Work Text:
“He’s dead.”
Noam looked up. “What?”
“Lehrer. He’s dead,” Dara repeated softly, turning off his holoreader.
“Oh,” Noam said. He didn’t know what to say.
Then Dara smiled, and it was beautiful. Beaten down and broken, but beautiful all the same.
It was months before they visited his grave.
They left just before midnight, taking Dara’s car. Nobody noticed them leave, but that made no difference to them.
They sat in the car for half an hour before finally working up the nerve to get out. Neither of them wanted to. Both of them knew they had to.
Side by side, they walked to his grave. Somebody had laid flowers, wilted now, on the dirt. To see them there, a symbol of love and admiration, felt like a cruel and unjust punishment designed specifically to torture Noam.
Looking at the headstone made a part of Noam feel like a bird taking flight for the first time, but at the same time, it felt like a knife in his gut.
Calix Markus Lehrer
January 2, 2000
-
March 9, 2130
At least there was no epitaph. Noam couldn’t begin to imagine what it would say if there had been one.
Maybe it would have read ‘A beloved brother, leader, and father.’ Short and classic. Maybe it would’ve paid homage to the role he played in the formation of their country. ‘The founder and leader of the great nation of Carolinia.’ ‘Carolinia’s pride, our chancellor.’ Maybe a quote from one of the speeches that Noam had helped him revise. The thought of it made Noam sick.
All of those would’ve been wrong. So horribly, terribly wrong. There was only one thing that would’ve fit on the grave of that horrid man.
‘Calix Lehrer, abuser and manipulator.’
But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, now. Nothing.
When Dara took Noam’s hand, all he felt was numb.
Noam squeezed Dara's hand, not bothering to hide his tears. Dara pulled them closer so their arms were pressed together, leaning his head on Noam's shoulder. The marble headstone seemed to glow in the moonlight, as cold and sickeningly beautiful as the man whose grave it marked. Noam couldn’t help but think, in a twisted sort of way, that it looked like his eyes. Colorless. Sharp. It was more than he deserved.
"Why?" Dara whispered finally, turning so he was facing Noam. "Why us?"
Noam didn't say anything. He just pulled Dara to his chest and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. There was a silent solidarity between them, the kind of bond that could only be formed through shared trauma. They needed no words. Holding each other was enough.
“I hate this,” Noam said eventually. His voice was hoarse.
“So do I.”
Noam’s voice was choked when he spoke again.
“I still miss him.”
Dara inhaled sharply before he relaxed again, twining his arms around Noam’s waist.
“Okay.”
“I don’t want to,” Noam said, burying his face in Dara’s curls. “I swear, I don’t want to.”
“I know, Noam.”
“I’m sorry, Dara.”
“I know.”
Dara leaned up and quieted Noam’s tearfilled words with a chaste kiss, moving one hand to hold the back of his neck.
“I used to feel like that, too. I know what you mean, Noam,” he said, putting his other hand flat against Noam’s chest. Noam was sure that Dara could feel his heart pounding against his ribs.
“He raised me. I wanted his attention so badly, I would do anything for it. Noam, I hated him. I hated him so much. But I still wanted—still needed his approval. It was a lifeline that I felt lost without. His approval meant everything to me, even if… even if I meant nothing to him.
“I think when I was younger, he really did care about me. I wasn’t just some pawn in his game of life back then—I was his son. I still had potential. But… things changed.” Dara laughed, cold and harsh. “Obviously.”
“But why do I still feel like this?” Noam whispered, kissing Dara again. Anything to distract from the pain. “It’s been six years, Dara. Six years without him. I should be okay.”
“It’s not your fault, Noam,” Dara said. “That’s just the effect he has—had on people.”
“I hate this,” Noam said again. He meant it. “So much.”
They stood there in silence, leaning on each other for support. That was all they really had left, wasn’t it? Each other. Sure, there was Bethany and Ames and Taye. There was Claire and Priya and Leo. But none of them—none of them—would ever understand the exact brand of hurt that Noam and Dara had been through. The precise kind of trauma that haunted their lives. Nobody could possibly understand it like they did.
“It’s his fault,” Dara said, wiping his damp cheeks. “Everything. It’s all his fault.”
Noam just sighed and kissed the top of his head again.
“Every single thing that’s happened to us is his fault,” Dara continued. He pushed away from Noam to pace up and down the dirt beside Lehrer’s grave, but Noam didn’t mind. He understood. “If he didn’t exist, we wouldn’t be here right now, crying over the grave of a man who didn’t truly care for either of us. We wouldn’t be traumatized by the politics and wars of this nation that he had no right to force a bunch of teenagers into.
“If he didn’t exist, we would be normal. We could be normal teenagers going to a normal high school with a normal life. And who knows, Noam? Maybe we could’ve met, under different circumstances, and we could’ve been happy. We could’ve gone to prom, Noam. Do you see that? Do you see how much he took away from us?”
Noam didn’t point out the fact that if Lehrer, the founder of their nation, hadn’t existed, they probably wouldn’t have existed either. He was too busy thinking about the future he and Dara could’ve had if things were different.
“Can you see it, Noam?” Dara whispered. He finally stopped pacing to face Noam. “Our prom. You would’ve forgotten about it and then asked me a week before, I think. And I wouldn’t have cared, because I would be going to prom with you, and that would be enough.”
He stepped closer and took Noam’s hands in his, placing them on Dara’s waist. “You’d look amazing in your suit. Ames and Bethany would be there, all dressed up. Taye, too. We’d go as a group, but then a slow song would come on, and I would ask you to dance.”
Dara draped his arms over Noam’s shoulders and pulled him closer, letting his head fall into place at the curve of Noam’s neck. He placed a light kiss on Noam’s throat.
“After the song is over, we would go outside and just sit. Away from all the noise, all the people. We’d just sit and be normal. And then a month later, we would graduate, and I’d get to watch you get your diploma before me.”
“I’d be two grades below you,” Noam reminded him, a wet laughter bubbling up in his throat. Dara leaned back to glare at him.
“Shut up,” he said, but there was a softness to his eyes. He was looking at Noam as if, despite not being a witching anymore, his whole being was magic.
“We would get to have our prom. Our happily ever after, Noam. Don’t you want that?”
“More than anything,” Noam said.
“Dance with me, Álvaro?”
Noam smiled.
This was their last dance. Their prom.