A pair of black flip-flops slapped lazily on the white hospital tiles. Alaric Langford strolled through the hallway with his hands tucked into the pockets of his grey pants.
His tousled black hair fell into his eyes, and his black coat flapped open slightly, revealing a plain white tee and abs that probably had no business existing on someone who claimed to be "mad."
Alaric exhaled softly as he cornered to the cremation wing. But he stopped abruptly when he saw the door to the cremation room that lay ahead.
Today was her anniversary... Her death anniversary.
He'd lost her in this same hospital, and she was cremated in the same room ahead.
A sharp pang gripped his chest, the kind that squeezed too tightly and stayed too long.
Three years.
Three whole years since he'd held her hand and watched her slip away. Since her laughter stopped echoing in his head. Since the world lost its color.
Everyone called him mad for how he handled her death. For how he bought an entire hospital wing just so no one else would be cremated here without his knowledge. For how he burned down buildings they'd been to together.
His family even had him locked up, placing him on medications, and seeking help from the best professionals. But Alaric had fed the medications to the butlers, thrown sharp objects at the professionals, almost strangled some to death.
At first, it was because he was hurting, but then he found amusement in the fear on their faces. Their fear gave his world the color that had disappeared.
Alaric started walking toward the door again, but this time slower. This was the first time he was out in the real world after more than two years of being locked up in his mansion which had only but a few people who were bold enough to live with him.
He wasn't sure why he came here today. Maybe it was to remember. Or even forget. Or to get pleasure from the anguish of his bodyguards when they realize he's nowhere to be found. They wouldn't dare search here.
But what he never expected was the pale, wide-eyed face suddenly appearing in the glass part of the cremation door.
He flinched.
The door didn't open. Instead, a tiny voice spoke from behind. "Hi... Give me your clothes!"
Alaric blinked.
Once. Twice.
Then he tilted his head as he stared at the chubby familiar, yet not so familiar face that stared back at him with desperation in her eyes. He'd seen her somewhere, but he couldn't quite place where.
That thought got interrupted and he flinched again when Poppy slammed her palm against the door. "Please! I just need something to cover myself!"
Alaric stepped back instantly, his flip-flops squeaking in protest. "Ma'am, I don't know what dimension you crawled out from, but I'm not going to strip just so you can take care of whatever situation you have."
"I'm not asking you to strip—" She tiptoed to get a better look at his outfit, then she pointed at his coat—the expensive black one barely hanging off his shoulders. "That coat! Just the coat! Give me that and I won't bother you again."
He frowned. This woman must be really insane! "No," he said coldly.
"No? But I just pleaded with you!" she snapped.
Alaric looked at her confused. What kind of human pleads with that tone?
"Do you even have a conscience?! How can you say no knowing what kind of situation I'm in?"
He said nothing.
When Poppy saw he wasn't bulging, she let out a frustrated groan. Her eyes narrowed, then like a lioness spotting a weakness, she opened the door slightly and reached for his coat.
He stepped back in confusion.
She reached harder.
And when he realized what she was about to do, he backpedaled. But Poppy's fingers found the edge of the fabric and she yanked.
"HEY!" Alaric shouted, trying to hold it back. "Let go! What are you?!"
"I'm cold!" Poppy growled, tugging harder. The fingers of her other hand had already grabbed his coat as well, and her head popped from behind the door to get a better look at what she was holding.
Terrified, "HELP!" Alaric shrieked, slamming his palm against the emergency button next to the door.
He never would've imagined he'd be harassed by a mad woman, but here he was. And this one wanted to strip him of his clothes!
Finally, with one glorious tug, Poppy won the battle and fell backward into the room with the coat clutched to her chest like a trophy.
Alaric stood outside in shock, one shoulder now awkwardly exposed, his flip-flops still squeaking as he stared at the door in disbelief.
That was when four nurses came sprinting around the corner. They were panting when they got to where he stood, armed with emergency kits.
"Sir! Are you okay?! You're not supposed to be here!" One of the nurses said.
But Alaric said nothing. He just pointed at the door.
The nurses blinked, then followed his direction inside the room.
Their eyes locked on Poppy, who was now in Alaric's coat with a tousled hair and bare legs.
One of the nurse's eyes widened. She stumbled back and her voice trembled. "You—" she gasped. "That's not possible. I-I certified you myself. You're... supposed to be dead!"
Poppy didn't speak.
Alaric's eyes narrowed on her, but the hurried footsteps that approached them distracted him.
"Young master!" One of the men dressed in a black suit screamed, panting as the group ran to where Alaric stood.
Alaric cursed under his breath. He gave Poppy another glance, than the confused nurses who now stared at him. Exhaling softly, he started sprinting in the opposite direction.
But it was already too late. The guards caught up to him, holding both his arm to stop him from inflicting any injury on them.
"Let go! Do you want to die?!" He yelled, but they only held him tighter and took him away.
Poppy stared at them in confusion, wondering why they held onto the grown man that way, but the throbbing pain in her head distracted her. The world started spinning and in no time, her vision blurred.
The nurses immediately ran to her aid.