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Every time, they make the same mistakes. And every time, they die. Because they can’t get rid of their emotions. But that’s what makes them weak. It’s human nature’s ultimate flaw. One shouldn’t base a choice on love, anger, hate. They’re just silly feelings that cloud the mind.
1.
Ramiro used to pray more frequently. He’d been devout before, which helped him pretend to be a priest. Still, after he’d met Ángel, his prayers had grown fewer and far between; his devotion shifted to the man he’d fallen in love with, murmuring words of worship against the skin of Ángel’s neck as they’d fucked quietly so as not to draw attention. The man he loved was beautiful, even in his cruelest moments, and Ramiro couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
Ángel would sometimes make fun of him for believing. “If God existed, then why would He condemn us for what we feel,” he’d say, eyes bright and defiant. “Why would He create such a temptation for us?”
“He created temptation so we could resist it,” Ramiro said quietly.
Ángel laughed at that. “More likely that some joyless priest wants to deny us pleasure. Besides, who could look at you and condemn you to hell?” He punctuated that statement with a kiss, and Ramiro, as always, found himself powerless to argue more.
He hadn’t prayed much since they’d been on the Kerberos.
He was praying now, though. A storm had descended upon them, tossing the ship from side to side violently. The metal groaned and the wind howled. It seemed as though it was the end of the world.
The captain was yelling at the passengers who had gathered in the dining room, huddled together and terrified. Those who understood him began to cry out. They were terrified, the crowd surging as though it were the sea itself. Ramiro felt his hands shake as he clasped them together and murmured a quiet prayer.
“Ramiro?” Ángel’s voice cut through the din of voices. His face was pale and drawn, more nervous than he usually was. That scared Ramiro almost as much as the storm itself; Ángel was rarely frightened. Even when things were at their worst, Ángel showed no fear. Not in Spain, not when Ramiro killed the priest… but now, he was clearly worried. The weight of Ramiro’s own fear sank heavy in his gut.
“We need to go,” Ángel said, voice low. “The captain is telling everyone to go to the lifeboats.”
As he spoke, the ship plummeted over a wave. The power went out for a moment and without thinking, Ramiro reached for Ángel’s hand. For a moment their fingers tangled together, but when the lights flickered back to life Ángel pulled his hand back.
Instead, he seized the sleeve of Ramiro’s coat. “Come on!”
They pushed through the crowd, who all seemed to have the same idea as them. The shouting reached a fever pitch as the passengers tried to reach the door and get to the lifeboats. Ramiro stepped over a body — and why did the man seem so familiar? — as he followed Ángel, shoving past terrified people to stay close to him.
The violent rocking of the ship made him sick as they stumbled through the corridors, trying to stay on their feet and not be sucked under by the crowd. Ramiro kept his eyes focused on the white suit jacket Ángel wore. It was a beacon, a sign they were still together. A sign they could maybe survive this.
They reached the lifeboats as the ship pitched again. The deck was slippery, and Ramiro felt himself slide forward. With a wordless cry, he grabbed onto part of the wall, clinging onto it for dear life.
Ángel had not stopped though. He was still moving forward, desperately keeping his balance. As the crowd screamed, Ángel stopped. He turned, as if he sensed that Ramiro was not behind him any more.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Another wave crashed into the ship. This time it seemed to nearly knock the ship over with sheer force. Ángel seemed almost surprised for just a second, before the water and wind overtook him.
Ramiro lunged forward and reached out his hand. “Ángel!”
But it was too late. Ángel was too far away, and the storm was too violent. With a cry, he was knocked overboard. Ramiro had time to see one last terrified look on his face before he was gone.
There was nothing but a ringing in Ramiro’s ears. Someone pulled at his arm as if to steer him away and back to safety, but he shook himself free, staggering towards the spot where Ángel had once stood. He was gone. All Ramiro had done for him had been for nothing. All their love was now dust.
Another wave struck the ship, and this time Ramiro didn’t try to hold on.
Wake up.
2.
The sound of angry voices in the hallways startled Ramiro out of his uneasy sleep. He and Ángel hadn’t spoken since the mutiny had begun. The night had been quiet and lonely, but Ramiro was fine with that. He didn’t want to talk to Ángel, not without some apology.
The promise of change couldn’t be so easily forgotten. Ramiro knew Ángel. He knew that deep down, the man was capable of change, of caring for him. He’d seen glimpses of that man before, and he couldn’t understand why Ángel denied that.
Maybe they were too different. Maybe when they reached New York, they could separate and go their own way. It would hurt. Ramiro had spent too long imagining a life with Ángel to envision a world in which they were not together. But his pride had to come first. He would not play the dutiful housewife, turning a blind eye to Ángel’s indiscretions. He would not be worn down to nothing by jealousy.
He dressed quickly, noting that the voices seemed to grow louder. Ángel was awake already, sitting on the couch in their stateroom. He said nothing.
Finally, Ramiro cleared his throat. “What’s happening out there?”
Ángel shrugged. His sketchbook was open in his lap, and Ramiro could see the elegant way his pencil drifted across it. “I don’t know. Perhaps they are looking for the captain.”
The voices were still growing louder.
“Are they coming here?” Ramiro stared at Ángel, hoping he understood what he meant.
Ángel had a moment to look worried before the door opened. Ramiro spun around to see a group of people dressed in drab clothes and carrying guns enter the room. One of them made his heart clench. It was the boy Ángel was so infatuated with. The one who’d driven a wedge between them.
It’s not his fault, Ramiro told himself. It’s Ángel’s. No one made him go astray.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Ángel’s voice was haughty as he stood up. “What are you looking for?”
No one listened to him. They spoke a different language as they searched through the room, pushing aside beds and rummaging through closets.
One woman, an older blonde, stepped forward to stare at Ramiro. She said something he didn’t understand, eyes cold. Ramiro felt unnerved by her.
“Hey, no. Put that down!” Ángel took a step towards a man who’d picked up his pocket watch. “Krester, tell him to put it back.”
The woman grew still. She addressed Krester then, her voice dangerous and bitter. Krester looked at her with wide, frightened eyes, and it was easy to see what she was saying. Ramiro could see shades of Ángel’s mother in her.
Ramiro stepped forward, putting himself closer to Ángel. “Whatever you are looking for,” he said in Spanish, “it is not here. We have nothing to do with the captain.”
The woman glared at him, spitting out something venomous. Ramiro shuddered slightly. Could she tell that he and Ángel were not brothers? Could she see who they really were?
Her eyes looked past him, past Ángel, falling onto something that made her stiffen. The gun in her hands shifted slightly. Ramiro glanced behind him to see that Ángel’s sketchbook was open to the page with the drawing of Krester. It would be clear now how Ángel felt about the boy, at the very least.
Krester said something in a quiet voice, and the woman snapped back at him. There was a tense conversation between them, and then the woman raised her gun.
Ramiro acted without thinking. He stepped in between Ángel and the gun, hands outstretched. “Please, don’t!”
The shot was too loud in the small cabin, and for a moment Ramiro couldn’t understand why he was suddenly on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He could hear a commotion around him — Ángel was yelling something, and the invaders were also yelling — but he couldn’t quite understand. It was as though the room was dipping in and out of focus.
His chest hurt. The pain was dull at first, and then it suddenly blossomed into agony. He gasped, reaching up to touch it with one hand. When he lowered it, it was stained red.
Ángel’s face filled his vision suddenly, and Ramiro yelped as he was lifted slightly into his arms.
“Your shirt,” he mumbled. Ángel hated to look unclean.
“You fool,” Ángel said, voice hoarse. “You fool, you shouldn’t have done that!”
“I had to.” It was getting harder to breathe now, and all Ramiro wanted to do was close his eyes and sink into oblivion. “I had to, my love, I couldn’t…”
Ángel sobbed, and Ramiro couldn’t help but frown. His Ángel never cried. “Please don’t go, please. Don’t leave me.”
Ramiro longed to stay. “I have to tell you, I have to… I have to tell you…”
He needed to say I love you. That’s what he needed to tell Ángel, before he left. It was important, though he wasn’t sure why. A distant memory of something stirred in the back of his mind and he swore he could see the stars.
The memory of the stars swirled around him and with Ángel’s arms around him, he died.
Wake up.
3.
The ship was burning.
Something had gone wrong, and now the ship was burning. A woman — the doctor, Ángel had told him, this woman was a doctor — had tried to explain why to him, but Ramiro didn’t understand the reasons she gave. There were so few of them left now: the doctor, Krester, a blonde woman that might have been Krester’s sister, a couple that seemed to speak only French, and the captain. Himself and Ángel.
They were all trying to get off the ship. At least, that’s where most of them had gone. Ramiro was running through the smoke filled corridors, trying to find Ángel. He’d been separated from them earlier, and Ramiro wouldn’t leave without him. The doctor and the French woman were following him, which he assumed meant they wanted to help.
He wished he could understand them, or that they could understand him.
In the distance, he heard a voice cry out for help. He stopped and listened, turning towards the sound.
Again, the voice cried out.
Ángel.
“Follow me!” Ramiro gestured for the two women to hurry as he turned down a corner. The smoke was getting worse, and Ramiro brought his arm up to cover his mouth. If he had to choose between burning or drowning, he’d take drowning.
He rounded a corner and gasped. Ángel was there, pinned underneath a beam. He struggled violently against it, pushing at the wood with his strength. Ramiro hurried to his side and tried to move it as well, grunting with the effort.
“Go,” Ángel said. “It’s stuck, it won’t move.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Ramiro said fiercely.
The two women caught up to them. The doctor began to try and help Ramiro as the French woman stood nearby. She looked around, before saying something frantically in her own language.
After another minute of futile attempts, the doctor stopped. She looked at Ramiro and gently touched his shoulder, voice soft as she said something.
“She wants you to go,” Ángel translated. “She said she can’t move it, and that if we stay we’ll die.”
“No!” Ramiro tried to push on the beam again. “I won’t go.”
The smoke thickened. The doctor coughed a few times before tugging at Ramiro’s arm. Her voice was more insistent now.
“I’m not leaving him!” Ramiro finally met Ángel’s eyes. “I’m not leaving you.”
Ángel shook his head. “Go, please…”
Ramiro turned to the doctor instead. “You go,” he said, pulling his arm away. “Please, go. Both of you. I will stay with him.”
The woman seemed to understand. She stepped backwards, eyes bright, before she and the French woman began to run back down the hallway.
The flames roared, and the sound wasgetting closer. Ramiro sank to his knees next to Ángel, fear curling hot in his stomach. They were both going to die here.
“I don’t…” Ángel’s voice cracked; it took him a moment to compose himself. “I don’t want you to die too.”
“It’s okay,” Ramiro said softly. “It’ll be okay.”
There was something he had to tell him. Something important, but the words stuck in his throat.
“I’m scared,” Ángel said, voice almost imperceptible over the roar surrounding them.
“It will be okay,” Ramiro repeated. “We’ll be together.”
He repeated it over and over, until the smoke and the heat overtook them.
Wake up.
4.
“Where are you going?”
“To to the right thing. To warn the captain.”
It was over now, Ramiro thought as he strode down the hallway. He was tired of Ángel’s games, and tired of him using people for his own means. He knew that Ángel could be kind if he wanted to, even sweet, but that part of him was locked away. Instead, he’d become the very mask he’d worn all his life.
Ramiro loved him, against his better judgment. He’d spent months pretending not to be attracted to him, brushing off his advances as much as he could. Ángel had pursued him steadily. He’d seemed to see it as a game — how far he could push their flirtation. Ramiro was only human, after all, and he’d finally been unable to resist his feelings any longer. The following summer had been perfect in the stolen moments they’d had together, when Ángel had whispered that they could run away together and find somewhere safe.
Ramiro had thought that maybe he’d fallen in love with him, when he’d tried to take the blame when they were finally caught. He’d killed the priest that found them, taking his clothes and offering his hand to Ángel and saying they could finally be together somewhere safe. Ángel had taken his hand then, promising to follow him to the ends of the earth.
Then there’d been a waiter in London, as they’d been making their way to Southampton. Ángel denied it, but Ramiro had seen the other man slip out of their hotel room one night. He’d begged Ángel to change, to stop risking both their lives by continuing to flirt with other men, and Ángel had kissed his hand and promised him he wouldn’t stray again.
But he’d lied. He always seemed to lie.
Ramiro couldn’t bear that any more. He’d help the captain now, and when they reached whatever destination they were heading to, he’d walk off the ship alone to start his own life, far away from Ángel and the toxic connection between them that he’d been foolish enough to think was love.
Of course, God seemed to have other plans for him.
Now he was fighting for his life in the rain against mutineers. Nearby, a redheaded woman was pushing through the crowd, trying to save the life of the mysterious boy they’d found aboard the Prometheus. In the chaos of the crowd, Ramiro swung a makeshift club, trying to defend the captain against the men determined to attack him.
A bald man with open wounds on his face tried to push past him. Ramiro might not be a fighter by nature, but he knew how to defend himself. He blocked the first few blows from the man, knocking him down. But the man surged upright far too quickly. He disarmed Ramiro with a few quick movements.
Ramiro was able to dodge the first two attempted blows.
The third caught him in the head.
He dropped hard to the soaking wet deck. The world was fuzzy and out of focus, but for a moment, he swore the clouds overhead parted slightly to show the stars.
Ángel, he thought weakly, before he didn’t think again.
Wake up.
1.
The first thing Ramiro was conscious of was a blinding light.
No, that wasn’t true. He remembered a bright red light, drowning them all as huge black shapes shifted and swirled in front of them. He’d been standing next to the few survivors of the Kerberos, watching as the world ended, and he’d had the strangest thought that he needed to wake up.
And now…
“Someone help him down!”
He was encased in something. He tried to lift his arms, but something held them in place. Something akin to fear twisted in his gut and he tried to shove whatever it was away from him. The lights were still too damned bright.
There was a hiss of air and suddenly he was free, toppling forward. Someone caught him before he hit the floor, and Ramiro blinked up at them, his eyes starting to clear.
It was the man in the sailor’s uniform from the Kerberos. He’d only spoken French…
“Hey, it’s okay,” the man said, and Ramiro frowned. How could he understand him? He searched his brain for the man’s name, because surely he must know it.
His throat was too dry, but he still was able to speak. “Jérôme?”
Jérôme smiled. “Welcome back.”
Ramiro looked around him. He’d seemed to fall out of some sort of coffin-like pod, in a circular room covered in machinery. Some of the pods still had people in them; he could see a blonde woman — Tove, his mind supplied — standing near the pods next to him. She glanced over and gave Ramiro a small smile before she turned to look back at the two people still sleeping in them. At a nearby console, Maura Franklin was typing something into a computer, face drawn in concentration. After a few moments, she straightened up and walked over to him.
“Are you alright?” Again, he understood her. She seemed to be speaking Portuguese.
His confusion must have registered on his face, because she smiled. “Translators. We’re all speaking our native languages, but we’re able to understand each other. Much more helpful.”
Ramiro looked at Jérôme, who nodded.
“Where are we?” Ramiro looked around. The room seemed so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it…
“Welcome to the Prometheus,” Maura said. “Your memories will come back soon. It’s always hard, waking up from the simulation.”
The words were familiar; Ramiro had a flash of a memory of stepping into the pod behind him. He’d been nervous, but someone next to him had said “don’t worry, I’ll be there when you wake up.”
A new realization crashed into him and he staggered to his feet, turning to look at the pod next to his now vacant one. It too was empty.
Ramiro turned back to Jérôme and Maura. “Where’s Ángel?”
Maura smiled. “He woke up yesterday. We have to take you out one at a time, otherwise it runs the risk of damaging the system.”
He said he’d be here, Ramiro thought. Memories of their last conversation, before the simulation, began to stir. They had been fighting, before they went under. Maybe Ángel had woken up and decided to leave.
What had they been fighting about?
Entwined with that was the memory of the last loop he’d been a part of, one where Ángel had been crushed by a falling beam in the boiler room. He’d died in Ramiro’s arms, and even now knowing it wasn’t real, the grief lingered. He’d thought he’d lost him forever.
As if he knew what Ramiro was thinking about, Jérôme put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We sent him to get some sleep. He’d been waiting here since he woke up.”
Ramiro felt himself flush slightly. The memory of the simulation, where he’d had to hide how he felt, still felt real.
The door to the room slid open. A woman with light brown hair walked in. She smiled when she saw Ramiro. “You’re awake!”
“Clémence,” Ramiro said, placing a name to the face.
Clémence brightened. “You’re remembering faster than I did. It took me an hour to remember Maura’s name.”
She embraced Jérôme as she got close to him. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” the other man said. He looked at Ramiro. “Help him find his cabin.”
Ramiro looked around. “I should help…”
“You need rest,” Clémence said, taking his arm. “Come with me.”
The narrow hallways of the Prometheus were far brighter than the Kerberos. Clémence was explaining what had happened since Maura had woken up, but Ramiro’s mind was elsewhere, trying to piece together how he got here.
Eventually, Clémence stopped outside a door marked 2109. “I’ll see you later,” she said, giving him once last smile before walking away.
Ramiro stared at the door. His heartbeat echoed in his ears and he considered, not for the first time, running away to hide somewhere else until he felt ready to face what could be inside. But that was what a coward would do, and Ramiro knew he couldn’t run any longer.
When the door opened and he stepped inside, he took in the sight of the room. The bed near the window was large enough for two. There were a few framed photos on the desk, and Ramiro felt his heart ache as he saw them. Ángel smiled from the frames; in many of them, his arm was draped around Ramiro’s shoulders. They looked happy. They hadn’t had to hide.
Memories of the simulation and his own growing memories of his real life warred in his head and Ramiro sank down onto the bed. Ángel was not here, and he hadn’t been there when he’d woken up. Maybe he remembered how toxic their love was in the simulation and had thought twice about staying with him, or maybe he’d simply gotten tired of him after living life after life together.
The door opened and Ramiro looked up to see Ángel, dressed in the same dull grey jumpsuit he also wore, standing there.
For a moment, they simply stared.
“Your beard,” Ángel said, breaking the silence. “I’d forgotten.”
“Do you like it?” Ramiro felt as though they’d had this conversation before.
Ángel laughed slightly. “I think I’m used to your goatee. Perhaps I can convince you to shave?”
It was Ramiro’s turn to laugh. Ángel seemed to relax at the sound; he stepped forward, closer to Ramiro. His face seemed almost nervous, mirroring the anxiety Ramiro felt as well.
He was alive, though. Still as handsome as ever, and Ramiro vaguely remembered seeing him for the first time in this reality. They’d met at some bar, the name of which escaped him, and Ángel had approached him first and offered to buy him a drink. He’d been bold and clever and Ramiro had loved him from that first night on.
They’d fought about the simulation, he remembered now. Ramiro had been afraid that Ángel would grow tired of him in it, that he’d find someone new. He’d been jealous of how Ángel flirted so easily with everyone, and he’d been afraid that the one good thing he’d taken with him from earth would leave him and he would be alone again.
But it didn’t matter now.
Ramiro felt his throat grow tight. “I watched you die,” he said weakly.
Ángel nodded.
“We fought,” Ramiro continued. “We fought, and I… I said you use people. Why would I say that, I know you… that you…”
“Maura says there was something in the simulation that trapped us. A punishment.” Ángel took another step towards Ramiro. “But it wasn’t real. This is real.”
A choked sob escaped Ramiro’s throat. “I had something I wanted to tell you.”
That was enough to push Ángel into action. He crossed the room and knelt in front of Ramiro, cradling his face in his hands like they had in the cabin after the noise had stopped. “I tried to tell you before I died too.”
Ramiro sobbed again, pressing his forehead to Ángel’s. “I love you.”
That was the truth he’d wanted to tell him so badly. He’d wanted to say it but could never find the words in that simulation, or the time. It was always too late for them. But here they might have time. They might have a chance.
Ángel grinned, smile ever so cocky. “I love you,” he breathed out before kissing Ramiro, hands tangling in his hair. It felt real, far more real than anything that Ramiro had felt since waking up. It felt like home.
Outside, the stars swirled past the ship.