Something is wrong.
Normally, his mind starts to play tricks on him in the evening.
That's when he will see day come to him in his bed, laugh, and start to talk. He will lie there in his bed unmoving, listen to day talk because that's all he will ever desire the most.
Sure, it's normal that he sees day's features in others. One might say that all his omegas have a certain trait to them. He has a type, and the type is to recreate as much of his dead mate through others as possible.
But this one hits the jackpot.
This one looks like him, smells like him, and also laughs like him.
Those eyes … those doe brown eyes… he can never forget them. He has never seen anyone with eyes like those except …
Day. Only day.
Travis is walking back to his car, jaw tensed, with no bag in sight as he gets in and starts the car, eyes trained on the red car that's up ahead.
"Where is the bag?" Liam asks, looking up from his phone in confusion. "What's going on?"
That's what he wants to know: what the hell is going on. He doesn't trust his mind, but when he is set on something, it's hard to let go.
He starts to follow the car.
"Travis? What's happening? Why do you look like you have seen a ghost in there?"
"That's what I need to know," he utters, waving through the traffic, not losing sight of the red car up ahead. It turns towards a residential neighborhood, one that Travis knows very well, where the property is privately owned.
His pack owns half of the city, the other side whole this part is mostly full of humans and other packs.
They don't cross paths, but they all know who is to be messed with and who not to. This is not his side of the city, that's why he is shocked when he sees the name on the gold plate above the large gates.
Savvit.
"Why are we here?"
Travis has stopped from afar, but his sight is good, and as he sees the car disappear behind the gates that automatically open and close, he feels colder inside.
The card in his hand feels heavier.
He looks down at it, reading the name over and over again.
Day savvit. St. Charles University, medicine department, 1st year. 20 years old.
His eyes are seeing it right. His mind isn't playing tricks on him. This isn't his wolf trying to make itself better by giving him hallucinations and holding to the thinnest silver of hope.
No, he is holding the evidence he swiped when he helped that … boy pick up his purse.
He felt his body under his palms. Felt his heartbeat. He was warm. Breathing.
Day savvit.
"Travis …"
He can hear Liam panicking beside him. he can hear the nervousness in his tone when he sees the address and the card.
"It's not him."
"Travis-"
"It's not him," he clenches his hand in a fist, crashing the card. "It's not him."
"You are right, perhaps it's just a very bad coincidence." Liam doesn't believe it, even though he is saying it. He doesn't mention that perhaps it's his wolf finally letting go of the little sanity he has and going mad.
He is losing his mind every day. That's what happens when you lose your bonded days after they happen. Everyone is seeing it, but they don't ask or talk about it either.
"Should we head back to the office?"
"I should drop you off," Travis weaves his car around. "Tell my sister that I owe her a date because I couldn't be there and bring her her cakes."
Even as he talks, his eyes look at the gates in the rearview mirror.
Liam doesn't ask anything. Doesn't talk about it either.
"Sure. I think she will have to work with my company alone. She will be fine."
…
As soon as Marcus' car leaves, day almost falls on the lobby's sparkling floor. His knuckles are white as he grips his purse tightly, smile turning to a wince.
He wills his legs to take the few steps to the elevator, ignoring the worried look the receptionist is giving him, giving her a small smile before getting in the elevator.
As soon as the doors slide shut, he collapses, unable to stand up anymore. He is burning up. His whole body feels like it's trying to overturn itself, like the insides are trying to get out and his outside in.
The nausea is making him feel like his innards are trying to get out through his mouth.
By the time he reaches his floor, he is sweating, gasping, and his stomach feels like someone is cutting through it with a very blunt kitchen knife.
Still, he forces himself to get on his feet and holds himself on the wall down the hallway to his door. Good thing he has no neighbors, and this floor is only his, because if he were seen like this now, he would end up in the back of an ambulance.
It's early.
As he gets inside his apartment and the door shuts behind him, he is glad that his guards are strictly downstairs, thanks to Marcus bending to day's sweet talk about them standing outside his door. He crawls to the bathroom across the living room. He cannot make it to his main bathroom upstairs.
He feels like he is about to die.
Day is used to flares like this, twice or even thrice a year. He has prepared for it, and he knows what he needs to do to ease the pain and the nightmare that is this illness that tries to take him out every year. He knows how it starts, what medication to take, and what to do for the next three days.
His doctor is usually with him; his mother, too.
This one is worse than all the others he has ever had. Months early too.
He barely makes it to the toilet before he is puking everything he has in his stomach, the nausea making him retch and gag, leaving him breathless. It's worse when the cramps tighten in his lower abdomen, making the nausea worse, and he is crying and puking all at the same time.
He doesn't think he will make it this time round. This is it.
His body is in so much pain that he falls into a cold sweat, features twisted in a silent scream, curled in a fetal form. He tries to silence the agony, clamping his lips shut. He knows if he just waits a little while, his body will give him a small reprieve to get a breath before he is down again.
When the agony subsides, he is panting, sweating, and he knows that he has only one minute before it starts all over again. Only this time, it's worse. He has never felt like this before. His brain is trying to think if he ate something, if it's the move that stressed his body, or something else.
Day crawls into the bathtub with clothes on and turns the cold water tap on. It will help with the heat and the fever overtaking him faster than he has ever had.
What is happening?
He can't call anyone. If he does, he will be sent back. He doesn't want to get back.
Another wave comes before the tub is even halfway full, and he is thrashing in the tub like someone is trying to keep him down there underwater. Day doesn't know how long he stays in the cold water, but he knows he passes out after some time.
By the time he comes about, his body has cooled enough to feel better, so he gets out slowly, wincing and groaning at how much his muscles are tense and joints sore already, removes his wet clothes, and goes to his bedroom upstairs.
Day has a full cabinet of medication. Since he was a child, he has needed them to be alive. Having a heart condition means you always take medication every day, twice a day. Taking the silver pallate that he has his daily dose in, he checks the small compartment for today and sees that he didn't forget any of it. He took them all.
He knows he will be out, unable to wake up tonight, so he takes his night dosage and then grabs another small bag at the back of the cabinet.
It has all his medication meant for the flares. The pills are bigger and always make him feel weak, but at least they reduce the cramps and body pain. They help with the fevers, too. With shaky hands, he takes them, then takes the IV he is supposed to connect to his wrist.
This time, he is alone, but he has seen his mother or doctor do this a hundred times already. He knows what everything does and how to do it all.
So he puts on the fluffiest robe he owns and socks, then gets his IV drip and tucks himself into his fluffy bed that's full of pillows and blankets.
He gets drowsy immediately when the IV is connected. At least it makes him sleep, even though his body is still shaking and he feels like his stomach is twisting.
His fever is high, too. He is nauseated.
But he sleeps.