Chapter Text
iii. parasitism.
Flux first met him at a party.
A few drinks in, head slightly fuzzy but in a pleasant way. The world was falling away around him, the buzz of people becoming a constant background hum.
"Pardon," someone had said. The brush of a hand on his shoulder. Then a pause. "Oh. Hello."
He had looked up from his phone, then, where he was texting around for a ride home. There was a slight twinge of irritation that fell away the moment he saw who had spoken.
White hair; it was the first thing he noticed. Then the easy grin, curving along a pretty face. Eyes that twinkled under the dim lights. Drawing him in.
"I've seen you around before. You work at that coffee shop downtown, don't you? I don't think we've ever formally met."
"Yes," Flux had replied, feeling stupid. He thought he should maybe say something else. But the alcohol must have been messing with his head, because anything else he could have said would have sounded something like I think you might be an angel fallen to Earth. Isn't that crazy? And he might have been muddled but he distinctly knew it wouldn't be a great way to introduce yourself to someone.
"I'm Saparata," the other man said. He extended a hand. "You can call me Saps."
"Hi, Saps." Flux took his hand. Saps blinked. It was probably intended to be a handshake. But now their hands were linked, and there was a weird warmness coming from where they touched that felt nice.
"There's so many people in here," Saps said, with an awkward laugh. "Let's… go somewhere less crowded." And he turned and began walking down a hallway. He didn't pull his hand away, so Flux let himself be led outside of the room, through the kitchen, into a backyard. His phone buzzed in his back pocket; he ignored it. It was sometime after sunset. The fresh air had a welcoming coolness, and it cleared his mind enough to realize that Saps was looking at him, waiting.
"Oh," he said. "Sorry. My name's Fluixon. You can call me Flux."
"Flu-ix-on," Saps repeated, slowly. "Cool name."
"Sa-par-a-ta," Flux retorted, without thinking. "Weird name."
And he'd been afraid, for a second, that he might have crossed a line, but Saps had only laughed. "Crazy coincidence running into you here, man. You know, I've been wanting to talk to you for ages now. Ask for your number or something. But I figured it would probably be against workplace regulations for you to give it out during your shifts. And I didn't want to be creepy and wait for you to get off work. You never work the register, either, so I can't even flirt with you while ordering or slip my number on a piece of paper folded within a ten-dollar bill — though I've definitely imagined it. It's so cheesy and cliche. But—"
Flux interrupted him. His head was starting to spin again. "You want my number?"
Saps looked at him oddly. "Yes? Have you seen yourself?"
It was the way he said it, perhaps, so casually, with a slightly disbelieving lilt to his voice. Or the way his eyes caught the light and looked so serious. Or how he stood just a little too close to Flux, their hands brushing. It was the most romantic moment of Flux's life.
His breath caught in his throat. He was back on that playground, his sister above him, his eyes stinging. This must have been how Icarus felt, when he saw the sun, close enough to touch. Basked in its warmth, felt seen and illuminated for that brief, beautiful moment before the plummet.
He rarely gets a full night of sleep now.
It's almost every night that he wakes up in a cold sweat and finds the bed empty. He doesn't need to look to know that there's a pale figure outside, standing on the roof, looking down.
He doesn't speak anymore, doesn't beg. He just gets up and stands outside, next to Saps, who turns around when he approaches, not a recognition but a reaction. Like a mimosa leaf folding in on itself at the barest touch.
Flux isn't stupid. He knows what he's doing is draining him. He knows, by now, that whatever is wrong with Saps isn't going to fix itself miraculously, and he knows that he's isolating himself from the outside world, from his friends, his family, his job. He knows all this, and yet.
And yet, he looks down at the ring on his finger. He looks at the photos framed on their walls, looks at the living space in which the presence of two people is so intertwined that their closets are shared, the items on their dresser mixed. And he knows. He knows that if he doesn't keep on doing what he's doing — if he gives up on Saps — he won't know what else to do with himself. Like taking purple paint and trying to separate the red and blue. He has to keep holding on, and so he does.
Over and over he reminds himself. It's because I love him. If this were happening to me, he would be doing the same. Because that's what you do when you love someone; you give up all of yourself for them.
At some point, slowly, over the last few days, Saps has stopped talking. Where before he would speak in sporadic phrases, a few words at a time, empty echoes of regular speech, he now doesn't make noise at all. He doesn't open his mouth to eat, to speak, to drink.
Sometimes Flux catches Saps looking in his direction. But he can never tell if Saps is looking at him or through him, and when he walks closer, tries to wave or snap or talk to get his attention, Saps ignores him, just follows him with his eyes. Like he's thinking. But if he has any thoughts at all, he doesn't articulate them, or make any indication of them.
"I wish you hadn't come back at all," Flux says aloud one day, finally, and when the words are hanging heavy in the air between them he suddenly has a vision of Saps vanishing, there then gone, into nothingness, and the emotion that comes with it is so overwhelming that he blurts, "I lied. I lied. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. No, I don't wish that. I don't. Stay with me. Stay." His heart is suddenly beating very fast. His mouth is dry; he can taste phantom iron. "I'll build you a special window to look out of every day. I'll reinforce it with locks so you can't climb outside. I'll hook you up to an IV tube if you don't want to eat. So stay."
Saps, of course, gives no reaction. He's sitting on the couch. His hands are folded neatly in his lap. His hair is loose around his shoulders.
At what point, Flux wonders, does the man in his house stop being Saps? It's a fucked-up kind of Theseus's ship paradox. If you replaced his mind, his voice, his laugh. If you drained his face of color and took away all his little quirks, his habits and his hobbies. Is it still his soul, under that exterior of flesh and bone that belonged, once, to Saparata? If, slowly, this external appearance of his begins changing as well, at what point would it truly, fully cease to be Saps?
Maybe, Flux thinks, half-mad, Theseus never had a ship to begin with, and it was only a "ship" because everyone else called it a ship. So no matter what happened to it, or how many parts were replaced, it could stay the same so long as everyone else treated it as such.
He picks up his phone and feels its familiar weight in his hand. But when he opens his contacts, he doesn't press the name he always does.
Ish's number has stopped going through. Maybe he's deactivated it. Or maybe he's finally blocked Flux. Either way, Flux doesn't bother calling. Instead he goes to his favorited contacts. There's only one.
Whenever Saps goes off on a filming trip it's always a mystery when he'll be able to contact home. Sometimes he spams Flux with pictures and video calls him every chance he gets. Sometimes he's in a completely different timezone but still manages to text good morning and good night at the times he knows Flux will be waking up or going to sleep. Sometimes he completely disappears just to come back with paragraphs of text gushing about his latest adventure or complaining about some holdup in production. It's not rare for him to fully stop texting or calling for weeks at a time. So when the last text Flux received from him was over three months ago, he didn't think too much of it.
Their last text conversation had begun with Saps texting, at 7 p.m., wyd rn?
Flux had sent back a picture of his dinner, a plate of reheated leftover takeout pasta.
Saps had immediately responded ur making me hungry and dude work has been sooo draining but at least the city is like super awesome. we should totally visit a big city sometime once im home
Flux replied, Could be interesting. Where are you thinking? In/out of the country?
Saps texted back—
literally anywhere lol
it'll be fun as long as im with u
And then: radio silence. Flux had continued to text him, little life updates every now and then. College reunion went well. Shame you couldn't make it. Cyn is moving out of state. Thomas wants me to tell you that he really likes that brand of shampoo you recommended him. Remember the weird bush growing under our porch? We bet on what color its flowers would be. They're white. I think you win. Mundane things. Once Saps read the messages, he would reply to them one by one, in order. At the time, Flux hadn't been worried about the lack of responses; Saps always had a busy schedule, and he would know if something ever went wrong.
At least, he thought he'd know. Until Saps showed up at the door, unannounced. He had all his belongings. He'd been driven back, presumably, by a member of Ish's staff, because the driveway was empty when Flux looked outside.
"Filming wrapped up?" Flux had asked, surprised.
Saps had only nodded. Flux had assumed he was tired, maybe jet-lagged. He never much enjoyed plane rides; he wasn't the best with heights.
Flux, now, thinks back to that Saps, and looks over at the Saps who is currently sitting, poised and unmoving, in front of the black screen of the TV. Are those two Saps the same? How many versions of Saps has he seen by now, each one in a worse condition than the one before?
Maybe whatever's changing him should change Flux as well. Create a new version of him, too, one that knows how to deal with this. One that Saps will recognize. One that will get Saps to smile again.
He presses call on Saps's contact. It doesn't ring before going to voicemail.
He's made a horrifying realization, lately. And it's something he's tried not to think about, in hopes that it isn't true. But no matter how much he tries his memory slips away from him.
"Hey there! This is Saps. I'm not here right now but you can leave me a message…"
"I'm forgetting what your laugh sounds like," Flux says, into the phone. His heart beats loudly in his ears. Come back to me, he prays, to nobody in particular. Come back.
It's slightly jarring, hearing Saps's muffled voicemail message. How starkly the energy in his voice contrasts with the way he's spoken ever since he returned. It's another reminder of how things are wrong, how powerless Flux is in the face of it.
He calls again.
Hey there! This is Saps. I'm not here right now…
He misses Saps's cooking.
He makes food for himself in the months that Saps is away, and usually for a few weeks afterwards while Saps is recuperating from the trip. But Saps has always been the better chef out of the two of them, and he enjoys bringing home cookbooks from the various places he travels to try their recipes. After a few attempts of trial and error he'll present Flux with an original recipe of his that blends aspects of cultural cuisine with what the two of them typically like to eat.
Saps never wrote down his recipes; they never had constant measurements or ingredients, anyway. Flux stares at the empty kitchen and wishes fervently that he'd asked him to record them — any of them — so he could taste that cooking again, just once. It's yet another thing he didn't even think he could miss until it was gone.
Saps floats into the kitchen. Flux stares at him. Under the bright light it's almost like he can see right through him.
"Do you even remember how to cook anymore?"
Saps looks at him, serenely, before turning his head to the fridge, where his warped reflection in the metal is a blurry white orb. Then he turns around and walks away.
I'm not here right now…
The first time they kissed, it was after a date.
It might have been their third or fourth date; they'd planned to see a movie, then go on a picnic at a park near the theater, but then it had started raining and they were stuck sitting on benches outside the movie theater, under its awning, neither having brought an umbrella.
"I hope it lets up soon," Saps had said, brows furrowed at the downpour. "This sucks."
Flux had only grunted in response, half of his face buried in his jacket. Saps glanced over.
"Oh," he said. "Are you cold?"
"No," Flux said, his teeth clattering against each other. Saps raised an eyebrow. Flux hesitated. "A little," he relented.
"I'll go get my car. We can sit in there while we wait."
Flux made a noise of protest. "You're gonna get soaked."
"It's just a little bit of water. I won't die."
"It's freezing."
Saps offered him a grin. "I used to be on my high school's swim team. We'd be in the water at 5 a.m. every morning. I can handle a little cold."
Flux wasn't sure that was true, but he watched as Saps bolted across the parking lot, hands folded over his head as if it would somehow block the rain. He looked absolutely ridiculous. It was the most attractive thing Flux had ever seen.
The car pulled up to the side of the road. Saps rolled the window down. "Get in!" He shouted. Half of his voice was lost in the wind.
When Flux sank into the passenger seat and closed the door behind him he was immediately hit with a blast of warmth, and let out an involuntary sigh. His hair was a little wet from crossing the few feet's worth of space between the theater's awning and the car, but that was nothing compared to how Saps's hair was dripping, dark from the rain and plastered to his head, beads of water rolling down his face, clinging to his eyelashes. He was laughing. Flux pressed his cold hands up to the heat vents, feeling the hot air thawing his fingers until he could move his joints again.
"Must be a passing raincloud or something," Saps said, driving slowly. "The forecast didn't say anything about rain."
Flux was watching him carefully. "You're sure you won't catch a cold?"
"Yeah, positive. I'll go home and take a hot shower. So I'm guessing the picnic thing is off? Even if the weather clears up. Can't exactly picnic while, y'know, we're both soaking wet." Saps was arguably a lot more soaking wet than Flux, whose shirt was completely dry beneath his jacket. Saps's wet shirt stuck to his skin in a way that Flux pointedly tried to ignore.
"You should just drop me off at my place. We'll call the date here."
Saps twisted his lips in an obvious pout, but didn't object. He turned toward the direction of Flux's apartment. He was a careful driver, something Flux wouldn't have guessed of him from their first meeting. Everything about Saps felt sharp and fast, exhilarating, burning. It was fun, being in his company. There was always something new to do, something exciting to pay attention to. He was a prism that turned light into color.
The roads were empty now that the rain was coming down harder. The trees lining the streets swayed, shedding leaves. The car's windshield wipers swept back and forth, rhythmic.
"I had a lot of fun today," Saps said, breaking the comfortable silence. "I know it's a shame it ended like this, but that's just an excuse we can use to plan another picnic in the future. And we'll bring a big umbrella just in case something like this happens again."
"Yes," Flux said. He wanted to say more. He wanted to thank Saps for risking a cold because he'd noticed Flux was shivering and was too kind to directly point it out. He wanted to invite Saps inside and wrap him up in blankets and keep talking to him. He wanted to stay in this car, driving down damp, empty streets, forever. No date had ever made him feel like this. It was a little scary, in the way all new things tended to be. But he felt thrilled by it.
Saps turned the steering wheel leisurely, his hands leaving dark imprints on the leather. The car smelled like wet earth. Outside, a traffic light changed from red to green. The raindrops, racing each other down the windows, magnified the color as they rolled down in streaks before being wiped away.
"I've never felt like this before," Flux said. The words escaped him, involuntarily.
Saps wasn't looking at him, but his hands seemed to tighten on the wheel. He kept his voice even when he replied, "Like what?"
Flux swallowed. "I don't know. Like the way you make me feel."
"Describe it." The rain outside was so loud.
"I don't know how to describe it. It doesn't feel like anything else."
"Like how you can't imagine a new color?" There was a smile in Saps's voice. Flux could hear it.
"Something like it. You can't imagine a new color. You can't create a new feeling. Except you somehow did, and now I don't know what to do with myself."
Saps was definitely smiling now. "Well, it can't hurt to try."
Flux bit his lip. "I don't know."
"You clam up whenever there's something you don't want to say. It's adorable."
The word adorable sent electric shocks through Flux's body, and he bit back the urge to reply something snippy. "Don't patronize me."
Saps burst out laughing. "Sorry, sorry." He pulled up next to the curb of Flux's apartment building. "Well, we're here."
"Thanks for the ride," Flux said. He put his hand on the car door handle. His joints were fully thawed. But he didn't move, and neither did Saps.
"Something you forgot?" Saps asked lightly. Flux looked at him. His lips were lifted in a teasing half-grin. Around them, the rain eased. Somewhere outside water left a storm pipe in a steady drip drip drip. They were both waiting for something. Then Saps leaned in.
Time slowed and sped up all at once. Like a laggy film tape Flux's brain registered one scene before jumping forward to another, and the next thing he could process was one hand tightening on the door handle without pulling it open while the other hand buried deep in damp, pale hair. He thought he might have been waiting for this his entire life. He thought he might have unlocked a sixth sense, discovered an eighth wonder of the world. Afterwards he could not have said how long the kiss lasted; it wasn't deep or particularly needy, nor was it chaste — they were both searching, wanting, curious, a little shy. The sky lightened above them, the sun's first tentative rays breaking through the thinning clouds. Flux could not see it; his eyes had fluttered shut, and his head was pressed against the headrest. Water was rolling down his face and he couldn't tell if it came from himself or Saps. Neither of them cared that it wasn't an ideal first kiss: both of them were wet, their fingers and lips cold — but in that moment, their breaths becoming one, Flux was so, so warm.
On the rare nights Flux is able to fall asleep, he seldom dreams. His sleep is troubled, plagued. So when he does have a dream, he immediately knows it for what it is. He tries to wake himself up. He knows he will be unsuccessful but he tries anyway.
Saps is there. His face is obscured as if by a veil or by mist. Flux reaches out for him. His hands pass through air and grasp nothing, in that nonsensical, space-warping way that dreams taunt: look, it's what you want, right there in front of you. Come get him, if you can. But he's always just too far away, just out of reach. Flux can't move his feet. He's suspended, frozen in place. He tries to call out to Saps, but his mouth won't form the shape of the name.
The corners of Saps's lips curl, and he opens his mouth. He's saying something. His voice is muffled, as if underwater. "Flux," he says, before his voice becomes static again.
"What?" Flux says. His mouth feels like it's full of cotton. Everything is fuzzy, like a memory, like a snowy, hazy morning. His own voice sounds warped to his ears.
Saps is still speaking. He's saying something over and over. Flux can't tell what it is.
"…oh," is what he hears, before he tries one last time to reach out for Saps, and his fingers break through the pale veil and Saps dissipates like vapor, like a stone thrown into water, disturbing a reflection. He stumbles and falls and opens his eyes in bed, heart racing. The moon shines, serenely, through the window and illuminates the pale, silent, unmoving mass next to him. His pulse roars in his ears. He reaches his arm out, and it's the heaviest thing in the world. It drops with a dull thump onto the blankets. He feels everything too strongly, all at once, before he gives up and closes his eyes and feels nothing at all.
"'Island of the Labyrinth, in Greek mythology,'" Saps read aloud. He'd been sitting at the dining table, doing crosswords. "Five letters."
"Crete," Flux had responded, without turning around from where he was sorting through letters on the couch. "C-R-E-T-E."
"Nerd," Saps muttered affectionately, his pencil working. "Okay, what about this. '4-down: Birthplace of classic fairytale author who wrote The Nightingale.' That's Andersen, right? This is seven letters. The second letter is E." He tapped the end of his pencil on the table. "It's not Germany."
"Try Denmark," Flux said, absentmindedly. He tossed another advertisement into the trash pile.
"I just don't know how you'd know that," Saps mused as he filled in the letters one by one.
"It's just trivia." Flux turned to watch him write. "What's the point of you doing it if you're just going to ask me everything you don't know?"
"It's a collaborative effort. 7-across… Oh, I know this one. Let's see… D… O…"
Flux put the last of the envelopes in the probably-important-but-not-my-problem pile, which he'll leave on Saps's desk later. "What are you doing to do the day I'm inevitably not here to rattle off niche synonyms and remind you how to spell country names?"
He'd expected Saps to say something stupid like buy a thesaurus, maybe, but Saps, likely because he was preoccupied with the next clue, or just wasn't thinking before he spoke, said, "I don't know. I guess I'll just have to marry you so you can't ever leave me."
Flux blinked. He watched Saps's face, but Saps didn't seem to be aware of what he'd just said. He frowned a little and skipped the clue, his pencil tracking his place on the page.
"I can't tell if you just proposed to me." He tried to sound casual, play it off as a joke.
Saps's pencil stopped moving. "You know," he said carefully, looking back up at Flux, "I'm not really sure either."
"It doesn't sound like a bad plan," Flux said. "From a purely objective standpoint, obviously."
Saps abandoned his crosswords and sauntered over to Flux, a sly catlike smile spreading over his face. "I dunno. If I didn't know better I'd think you kinda like it when I'm being possessive over you."
"I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about." But he could feel himself flushing.
"Liar," Saps breathed, leaning down so their faces were inches apart. "You know what? I think what you really want is for me to say you're not allowed to ever leave me. You're stuck with me forever. On our wedding day I'm gonna sign a blood pact with the devil and he's going to link our souls together. So you should enjoy your freedom while you can."
Flux didn't know what to say to that, especially because he thought it sounded like a brilliant idea. So in response he tilted his head up to Saps and kissed him.
As Saps melted against him Flux thought god, this is it. He would never need anything more than this. He wanted to grab on to this and never let go. Heaven couldn't offer him anything better than this, in that moment, then and there. It was paradise, it was Eden. It was the heat of a star combusting; it was coming face-to-face with the blazing warmth of the sun.
Saps is turning transparent.
Flux doesn't think it's a trick of the light when he sees Saps rise from the sofa and he can see the wall behind him, through him. As if through stained glass. Saps's skin is translucent and it shouldn't be possible but it is. None of this at all should be possible.
"I love you so much," Flux tells him over coffee. The steam warps Saps's face in an uncomfortable reminder of his dream. Flux covers the mug with his palm and feels the condensation gather, hot and wet, onto his skin. "I'm forgetting the way your laugh sounds. I'm forgetting the way your smile looks. It's slipping away from me like water through my fingers. Isn't that fucked up? How I can spend years hearing it and seeing it but the moment it's gone, it's gone. Isn't it fucked? Tell me, Saps. Speak to me. Isn't it wrong? I love you. Is that wrong?"
Saps looks at him, owlishly, without blinking. His chest doesn't rise and fall as he breathes. It's abnormal, inhuman. He looks like a life-sized glass doll, beautiful and fragile. Fading.
The words continue to spill from Flux. "Saparata. I love you more than anything else I've ever loved before. I don't think I could love anything else that much ever again. It scares me. Is it wrong? That it scares me." He would have never spoken any of this out loud, before. But it doesn't seem to matter now. Nothing really matters now. "Fuck. Can you even hear me? Is that even you? I don't want to give up, Saps. Please don't make me give up. But I don't know what to do. I just don't know. It's pathetic, isn't it? That I don't know what to do. I don't know how to deal with this."
The crazy thing about emotions is that you're never the first one to feel something, and neither are you the only. Everything you could ever felt has been felt before. Someone else has felt that exploding joy, that bursting love, that excruciating anguish, that overwhelming grief. But when it's your turn to feel it, it seems impossible that other people could have known that same boundless happiness, could have survived that endless pain. It seems improbable that any of it could possibly be communicated, understood, by words or by actions or by anything. Nobody else on this earth has known Saps the way Flux knew him. Nobody else has laughed at stories over his dinner and held him comfortingly as he wept and stayed up late with him chatting about nothing and run through sunflower fields holding his hand and danced with him on his wedding day. No one else could have possibly ever felt this crushing, debilitating loneliness. The crazy thing about emotions is that everyone has felt them before but still no one knows anything at all about how to make them better.
Flux dreams, again, of Saps and his smeared face.
Flux is trying to put the broken pieces of something back together again.
"You can't save it," Dream-Saps says.
It's a puzzle missing pieces. It's glass shards and eggshells.
Flux cuts his fingers, and the blood drip drip drips down and blooms.
Saps says something else, but Flux can't hear him.
It had been evening, on their wedding day. Flux was sitting in their bedroom, eyes closed. As time passed he would begin to forget small details from the day, but he would never forget the happiness. The pure joy. The warmth pooling, settling deep within his chest, his stomach.
"What they never tell you about getting married is how tiring it is," Saps's voice came from the doorway. Flux opened his eyes.
"So don't do it again."
Saps yawned. "Yeah. 'M glad it's the only time I'll ever have a wedding. What a weird thought."
Flux fiddled with the ring on his finger, a glinting purple gem. "It's a little awkward to act so lovey-dovey in front of so many people and have everyone congratulate you all day. It's late enough that I can say that, right? The wedding's over."
Saps snorted, making his way to the bed. "Well, it's the one day they aren't allowed to tell you to get a room, so you kinda have a free pass."
Flux let out a chuckle, and closed his eyes again. There was a beat of stillness, in which neither of them spoke. It felt natural, sitting here like this. Like this was where he was meant to be, where he belonged.
It was Flux who spoke first.
"When I was little," he began, then hesitated. Saps gave an encouraging little hum. Something about Saps, Flux had quickly realized, was that he was a good listener. He was a great talker, yes, and he certainly loved to talk — usually just for the sake of it, often about nothing important at all — but when it came time to listen, he was a surprisingly patient confidant. He never urged Flux to say anything more than what he wanted to, never interrupted or judged. It was one of the first things about him that Flux had fallen, irrevocably, in love with.
"When I was little," he continued, "I mean, when I was in elementary school, so only just a kid, I remember I used to always feel lost. It was a weird feeling. I always thought I might have been looking for something, something I lost a long time ago. Then I wondered if maybe it was me who was lost, and I just needed to find my way back. My sister thought it was stupid. And it sounded stupid, yeah. She thought I was just a weird kid and that I'd grow out of it." Flux kept his eyes closed as he spoke, the words pouring out of him. "Have you heard the stories of people living on the moon? Goddesses and their bunnies? I used to think maybe I once lived on the sun. I'd try to look at the sun, see if I could spot civilization on it, but it would sting my eyes and I'd have to look away. It was sad, in a way, because I thought maybe I'd gotten kicked out of the sun-colony I was meant to belong to. Don't laugh."
But Saps wasn't laughing. He was listening, intently. "And then?"
"And then, well, I grew up. And it did seem so stupid, so I forgot about it. But I still felt like there was a part of me that was lost, or more accurately that I was continually looking for something. That I still— wanted. It was a dormant part of me, a chronic ache. My point is that today, standing at the end of that aisle, saying my vows, I realized something. I realized that for the first time in my life I don't feel lost anymore. I feel like a ship anchored. I feel like a compass, oriented toward the brightest star in the sky. It's this dizzying feeling, because it's so strange to not want anything at all. And it's silly because of course everyone wants things, always. But I swear to you, I feel so fucking content. I've never felt this happy in my life. Isn't it wonderful, how you keep inventing new emotions within me? I never even thought I could feel this way."
"Flux," Saps said. His voice was weirdly strangled. "Flux, don't say these things to me. I'm going to think that in your own special standoffish, roundabout way you're calling me your home and that's a level of sappiness that I just can't deal with from you right now. Please want things, okay? Please want me. Always. Forever." He let out a shaky laugh. "Look, it's like I've found you, or you've found me, or— we've both found each other, let's go with that. Because I hate the idea of you being lost, or of you not knowing anything ever. In my mind you're like this endless basin of knowledge and wit and— and everything. It scares me that there's things even you don't know. So I'm glad—" He broke off, and laughed again. "Flux, don't make me cry on our wedding night. I didn't cry all day and I was really, really proud of myself for that."
Flux opened his eyes and went to him. Saps buried his head into his shoulder. He was smiling, wide, and Flux could feel his grin against his neck, his warm breaths. What do I want? He'd asked himself, knowing the answer. Just this, forever. I won't want anything else ever again. Just this, this, this.
How do you grieve someone who's still around?
How do you miss him, when he's standing right there? How can you say you want him back when he is back?
How can you come to terms with the fact that you'll never see him again when you see him every day?
How can Saps be gone if he isn't truly gone, but he's not really there, either? How could anyone move on from this solitary company?
Flux catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and almost startles. There's dark circles under his eyes. His skin is pale because he's been spending nearly every day inside. His hair has grown out. His eyes are the most terrifying part. They're dull, tired, haunted in a way he never thought he could look like. He feels as though he's looking through a portal, a time machine, into a future where he's lying dead in a coffin.
He doesn't understand how everyone else in the world can go about their lives like it's normal; he can't comprehend how anything at all is supposed to be the same, how the world hasn't ended, how time keeps ticking on.
Grief. Is that what he's feeling? Is that what's happening? Is that what name he should call this tight fist clenching his heart, that drains him of emotion? The future sprawls out before him, daunting. He could get in his car and drive anywhere; the world is so large, there are so many people in it, and none of them are Saps. Roads and paths unfurl before him but they're all so dark and endless and he can't bring himself to go down any of them because none of them lead where he really wants to go. He's in the epicenter of a spiderweb and it's a fungal network and it's a root system and it's got him ensnared. Will this be forever — this emptiness, this wandering, this wanting, this silence? He wants to run away but he just doesn't have the energy; he wants to stay with Saps, what's left of him, what flickers in the fading light of day and what meets his eyes from atop a roof and what's been wrested out and away from him to leave a hole gaping and bleeding and leaking sap and resin and surely, surely no one else has ever felt this before, surely no one else could possibly know this ache, surely no one else could have lived through it, endured it and continued life with the knowledge that a vital organ has been cut out of them; surely this is fatal, this is killing him, this is strangling him, sapping him, growing up from within his lungs to steal his breath, to choke him; surely he won't — can't — wake up the next morning, but the sun rises, without fail, anyway, and he finds himself alive, and he can sit down and mindlessly rewind every clock in his house but time will just keep going on, and on, and on, and Flux falls behind it; no matter how much he tries he just can't catch up.
He's lost weight. He thinks he's had food today but maybe it was just the coffee. Or maybe the coffee was from yesterday, because it's cold and no longer steaming. He has the sense, vaguely, that he might have forgotten to take out the trash, because it's starting to smell. He thinks his calendar might be on the wrong month. But he keeps living, and living, and living, and being, and existing, and surviving, and Saps is there but he's not there, he's gone but he's not gone. Flux doesn't let himself think about it; he lives in a cycle, of waking and sleeping, of creating and destroying, and if he breaks it he's afraid of what will happen, what reality he will have to face, so he doesn't allow himself to dwell on anything for too long lest he lose his ability to function altogether. He closes himself off to texts, to calls, to emails, to messages, to visitors.
He dreams, again. It takes him a moment to realize it's a dream. He's standing before a sunflower. It's drooping. He looks above him, around him. There's no sun in sight. The sunflower, having nothing to follow, is wilting.
Water, Flux thinks, and then he has a watering can in his hand. He pours it onto the stem, the leaves, the petals. The water comes out from the nozzle like it's a shower head. The sunflower isn't real. it's made of glass and the water is rolling off the surface in droplets, like rain.
"You can't save it," comes a voice.
Saps is standing over him. There's a mournful expression on his half-obscured face.
Flux doesn't care. He keeps trying. The plant leans to one side and he pushes it upright. Supports it with his shoulders, the petals crushing against his neck.
"Flux. You have to l—" Saps's voice becomes warbled, unintelligible. "—oh."
"I can't," Flux says. "I can't."
"You can't save it," Saps repeats.
The sunflower still can't find the sun. It's losing color, losing structure. There's cracks running through its glass surface. Or maybe those are veins.
"I can't," Flux whispers. His voice is shaky. "How will I— how can I live without you?"
The sunflower is dying. Saps reaches out as if to touch it.
"Like you already have been," he says, and Flux wakes up. His room is dark.
"I don't understand," Saps had been repeating, "I just don't understand."
"What is there to not understand?" Flux fought to keep his voice level, low, but it came out like a growl. "I don't know why we're fucking arguing about this."
"We aren't— arguing, I'm just. I don't know, okay? I don't know! Is that what you want from me?"
"We're raising our voices and getting mad at each other. That sounds like arguing to me."
"Okay," Saps said. "Okay, let's be calm, then. It's not that I'm mad. I just feel weird about this and you won't give me a clear answer. So tell me right now. Is it true what they said back at dinner? That thing about. About you seeing me as your 'whole world' or some shit like that. That thing they said not intending for me to hear. First of all I feel weird that they felt the need to say that without me being present. And second of all I don't like how you got so— so defensive, about the idea of me leaving. They didn't mean it like that. I leave for my job all the time. It's literally what I do for a living."
"Sure," Flux said, his tone icy. "And I'm not asking you to quit your job for me. When you're gone I live alone just fine. It was insulting to me to insinuate anything otherwise."
"That's not the part I feel weird about, and you know it." Saps sucked in a deep breath. "I don't like the way you treat me like some sort of god, Flux. I love you, so much that it scares me sometimes. And I need you to believe me on that. But in a— in a partnership, we have to be equal, right? I don't know if we're equal right now. I love you so much. I don't want to be a bad person. And I feel so weird about it."
"A partnership," Flux echoed. "What is this, a business negotiation?"
Saps threw his hands into the air. "Forget it. I can't deal with this right now. If you won't take this seriously—"
Flux grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"
Saps tugged out of his grip. "Give me some space. We need to talk this out like mature adults when we're both calm."
"Where are you going?"
Saps swore. "Let me go, Flux."
Flux curled his fingers into his sleeve.
"Let me go," Saps repeated. "See? You can't. That's your problem, isn't it? You can't let me go. Flux. Listen to me. Let go of me."
"I love you," Flux said. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You know how I get when I'm upset."
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm just going to step outside. We'll talk about this later, okay? Later. We have time. We have all the time in the world to work this out."
Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.
Not here— right now—
Did they ever talk it out? Flux can't remember. They had all the time in the world, after all.
At some point, the dam has to collapse, the camel's back has to break.
One moment he was walking down the hallway. He sees a framed picture on the ground. It's from their wedding day. Saps is mid-laugh, eyes slightly wide in surprise at the camera flare. And somehow that's the tipping point.
He had bent down to pick it up, and in the next moment he finds himself sitting on the ground. He can't move. Get up, get up. He needs to make food. He needs to do laundry. He needs to find Saps and make sure he's still there. But he just can't anymore. Get up.
He can't catch his balance. He's acutely aware of his own breathing. It's thin, rasping. He can hear his heart beating. He's getting dizzy. It's all crashing down on him, all of it, and he can't handle it. He'll never see that smile again. He'll never hear that laugh again. He'll never look into those eyes and see the mirth there, golden, dazzling. He fumbles for his phone. He doesn't even know what he's doing before he's opening his contacts and scrolling down. The one person he would call in this situation is the one he's calling about. His vision gets blurry and the next thing he knows he's dialing Cynikka. Pick up. Pick up. What time is it for her? Sometime early in the morning. She'll be annoyed at him for calling. He should hang up. When was the last time they even called each other? He should really go do that laundry. Are there dishes in the sink to clean? He'll clean then and they'll be dirty again the next day. And he'll just keep cleaning them over and over again. He'll never hear that laugh again. What's the point? If he'll never see that smile again. Over and over again, in cycles, a repetitive motion. What's the point? The same thing every day. For ever and ever and ever. On and on and on.
"Hello?" Someone's faint voice, drowsy with sleep. Her voice. He presses speaker.
"Flux?" She says, when he doesn't say anything. He contemplates hanging up. His hands are shaking so hard.
"Cyn," Flux says. It comes out a strangled, broken thing. He chokes back a sob. He can't recognize his own voice. He didn't know he could sound like this. He's suddenly very aware of his position, curled up on the floor; some part of himself has left his mind and is hovering above him, watching himself from above. He feels fragmented, his vision blurring. He's breathing too quickly. He can't take in air fast enough. The last few weeks of dull routine, everything repressed, held back, being let out all at once. All the emotions he didn't let himself face. All the things he kept telling himself. All the things he never told himself. A bone-crushing pressure, like the bottom of the sea. "Cyn, I—"
"Oh, my god. Flux." She sounds instantly awake. "Are you okay? That's a stupid question, don't answer that. Breathe. Breathe, okay? Are you breathing? Deep breaths. Slowly."
He breathes. He tries to breathe. The tears are coming, now, fast. The wedding photo. Saps. His smile. His radiance. His laugh frozen in time. Saps. Saps. Deep breaths, in and out. His pulse is wild, rushing, in his ears. Inhale. Saps. Saps. Saps. Exhale. Everything, everything, everything. Something lost. Himself, lost. He tries to speak again. "I— don't—"
"Flux, I should've flown over when I heard the news. I should've come to see you. I thought you needed space. I'm sorry, I— take your time. Slowly, okay? Slowly."
He's choking. He thinks he might die right here. Part of him thinks he should die. "I don't know. I don't know— what to do—" He gasps for air.
"I'm here. I'm here." But she isn't. She's miles away.
"He's gone," Flux says. "He's— gone— and I don't— I don't know what to do about it. How do I— move on— how can I just— just never— never see him again— even though he's right there—"
Cyn doesn't ask what he's talking about. He takes another long, shuddering breath, and it settles heavy in his lungs. He wants to throw up. He thinks he might be sick. He thinks if he gets into bed he'll never crawl out. He can hear her, distantly, murmuring I know, I'm sorry, I know — but she doesn't know, at all. She doesn't know and nobody knows.
"He's gone," Flux says again. Then he hears a scream. It's coming from himself. There's so much guttural pain in it that he thinks it comes from a dying animal. His throat hurts. It's hoarse. He's shouting. "He's gone! How do I mourn him? How can I grieve him when he's still there? But I know he's gone! How? Tell me, how? How? Why me? Why him? Why not me instead? How do I mourn him? How do I live after this?" He chokes on his own words and coughs. He coughs a lot. He thinks he's going to cough up blood or flowers but nothing of that romantic, poetic sort comes out, just wetness on his fingers that mixes with the tears until he can't tell what is what. His lips taste salty and wet and it's a bitter, ironic parallel to that day in the car while it rained. He'll never kiss him again. He'll never feel complete again. Half his soul has been cleaved away from him. "How do I get him to stay? It's not him! It's not him. It's not him anymore but I need him to stay with me— because— because otherwise—" His voice dies in his throat. His fingers grab at his own neck. He tries to breathe again. In and out, deep breaths. He's in a labyrinth. He's spiraling down, down, down. He's sinking, and the light from the surface is getting fainter and fainter. He lets out a sob, then another. His chest hurts from heaving. He's gone, he tries to say again, but no noise comes out except a gasp of air. So he cries onto the floor, his phone lying inches away from his face. His hands fall limp at his sides. The ground is cold and solid beneath him; he thinks he might melt through it. The tears come, for the first time in months, and he lets them roll down his face, over his nose, his lips, his hair. The world is so large and he is so lost within it.
"…I'm sorry," Cyn is saying, through the phone. Flux hears her as if through a thick wall. "I knew I should've… flown over when I first heard… I should've come to the funeral, at least…"
Something jolts within him. "What did you say?" His voice is small, ragged, defeated.
"The funeral," Cynikka says. "I know it must have hit you hard…"
Flux doesn't hear the rest of her words. The world is falling away from him.
He gets a visitor in the early hours of the morning.
He already knows who it is, before he even goes to open the door. He stands in front of it, hand on the doorknob, for a long time before twisting it open. The man on the other side is standing, waiting, patiently, a bag slung over one shoulder.
"Hello," Flux says to Ish. "Come on in."
Ish looks terrible. It's evident that he, too, hasn't been sleeping well. There's dark bags under his eyes. He hasn't shaved in a while. He nods, solemnly, before stepping through the doorway. Politely, he doesn't look around in the house; he keeps his eyes on Flux. Flux leads him to the dining table.
"Sit down." They sit.
"I'm sorry it took me this long to visit," Ish says, finally. His voice is so different from the way it sounds in the films, the interviews. "It took a long time for the police to… you know."
Flux nods, numbly.
"I'm sorry," Ish says.
"It wasn't your fault," Flux says. "I know you cared for him too."
"You can blame me," Ish says. "I know you do."
"No," Flux says. It's honest. "I don't. I'm not mad at you." It takes too much energy, being angry, assigning blame. All he feels now is exhaustion.
"It was an accident, really." Ish says. "I need you to know that. I need you to know he didn't want to die."
Flux closes his eyes.
"Do you think he did?" He asks. He needs to hear it directly.
"No," Ish says firmly. "No, he didn't want to. I can assure you that. He wouldn't have wanted you to, either."
Flux exhales. Ish reaches out and takes his hand.
"He loved you, so much, Flux. No matter what. He was always thinking about coming back to you. I want you to know that, too. Every time we saw something new, something amazing, his first thought was to show it to you."
Flux trembles, lightly. He tries to control it, but he can't stop.
"It took a lot of work to get these cleared," Ish says. He gets out a laptop from his bag. "Are you sure you want to see them? You don't have to look at them. We can just talk. I can leave if you want."
Flux takes another deep breath. Inhale, then exhale. He looks around the empty house. He sees the wilted sunflowers. The empty dishes with food, untouched. The pictures on the wall gathering dust.
"No," Flux says. "I want to see them."
Ish nods. He opens the laptop. He clicks open a file. It's Saps, grinning at the camera.
"Test," Saps says. "Teeeeest."
Then he gives someone behind the camera a thumbs-up and winks, and disappears.
Flux grips the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turn white.
Ish looks at him. "You're really sure you want to see this?"
"Yes," Flux grits out, through clenched teeth. "Please."
They watch the footage. Saps is laughing in almost every single one. Or he's deep in thought, brows furrowed, small frown on his face.
They get to the last video. Ish pauses again.
"If you're really sure you can handle it," he says.
"I can," Flux says. "Play it."
Ish does. It's Saps again. He's at the edge of a building. He's saying something, laughing, making a joke. Flux knows what will happen a moment before it does. He cries out as if Saps can hear his warning. But Saps can't. He watches him lose his balance. He watches him disappear over the edge. Falling. Plummeting. Like a bird with broken wings.
"We usually wear protective gear," Ish says. "That day, we were in a hurry. We had to re-shoot the scene. It was supposed to be a quick take, something we could get done within the hour if we were efficient. He was checking the camera angle, or something. He was always so insistent on being meticulous. He was never supposed to be that close to the edge. It was… an oversight."
The video loops. Saps falls, again and again.
"Tell me," Flux says. "Tell me, Ish. Does this ache last forever?"
Ish is quiet. Then he says, "It never really goes away, no."
"I see," Flux says. "Will I learn to live with it?"
"It will always be a part of you, I think. It never hurts any less. But you'll learn to exist with it until it isn't so prominent anymore. Until it becomes a dull throbbing. What's most important is to live."
Flux looks down at his hands and lets out a mirthless laugh.
"Easier said," he says wryly, "than done."
"It's hard to live," Ish agrees, "but you just have to do it. You have to take each day as it comes to you. There will be bad days. There will be better days. It'll feel like you're going through this neverending tunnel. But one day you'll wake up and look behind you and realize you're out of it. And there will be light ahead."
Flux looks up and sees Saps. He's standing in front of the window.
"He's right there," Flux says.
Ish doesn't follow his gaze, only looks at him sadly. "You have to let him go, Flux."
Flux's breath catches in his throat. "I don't…"
Ish's voice is gentle. Flux wonders who he's lost. "You have to let him go if you want to move on."
Saps looks at him.
"I love you," Flux says.
Saps continues looking. Flux meets his eyes. Saps is looking at him, really at him, like he can see him.
"I will always love you," Flux says. Ish and the rest of the world melts away. "Saparata. Thank you for everything. And I'm sorry about all the things we never got to do."
Outside the window, the sun is rising. Its first rays pierce the sky, illuminating Saps from behind. He's glowing. He's so beautiful, like an angel.
"I'll never love anyone else like I loved you. I'll never forget everything you were to me," Flux continues. He feels his eyes welling up, but he pushes through. "Thank you for finding me, for allowing me to feel so loved, so happy, even if it wasn't for as long as we would've liked." He swallows. A single tear runs down his cheek. "I wish we'd had more time. I really, really wish we could've had more time. But know I'll love you forever."
Flux thinks of the Saps from his dream. Let me go. It's funny, how Flux has never really been able to say no to him.
He'll heal. It'll take time. Nothing will truly fill the gaping hole within him, but gradually he'll feel less empty. He'll keep on living, for Saps, and maybe learn to live for himself, too. He'll love again. Never as strongly, never as fiercely. But eventually he'll remember how to love without aching, how to find himself, and he'll be alive, alive, alive.
Let me go. Finally, Flux obliges.
"Goodbye, Saps."
Saps gazes at him, serenely, kindly. His eyes are glittering. He smiles. Really smiles, that beautiful, radiant smile that lights up the universe. Flux's heart lifts. To see that smile, one final time—
The sun blazes up overhead, and Saps glows so bright. Dawn kisses him with luminosity, a dazzling beam that showers down on him like a halo, and when the light disappears Saps is gone along with it. Flux is left looking at the sun, burning in the sky as it rises.
One moment he was laughing. One moment he was stepping close to the edge of the building, double-checking camera angles, cracking some joke about how high up they were, because jokes always helped to suppress the twinge of fear. He's done this a million times, and he's always careful.
He'll never know how it happened. How maybe it was the wind whipping hair into his face, or maybe someone had called his name. But he looked up, straight into the sun. And that split-second of disorientation — a cord in the wrong place, at the wrong time — a step in the wrong direction, the loss of balance — the laughter leaving his lungs, all at once, replaced with a gasp — the feeling of weightlessness, someone screaming his name, the ludicrous thought of this must be what flying feels like — before the sinking feeling of falling, falling, falling, the sudden, horrible realization that there's no saving him now — the frantic thoughts of oh my god, of not now, please, of I don't want to die — and then the fear and the shock vanishes and every thought is gone and replaced, with startling clarity, by one singular thing — Flux.
An ache shoots through his heart. He'll never see him one last time. Speak to him. Say sorry.
The air rushes around him, through him. I'm sorry I'll never come home to you.
The ground rises up to meet him. I'm sorry I never properly said goodbye to you.
I'm sorry I lied when I said I'll see you soon.
As an angel falls from heaven, he makes a final, desperate wish.
Forgive me, okay?
The sun washes over him. It's so, so warm.