The Art of Forgiveness

Outlandish (Past 8)

Merlon had been sleeping peacefully through the night when he was suddenly awoken by frantic knocking at his door. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine hurried, yet still perfectly even knocks.

"Merlon?" Marc's voice called. 

Merlon rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up, unsure if that was really Marc's voice if he was hearing, or if he was just hearing things. He was still half asleep. It had been close to 3:00 AM, so the idea of him imagining the voice wasn't that far-fetched. 

"Merlon, please," Marc begged, desperation suddenly lining his tone. The frantic knocking grew louder. Another nine knocks echoed through Merlon's house, this time louder. "I- please, I really need a friend right now."

Merlon suddenly snapped awake when he heard the complete and utter defeat in Marc's voice. He quickly scrambled out of bed and ran to his front door, throwing it open. Sure enough, the was Marc. 

With one hand, he clutched his lantern. With his other, he was leaning into the doorframe for support. Merlon couldn't help but gasp at the sight of him.

There were tears in Marc's glassy silver eyes. His breath smelled of alcohol and his skin was paler than usual. Sweat made his skin shine. His hair was tangled and his posture was slouched. His chest rose and fell with quick, haltering breaths. 

A heavy feeling filled Merlon's chest. 

"Marc..." Merlon trailed off, looking at the tall man with a confused, empathetic expression.

Marc sniffled, then brought his gaze to the jar of coins situated just inside. He noticed that it was practically empty now, with just three golden coins sitting inside. They didn't sparkle and shine as they should have. Instead, they looked sad, small, and insignificant. The sight of the practically empty jar made him want to burst into more tears. 

Marc sniffled, then fell forward and wrapped his arms around Merlon tightly. He burst into loud, devastated, uneven sobs. He spoke, but his words were impossible to understand through the tears. 

Merlon practically fell backward but was able to react fast enough to catch him. He quickly hugged Marc back, keeping him steady. He could feel Marc's entire body tremble with his sobs. 

He stayed still for a few moments, simply holding Marc close while he cried. 

He wanted to ask what happened but refrained from doing so. Did what happened even matter to Merlon? The only thing he needed to focus on was the present. The best thing he could do in a situation like this was simply a shoulder to cry on.

After a few moments, Merlon pulled away so he could close his front door, that way he could stop the chilly midnight air from getting in. He then gently took Marc's shoulder and led him into his house, sitting him down in his usual seat at the table. Without saying another word, Merlon ran to fetch a blanket, then carefully draped it over Marc's shoulders, noting that he had been shivering. Then, the blonde sat in his usual seat across from him.

Marc set his lantern down at the table, then clutched the corners of the blanket Merlon draped over his shoulders. He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, but he could not stop the tears from falling. He didn't want anyone to ever see him broken like this, but he knew that if he simply handled his breakdown on his own, his own mind would tear him apart. It was sad, but Merlon was really the only person his drunk, muddied mind deemed safe enough to break down in front of.

"Your breath... how much did you have to drink?" Merlon quietly questioned, his tone gentle and sweet instead of firm and demanding.

It was the gentle, sweet tone that scared Marc. When people used harsher tones, he could always tell that they were being genuine. However, no one can ever truly tell when kindness is real.