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Andrew Minyard, the greatest sculptor in all of Palmetto, gladly agrees when King Ichirou Moriyama commissions him to create a statue of his recently deceased advisor, Nathan Wesninski. Andrew remembers Wesninski well: sharp blue eyes and striking red hair. More notably, he had his only son publicly and humiliatingly executed.
Andrew doesn’t have much ground to stand on when condemning others for killing their family members, but he doesn’t trust Ichirou, Nathan, or any other city leader as far as he can throw them. That is why Andrew asked Ichirou to pay him upfront for the statue: he does not plan on sculpting Nathan.
Another reason that Ichirou asked Andrew to create the memorial is that Andrew has a flawless memory; he can recreate Nathan’s face perfectly, despite the man being dead. However, Andrew plans to use his perfect recall to bring about his true plan: creating a sculpture of Nathan’s son, Nathaniel.
Nathaniel Wesninski was thought to be dead for many years, but his father found him soon after his twentieth birthday. Nathan claimed that Nathaniel and his mother had stolen hundreds of thousands of drachmas from the Moriyamas. As a punishment, Nathan executed his son in a public forum. He forced his son to expose the numerous and grotesque scars that covered his entire body. Personally, Andrew thinks that most of Nathaniel’s scars came from Nathan himself. Andrew, well-versed in scars, knows what old, time-healed scars look like, and most of Nathaniel’s were not new. He dares not voice this opinion except in his own home, though, so he does not know if anyone else has considered this possibility; the Moriyamas have ears on every corner.
Despite his cold demeanor, Andrew is well-loved by the public; his sculptures decorate the city. Andrew may find sculpting as exciting as watching the sun inch across the sky, but he is grateful for the immunity it grants him: he will not be executed for what he plans on doing. Imprisoned, maybe, but not killed. The people of Palmetto do not like Ichirou, and for the king to kill a public figure for dissenting would create further unrest and anger. Ichirou cannot afford to do anything drastic. Andrew, however, can.
“He will kill you,” Andrew’s friend Kevin Day says with absolute certainty when Andrew informs him of his intentions.
Andrew rolls his eyes. “He will not. You know that.”
“He won’t be happy,” Kevin insists. “You are nothing to him. You have no leverage.”
“It breaks my heart to hurt Ichirou’s feelings, but I must move forward,” Andrew intones. “Let me work in peace.”
A harried Kevin runs his hands through his dark hair. “You are perfectly capable of turning around now.”
Andrew tuts. “This block of marble is already too short to be Nathan. There is nothing to be done now.”
Kevin slides between Andrew and his tools. “I don’t think you understand what is at stake here.”
Andrew shoves him aside. “I do not think you understand how little I care.”
“Your actions have consequences, Andrew, you can’t just—”
Andrew silences him with a deadly glare. “Do not project your anxieties onto me. If you are going to be annoying, leave.”
Kevin shuts up, and Andrew starts working. He honestly, truly could not care less about what Ichirou might have in store for him once he reveals his creation. Andrew would have to care about something for Ichirou to punish him in a way that hurts. He wants to hit the king where it hurts. The fallout is an unfortunate but ultimately meaningless side effect.
Sculpture is a tedious and usually boring pastime. Andrew does it because people pay him frankly ridiculous sums for his art; he has made enough to last him a long, long time without picking up another chisel. Still, something about this project ensnares him; he knows it will not be finished for months, even a year, but something stirs in his chest when he thinks of his subject.
Every few weeks, one of Ichirou’s men comes to check on him. Kevin was bedridden from stress for days when he first heard of this, but Andrew doesn’t care. The men that Ichirou send know nothing of Andrew, therefore they do not know that it’s a farce when he acts haughty and self-conscious, claiming that no one can see the sculpture before it is finished.
Once Andrew is starting to make some real progress on the statue, Nicky, his cousin, makes an announcement. Once his companion Erik Klose returns from his travels, they will be married.
“If you survive the king’s wrath when Nathaniel is finished, won’t you give him to Erik and I as a wedding gift? You’re so talented,” Nicky gushes, inspecting Andrew’s progress.
Andrew brushes his cousin off. He does not like it when others call the statue Nathaniel. Nathaniel was a real person who is now dead, and his statue is merely that: a statue. It carries no meaning.
Or so Andrew tries to tell himself.
As the weeks turn to months, Andrew finds himself fascinated with Nathaniel Wesninski. The man, though dead, takes up more space in Andrew’s mind than he allows anyone else. There is a pull in his chest toward the unfinished statue, like Andrew is trapped in its orbit. He wonders where his numerous scars came from, and what his freckles looked like after days spent in the summer sun instead of hidden away. It disgusts him, to be so interested in a dead man, but his feelings of revulsion are not enough to make it stop.
Andrew brings this up to Bee, the woman who raised him from the age of twelve onward. He trusts her more than anyone else, and he knows that she will help him sort out his spiralling thoughts.
“I think that it is normal for artists to fixate on their subjects. Especially in your case; you can’t ask him your questions, so you’re left wondering.” Bee sighs and adjusts her tunic. “Andrew, this is not worth the grief you have put yourself through. You’re too hard on yourself.”
“He’s not here to consent to anything,” Andrew points out. “If he were alive, it would make him uncomfortable to be scrutinized by a stranger.”
“You don’t know how he would feel,” Bee argues. “In any case, he isn’t alive. You are doing no harm; you are only thinking about him. If he were alive, would you ever do anything to him without his consent?”
Andrew shakes his head and Bee smiles. “You have your answer. Andrew, it’s okay. You are doing nothing wrong.”
Andrew takes Bee’s words to heart, but he promises himself that he will let his obsession go no further. It will do him no good to let himself become interested in a dead man.
The project takes up most of his time and attention. He cannot recall the last time he saw Nicky, and Bee comes to check on him less and less. He has never been social, but the single-minded focus he has on this statue has rendered him a hermit. Still, he is so close to being done. Not that he would ever admit it, but he truly enjoys carving the grotesque scars out of the statue’s unblemished marble skin. He is pleased with the smug look on his muse’s face and the texture of his wild curly hair.
He almost dreads the day he must present the statue to Ichirou, for he is nearly certain that the king will destroy it.
Ichirou’s deadline draws nearer, and Andrew spends more and more time with his statue. Its eyes are bright and satisfied. There is a mean quirk to its lips. Its scars are on display, as well as the wound that killed the subject; a slash to the throat. Nathan Wesninski slit his son’s throat and threw his not-yet-dead body into a chasm. Andrew remembers the sickening crunch when Nathaniel struck hard ground.
“Holy Gods,” Dan Wilds breathes when she sees the finished project. She is visiting Andrew, along with their other friends, for what Nicky calls Andrew’s last party before he gets executed. “This is… beautiful. Andrew, you did this? Oh my god, you’re going to be killed.”
Andrew ignores her, instead plucking the wine out of her hands and downing it. She doesn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in the statue.
“I know you’re all impressed, but Ichirou’s going to destroy it. You know that, right?” Aaron says snidely, crossing his arms. His harsh words are contrasted by the way his eyes keep catching on the marble statue.
Andrew is sick of everyone talking about it. He is aware that Ichirou won’t be happy and that the project that has consumed his life for months and months will be turned to dust. He knows just as well that the statue is beautiful; he is the sculptor, after all.
“You put a lot of effort into Nathaniel,” Renee says, accosting Andrew in a hallway away from the rest of their companions. He left the room to escape the suffocating crowd of his friends, but he half-wishes to be back with his statue. It is sometimes hard to leave it; it feels like there is a rope between it and himself, pulling him towards it.
“Don’t call it that,” Andrew replies. “It’s a piece of stone.”
“A piece of stone with hundreds of intricately detailed scars.” Renee smiles. “You really are talented, Andrew. It looks exactly like him.”
“That was the point,” Andrew snaps. “Are we done?” He likes Renee, but if he has to hear any more about how beautiful his statue is, he might break off its arm and stab someone with it.
Renee sighs. “Would you like to take a walk outside? It is rather warm in here.”
Andrew takes the opportunity to escape, despite the pull in his chest. This might be his last night as a free man, after all.
❦
It happens like this: Ichirou trusts Andrew blindly, and chooses to reveal the statue in public. It happens like this: Andrew pulls the sheet off of Nathaniel Wesninski’s likeness and Ichirou sees red. It happens like this: after the crowds stop screaming and the chaos turns to calm, Ichirou pronounces that Andrew must be put on trial for treason.
Three days. That is how long Andrew has until he is inevitably jailed; he can’t find it in himself to care. He knows that his statue had the intended effect; he saw the ire in the eyes of the people around him. He felt their anger, and he hopes Ichirou did too.
He never meant to become involved in his city’s exhausting politics, but Ichirou presented him with the opportunity on a silver platter. Besides, Kevin thought it was a bad idea, which was all the encouragement that Andrew really needed. He doesn’t regret what he did.
They don’t destroy the statue. Or, they don’t get the chance to; the men Andrew paid to bring it to the city centre were also paid to remove it in the chaos. They dressed like Moriyama men, so Ichirou let them go. Nicky tells Andrew that the Moriyamas are raising Hades trying to locate it. Little do they know, the statue is in Nicky’s house with Andrew.
Andrew did not want to stay with Nicky, but his cousin pointed out that Ichirou is not above inciting an “accident” resulting in Andrew’s unfortunate death. That is why Andrew is holed up in a room in Nicky and Erik’s house with only the statue for company.
He can’t tear his eyes away from his creation. Something about carving Nathaniel Wesninski out of stone felt different from his other works; it felt like he was really, truly chiselling the man out of stone rather than creating a depiction of him. He has yet to admit this to anyone, because it sounds positively insane, but he cannot escape the way it feels like the statue’s stone gaze is tracking him across the room.
Andrew throws a sheet over the statue. He can’t bear to move it from his room, but having it stare at him feels even worse. While he is making sure every last piece of stone is covered, Nicky bursts into the room.
“Andrew! What—”
Andrew crosses his arms. “What do you want.”
Nicky flounders. “Why are you covering him up? I thought you wanted to keep it.”
Andrew does want to keep it, and he also wants to raze it to the ground. He wants to stop constantly thinking about a fucking statue. “I am tired of staring at it,” is all he offers as a response. “Why are you here?”
“I am going to Aphrodite’s temple in hopes that she will bless our relationship,” Nicky says. “I thought you might like to come. It would be unwise to spend these three days inside.”
Andrew wants to decline just to be contrary, but he will take any opportunity to escape his statue’s suffocating presence. “Alright. Just give me a moment.”
Though he would never admit it, Andrew has been wallowing; his hair is getting long from so long spent only focused on his project, and he hasn’t much cared about his appearance when things like lifelong imprisonment are far more important. He tries to fix his hair and fastens his brooches to his chiton. He takes one last look at the now-covered statue and tells Nicky he is ready to go.
In the streets, Andrew is stared at by some and approached by others. Everyone has something to say about his statue. He ignores them; he doesn’t care to think about his cursed statue anymore, and he doesn’t enjoy the attention.
“The people are unhappy,” Nicky says quietly once they turn onto a less-populated path. “They have been empowered by what you did. There is unrest.”
Andrew can’t find it in himself to care. He pissed off Kevin and the king; that’s all he really wanted to do. “Alright,” he says dryly.
Nicky sighs. “I don’t understand why you spent a year of your life on a statue designed to anger the king, yet you don’t seem to care that you succeeded. Why did you risk your life for that if you don’t care?”
The truth is, Andrew isn’t quite sure himself. He doesn’t regret it, but in retrospect, he’s not sure what spurred him on to make the decision. As soon as he had the idea to create Nathan’s son instead of Nathan, he felt that there was no turning back.
All he does is shrug, and Nicky lets it go. They arrive at the temple, and Andrew leaves Nicky to his own devices. Andrew doesn’t remember the last time he visited any temple, let alone Aphrodite’s. He is and has always been destined to die alone, even before his life was cut short by his act of rebellion. He simply has too many issues.
Nicky appears at his side after a few more minutes, seemingly finished, but he pulls Andrew toward the altar. “Andrew, I think you’re too lonely.”
Andrew shakes off his cousin’s grip. “I am perfectly fine. I am also going to be jailed or enslaved or killed in a few days, so I do not see the point of whatever activity you have in mind.”
Nicky sighs dramatically and stops. “Maybe you’ll meet the man of your dreams in prison. Woo one of the guards to escape! Come on, just tell me what you would like in a man.”
Andrew shakes his head. “No man would meet my standards.”
Nicky cocks his head. “Humour me.”
Andrew sighs. “He would have to respect my boundaries; he could not touch me unless I say so. He would have to be as short as me, or nearly so.” When Nicky opens his mouth excitably, Andrew bulldozes on, “He would have to be a smart enough mathematician to rival Euclid, and he would have to be unbeatable in a race. He would—”
Nicky scoffs. “You’re just being difficult. Why won’t you indulge in your dearest cousin? Come on, let’s go home.”
When they arrive back at Nicky’s home, Andrew hears movement inside. At first, he doesn’t think anything of it; it’s only Erik, after all, but he finds Erik in the kitchen, and his footsteps don’t match the ones that Andrew hears. He follows the sound to the guest room he is staying in, and the sight that greets him is almost impossible to believe.
“Who are you?” spits Nathaniel Wesninski, wrapped in the chiton Andrew carved him in as well as the sheet his likeness was draped in.
“You’re dead,” Andrew points out.
“I will be soon,” Nathaniel replies, and that is when Andrew notices the red staining the white cloth. Blood spills from the gruesome wound on Nathaniel's throat, the wound that Nathan inflicted and Andrew chiselled onto him.
“Come with me,” Andrew orders. “Can you walk? My brother can help you.”
Nathaniel shrinks back against the wall. “Why should I trust you?”
“Do you have another option?”
Nathaniel rolls his eyes. He tries to take a step forward, but he loses his balance; Andrew catches him at the last moment before he hits the hard ground. Nathaniel’s breath catches. His blue, blue eyes catch on Andrew’s and for a moment, there is only silence.
“Do I need to carry you all the way there, asshole?” Andrew asks, voice rough.
Neil nods. His blood is all over Andrew’s front. Andrew hears Nicky call, “Andrew, who are you talking to?” Before a gasp of horror.
“Get out of the way,” Andrew orders, hoisting Nathaniel into his arms. “I am taking him to Aaron.”
Nicky follows a few feet behind. “Is that Nathaniel? Andrew, this is a miracle—”
“Shut up.”
Andrew does his best to cover Nathaniel’s face with the sheet as he makes his way to Aaron’s house. He’s not sure why it’s so important to him that Nathaniel lives, but it is; he needs Nathaniel to live, like he needs air and water. It is a fundamental truth.
“Who are you?” Nathaniel asks, voice weak. His head lolls back against Andrew’s shoulder.
“My name is Andrew,” he replies. He wouldn’t indulge in conversation if he weren’t afraid that letting Nathaniel fall unconscious could have fatal consequences. “How did you get into that house?”
Nathaniel hums. “I woke up there. I was… covered in dust.”
Andrew sighs. He hopes to the Gods that Nathaniel isn’t his statue brought to life, but he can think of no other option. He saw Nathaniel executed by his father months ago. There is no way that he survived and somehow ended up in Nicky’s house; Andrew saw him die.
Once they arrive at Aaron’s house, Andrew is banished from Nathaniel’s side. This shouldn’t be painful, but it is; he wants to be at Nathaniel’s side. Something in his chest tugs him toward the redhead.
Andrew hates feeling like this.
Some time later, Aaron interrupts Andrew’s pacing to let him know that Nathaniel is alive and that it looks like he will stay that way. Andrew wastes no time placing himself at Nathaniel’s side.
“You again,” Nathaniel mutters, voice hoarse. “Andrew.”
“Nathaniel.”
The man flinches. “Don’t call me that.”
Andrew cocks his head. “What would you prefer I call you?”
Nathaniel thinks for a long moment. “Neil.”
“Neil,” Andrew echoes without thinking. He touches a hand to his lips, wondering what has gotten into him.
“What happened?” Neil asks, eyes growing wide and alarmed. “Why am I here? I thought I was going to die. I thought I was dead.”
Andrew sighs. “You aren’t going to believe this.” Neil looks more and more incredulous as Andrew goes on. He tries to downplay the fervour with which he threw himself into the project, but Neil seems to pick up on it. Oddly, he doesn’t react.
Once Andrew finishes, a heavy silence settles over the room. Neil brushes a feather-light hand over the now-patched wound on his throat. “My father is… dead?”
Andrew nods.
“And I’ve been dead for more than a year?” Andrew nods again, and Neil looks away. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again. Finally, he asks, “And you didn’t change anything about me?”
“No. Is something different?” Andrew finds himself fighting the urge to fret over Neil, checking to see if he is alright.
“I don’t know,” he mutters. Inexplicably, Neil’s cheeks turn rosy; he is embarrassed.
“What is it?” Andrew presses. He doesn’t know if he could live with himself if he changed something fundamental about a real person with his hubris.
Neil stares steadfastly at the ground. “Before I died, I thought that I was never… attracted to people. But you’re different.”
Andrew thinks he might throw up. How could he have done this? Somehow, he brought someone back to life, someone who he is (though he is loath to admit it) attracted to, and made them attracted to himself? He stands up to leave, but Neil continues on.
“My memories from before are fuzzy, but I remember seeing you. I remember… my mother told me to stop staring. She said looking was dangerous. But I didn’t.”
Andrew tries to comprehend this new information through the deafening sound of blood roaring in his ears. “Didn’t what?”
Neil’s eyes climb up Andrew’s body, lingering on his exposed skin. “I didn’t stop staring.”
Andrew swallows. “I didn’t do this?”
Neil shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
Suddenly, Nicky thunders into the room. “Aaron told me to give you two a few minutes, but I’ve had enough. What’s happening? Why are you alive?”
Andrew explains in fits and starts. His eyes keep wandering back to Neil. He knows that Neil is undoubtedly here and alive, but why? And how? It doesn’t make any sense.
When Andrew finishes, a gleeful smile appears on Nicky’s face. “Hey, Neil, I have a few questions for you.”
Neil looks over to Andrew, who shrugs. “Sure.”
“Are you good at math?” Nicky asks.
“Yes, why?”
“And have you ever lost a race?”
Neil frowns. “No, but how do you know—”
“Earlier today, Andrew and I were in Aphrodite’s temple, and I asked him to describe the man who might meet his standards. He said that he would have to be respectful of his boundaries, of diminutive height, a great mathematician, and unbeatable in a race.” He smirks. “It seems that Aphrodite was listening.”
Andrew buries his face in his hands. “Leave us alone,” he mutters. “Or I will be forced to kill you.”
Nicky retreats, and they are alone once again. “If I were you, I would have run the moment I was able,” Andrew says. He doesn’t understand how Neil seems to trust him so quickly, and what is more confusing is why he trusts Neil. The warm feeling in his chest is just as mysterious.
“I could still run,” Neil points out. “Or we could run together.” At Andrew’s confused look, he explains. “You said that you will be put on trial in a few days. I won’t be welcomed by Ichirou either. We could leave.”
Andrew narrows his eyes. “Your father said that you and your mother were on the run for years. I don’t want that. I will not move cities every other month.”
“With my father gone, that won’t be necessary. I doubt the king will see it necessary to waste resources on chasing you, and he doesn’t know I am alive. We could travel until we found somewhere that suits us and settle.”
Ignoring the full feeling in his chest at Neil’s words, Andrew frowns. “We do not know each other. How can I trust that you won’t turn back to your old life? I will not live in fear.”
Neil shrugs. The movement jostles his throat, and he flinches. Andrew’s chest twists at seeing Neil in pain. What the fuck? “I trust you, somehow. I think you trust me too. It won’t be perfect, but do you have another solution? You could leave on your own. You could rot in prison.”
“I’m going with you,” Andrew retorts sharply without thinking.
Neil nods. “Then it’s settled. Now let me sleep.”
Andrew starts to leave, but Neil sticks a hand out. “Come here?”
The thought of lying in bed with another person is enough to make Andrew sick, but the tug in his chest toward Neil is too strong to ignore. He sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to move too much. Neil shifts so he is on the edge of the bed and there is room for Andrew against the wall. He crawls into bed and lets himself get lost in Neil’s bright eyes (which look significantly nicer in colour rather than marble).
“Can I touch your hand?” Neil asks quietly. Andrew nods. Neil takes Andrew’s hand in a gentle grip and brings it up to his face. He places a kiss on Andrew’s wrist and locks their hands together before closing his eyes.
Andrew falls asleep with a hand in his and the pull in his chest toward Neil finally calmed.