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“So, you agree,” Kray’s voice is terribly even and reasonable, his hands spread over the top of his huge, white desk. Centered is a single sheet of paper. To make it official. Binding. Galo finds himself staring at Kray’s hands, the graceful spread of them as they frame the paper. This isn’t a kindness, it’s a show. Like everything else, like helping the Burnish, apparently. “It’s the best way to move forward for everyone involved. Galo.”
Like a dog hearing his master call him, Galo’s head still turns up.
“We’ll be discontinuing this...momentary indiscretion and all contact, as well. You understand. Promepolis is in a delicate state and I must remain here to lead it. To ensure the safety and success of everyone here. We must all make sacrifices for the greater good.”
Galo’s heart thuds awfully in his chest, an uneven, unsteady rhythm that makes his breath catch, his fingers tingle numbly. This thing they had was a ‘momentary indiscretion’. Weird to have it boiled down to two words like that. Okay. Okay, he can figure this out. It’s going to suck, everything sucks right now, but it’s just another shitty situation he’s going to have to figure his way out of. Think of it like a fire, focus on rescue and escape, figure out the safest, fastest way to get out. The words sound scraped out of him. “Yeah. Of course.”
He borrows the fancy pen he’d gotten Kray for Christmas this year and puts the pen tip on the line. The unfairness of this aches. He spent hours agonizing over the pen, trying to figure out the right one to get him. It’d been expensive but worth it, the pleasure of giving it to Kray outweighing how absurdly much it cost. It’s the first time he’s ever seen it used; he’d just sort of assumed Kray kept it for special moments but…
Smoke starts to seep out from where his hand is pressed against the table, fingers touching the paper. The urge to burn is so loud it drowns out the throb of his heart in his ears. 451 degrees Fahrenheit, that’s what it takes to burn paper. Galo knows he can reach that in a heartbeat. Burning wouldn’t wouldn’t fix anything but it would take so little, it would be so easy —
“Don’t worry about it, Galo,” Kray’s voice cuts through, smooth as butter, and his graceful hands pull on a drawer. They pull out a set of papers and set them down on the desk. A finger pushes another sheet forward for Galo to see it’s a copy. Copies, in case Galo lost control, and burned the one he had.
It’s such a specific cruelty that for a moment Galo can’t breathe. How many times had Kray said something offhand that stung, but he’d shrugged it off. Were all of those moments — all of them?
“I don’t need it.” The ink in the fancy fountain pen would burn in half a second, easy. The pen would take longer, and would leave more of a mess, melted slag and charred wood, but still wouldn’t take more than a second. The desk would take longer; Galo remembers picking it out from the catalog on Kray’s desk years ago, once, mostly joking. Marble’s as inflammable as you can get. The rest of these are boring anyway. This goes with the whole fancy white vibe you have going! The marble he couldn’t do anything about, but the metal, he could melt. Five times what it takes to burn a sheet of paper, but still doable. Steel has the hottest melting point out of anything directly close to him, but the fire inside him tells him he could melt it without even thinking.
He could, but he won’t. They’ll find something to burn later, and it’s going to be enormous. He just has to get through right now. Get through this, then he can figure everything else out after. Thinking of the paper as a challenge rather than an insult helps. Galo’s always risen to Kray’s challenges, hasn’t he? He’ll do that here, too. The smoke dissipates abruptly as he swallows the fire down; Galo squares his shoulders and his hand writes the rest. Kray’s fountain pen is capped and set back onto the desk.
Would this be easier if he had some witty response, if he knew what to say? It feels like holding back the urge to burn takes every bit of concentration to begin with, like if he opens his mouth too far he’ll spit fire and yeah, no. Not doing that, even if he could find the words. Galo rises to his feet mechanically and snags his jacket. Breathe in, breathe out. Pulling the jacket over his shoulder feels like armor more than it ever has felt before.
“Biar will show you out.” Clear. Transactional. There’s no warmth to his tone at all. Then, as Galo turns to leave, “This is the quietest you’ve ever been, Galo.”
Galo’s palms itch. There’s a low roar in his ear singing burn, we could burn, telling him exactly how fast everything in this room would go up. The building response time was the fastest it could be for anti-Burnish tech; he’d have two seconds from the moment he lit a flare to detection. Not enough time. This was, arguably, the safest place in Promepolis, and right now it was the single most dangerous place Galo could be. He couldn’t stay. He needed… he needed to get out of there, to think and then he could figure out the next steps.
His feet move without him telling them to, going for the door. If it were someone else, he’d take the bait, spoiling for a chance to argue, to burn off all this energy inside him. How many times has he gotten into arguments about this, about how Burnish were treated and now the one man who he thought would understand, who could help, was…
Galo’s hand jerks the door open and he steps out into the hall, straight into another body, knocking them backward. It’s enough to jar him out of all those sour thoughts, sucking in a shocked breath.
“Shit, shit , sorry,” Galo hisses in a rush, reaching smoking, sparking hands out to the guy before he realizes and jerks them away, hiding them. The door closes behind him with a thud and the guy he’d knocked into steadies himself, giving Galo a look.
He’s gorgeous, dressed in all sleek white leather and the flames inside Galo strain and pull but this time it’s different. Galo knows how much it’d take to melt everything the guy is wearing, but he doesn’t want to do that. The flames don’t want that. He wants to burn with him. The flames always want to escape him, but this feels less like a jailbreak when he’s upset and more like this certainty that the flames know him, straining to be with him. It’s too much, it’s way, way too much on top of everything. Galo shoves his smoking hands behind his back, jaw clenched.
“Are you...okay?” The guy asks, looking less harassed that Galo’d bumped into him and more genuinely concerned. He straightens his sleeve just so and then reaches out and presses a hand to Galo’s arm when he doesn’t answer. Are you okay? What a loaded fucking question. Not really, just found out I’m Burnish, got dumped, and am technically dead. It’s only Monday.
The flames don’t feel like they’re going to jump out of him and light everything up, but they do strain, wanting to lick at the hand touching him. Galo swipes at his damp cheeks aggressively and then digs a hand into his hair with a laugh. He just wants to be out of here , but his feet aren’t moving. Even that feels like a betrayal at this point. Shit. “No, but thanks for asking. Shitty day, but I still didn’t mean to shoulder check you.”
“It’s fine, I was supposed to wait to be buzzed up. Lio.” The smallest smile, and then the hand that had been on Galo’s arm sticks out. He’s wearing a glove too, and Galo feels a little naked without his at this point, wondering if the heat of his palm would be a giveaway. The fire inside him hasn’t felt like this before, but he doesn’t have a lot of points of reference for what normal Burnish flames feel like. It’s been maybe an hour since it happened. His hand reaches out anyway, clasping the guy’s in his own. “Lio Fotia.”
According to that piece of paper he signed, he’s technically no one. Galo Thymos is dead. Shaping his own name in his mouth feels like a rebellion, right outside Kray’s office. Galo takes Lio’s hand, while he rubs the back of his neck with his other, sheepish. “Nice to meet you, Lio. I’m—”
The door opens behind him and Galo freezes, feeling Kray’s presence like a shadow over him, broad, looming. The words stick in his throat. He looks at Lio and swallows, squeezes his hand firmly and then releasing before that flare of heat gets too hot. He needs to get out of here.
“Sorry. Next time, Lio Fotia.” Galo tells him and dares to give him a grin before he walks, not runs, down the hall out into the main hallway.
“You’re early, what a pleasant surprise,” Kray tells the guy. The difference in tone is jarring after everything. it’s warmer. Friendlier. The same way he used to greet Galo. Normally, he waits to greet anyone until they’re inside the office if someone is waiting. It’s to be polite for the person leaving and the one coming in, he’s always told Galo. Guess it doesn’t matter now.
The houseplant he passes is plastic. Five hundred degrees, give or take. He could melt it into nothing but a black smear in a second. Behind him, Lio’s voice is audible. “Who was that? He was trying to—”
“Oh, no one at all. Come in. I’ll order lunch.”