough, there is no rain today. The paths have dried a bit as well, so you ought to survive the outing. Well?"
"I have plenty of work. I do not have time for this nonsense-"
A loud growl from my stomach interrupted me.
"Ha-ha! Your body disagrees with you. If you don't want to work yourself to death, it's time for us to go to lunch."
I sighed, closed my eyes, and rubbed the bridge of my nose.
"Fine. If you insist that strongly, we shall eat."
He let out a wicked little laugh, rubbing his hands together.
"Great. I know a fantastic place. They serve the most unusual dishes. You really have to try them."
A few minutes later, we were walking in the direction Michael had chosen.
He was right. The weather was better. No drizzle, not even a hint of it. The evening sun had begun to show itself. Everything around us had taken on a soft rose and gold glow.
But I paid it little attention. My thoughts, as they had done for days now, were somewhere else entirely.
"Edward," Michael said, turning back over his shoulder, "don't tell me you have drifted off into the clouds again."
"Turn around and lead us to that restaurant of yours," I replied sharply.
We walked on for a while. The crowd thickened around us, people pressing in from every direction. It took a certain effort not to collide with anyone.
Then suddenly, "Hey, look at this!"
A bright teenage voice rang out somewhere nearby.
"Look, it's that guy. You know, the protest symbol or whatever they all call him. Look what they..."
I turned, trying to find where the voice had come from.
A protest symbol? What now?
I saw a pair of teenagers staring down at a phone. Before I had realised what I was doing, I had stepped straight up to them and snatched it from their hands.
On the screen was a video of dreadful quality, recorded either on a phone or a body camera. The image shook constantly. Nevertheless, it was clear enough that a group of masked figures approached the entrance of a building, pushed the door open, and began to climb the stairs.
"Keep it down, keep it down," someone whispered on the recording.
"He said that bastard's on the top floor, right?"
A low, nasty laugh followed.
"Yeah. Time to teach that filthy hybrid a lesson."