hiraeth (floradin)

12 ; athens is not home

"Welcome to Athens, Florante."

Florante awoke. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, sitting on the hard bed given to him. He did not remember so much on the way here. He did not remember the sceneries of up ahead, the blue of the sea seen and the valleys of green.

He remembered Aladin though.

And Florante prayed when he was ushered to his room. He couldn't even remember how he left his carriage and who carries his bags, where his room was on the floors. It was all just a blur, because Florante was exhausted and all he wanted to do was rest.

But he remembered this.

He remembered looking at his room and feeling his heart ache.

It looked like Aladin's room. It looked like Aladin's room before . . . before Florante had found homage in it. Before he run around Albania with him to find decoration. Before both of them clumsily learned how to paint on canvas and intimate masterpieces were hung to the wall. Before both of them wrote lyrics of the songs they wrote on the walls in messy black ink and laughed as they did. Before both of them had fell in love—this was what Aladin's room looked like.

Before Florante fell in love, this was his life.

Plain.

Boring.

. . . Lonely.

Florante remembered knelt in front of a makeshift cross he made of sticks and prayed and prayed and prayed.

"God, do you hate me?"

"I will serve you the for the rest of my days. I will serve you as long as I live. Please. Keep my love safe."

"Please let him be safe in your arms, even if we are of different religions."

"Please. He is the only thing I wish to have as mine. He is the only thing I need."

"Panginoon, siya ang aking mundo. Siya ang aking mahal. Huwag mo siya mahayaang masaktan."

(("lord, he is my world. he is my love. do not let him get hurt."))

"Lord, please. Lord. Lord!"

And Florante supposed he fell asleep, because he was in the uncomfortable bed. Someone must have carried him there. Or maybe he was so drowsy he stumbled his way there.

It would be better with Aladin here.

It would always be better with Aladin.

"Who–who are you?" Florante sputtered. He rubbed his eyes. An aged man stood at his doorway, brown hair and long beard.

"My name is Antenor," he said with a smile. A warm smile that looked like a father's. "Welcome to my school."

"School?" Florante tilted his head to the right.

Antenor sighed. "Why do you think you are here . . . ?" He arched his eyebrows.

"Florante," he said hastily. "But—but—"

"Your father has sent me a letter," the old man said. He leaned on his wall. "The reason for your being here . . . I know why."