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When he was young, Pac wanted to see the stars.
Not just in the sky, not on a clear cloudless night when the dark is all enveloping and every single speck of light washes across the midnight black like a wash of splattered paint lit up and glowing, gemstones catching the light in a sea of velvet darkness. Pac wanted to see the stars closer, wanted to be up there, among them.
Those were simpler times. He can’t, he knows, has known, but he can settle for watching the stars from afar and imagining himself up there with them.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Mike was always a steadfast part of his life - to Pac, arguably the most important part of his life. Mike saw him, knew him, accepted him as he was with all his flaws and strange idiosyncrasies and every part of him that he’d been too afraid to let show. Mike is the planet to Pac’s moon, and he knows he will always be in Mike’s orbit, helping each other. It’s how they are meant to be.
They grow up together, from children, playful and wild, pursuing the little things they enjoyed, getting into trouble because the world has too tight a grip, and Pac wants to be among the stars, so he will be free. Where Mike goes, Pac follows, and vice versa - through every poor decision and impulsive choice, every carefully planned out action, they are together.
He’s not sure how it happened, not sure what prompted it, but they share a space in their minds. It’s something precious, almost a miracle, and when Mike sees the inner workings of him, he tells him it looks like the stars.
Pac changes himself, his body, to fit with his mind and his heart, the parts of him that know who he is, truly. Mike supports him through it, and when they can, Pac gets his stars tattooed upon his chest in dark ink over the scars left over, a myriad of constellations across the span of his ribs and the slopes of his collarbones. He will carry them with him, always.
(He makes one of the stars green, for Mike. He wants a part of him there, because they are connected. Mike is his planet, his orbit, the push and pull of the tides and the breath of air from every tree, every song of the birds.)
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Things get difficult, after a time.
The two of them struggle to find stability, and Pac’s yearning for freedom and to make the most of his life leads them into things they shouldn’t do. Stealing, for one, and navigating places they are not permitted to enter - Pac, among the stars, can get anywhere, be anywhere, escape anywhere. He is free-floating, free flowing, he can do anything he wants, he knows he can, and he has Mike with him. The exhilaration is worth it - Pac lives for it, the rush, the thrill, and so does Mike, even when he berates him for leaving things too late or toeing the line, almost getting caught, but Pac evades, he has a freedom, he cannot be tied down.
Until that freedom is cut short. They’re caught. Pac is grounded, painfully, an aching reminder that he is mortal and he is human and this world is not fair. He wants to be beyond that. He wants to be cosmic.
Alcatraz is where they end up. It is hell.
Pac cannot be contained, he can’t, and yet, here he is, caged behind bars and locked down. He is not with his stars, not anymore - Mike comments on it. Mike tells him his stars have dimmed, in the recesses of his brain, and Pac can feel it in every fibre of his being, a deep and phantom pain, as if he’s lost something tangible, like a limb. He doesn’t want to think about what it might feel like to lose Mike, what it would do to him.
Alcatraz gives many opportunities for Pac to lay low, to keep hidden - and then he meets Cell.
God, Cell. If Mike is his planet, his orbit, Cell is a black hole. He is there, a constant presence, in control - he has made himself a mock sort of freedom, here, despite their entrapment, and Pac cannot help but watch with a sort of horrified awe as those eyes, pale and baleful, turn onto him. Can’t help but watch as they grow something there, a hunger, never satiated, never satisfied, a burning, constant and white-hot. Cell is the black hole and Pac is on his event horizon, and Cell eats every last star, consumes everything that falls into his grasp, figuratively and, on occasion, literally.
Cell is human, viscerally so, with teeth that bite and tear, hands that touch and grasp, eyes that see, a heart that beats, a body that bleeds with an almost vicious fervour, an enjoyment there that Pac does not want to understand.
(He will understand, eventually).
Cell is obsessive, Pac knows - Mike warns him away, tries to keep him close, but it’s the way that Cellbit’s lips curl around his name, calling him queridinho like he is something sweet, something that is his. Cell looks at Pac like he wants to devour him, and Pac comes to learn that he would let him.
(He does let him. It hurts. He can still feel his leg, sometimes, when he stares at the space where it once was.)
There is something so grounding and human about it, the exchange of blood and flesh, the way he can still taste the coppery tang in his mouth when he thinks about it, how he bit down onto Cell to muffle his own screams, when Cell took his leg. It is human, and yet, Cell is the black hole, and Pac is past the event horizon. He wants to escape, to get away from his grasp - and yet, part of him wants Cell to consume him in his entirety, stretch apart the fibres of his being, every atom, until he is Cell’s, truly.
He won’t escape Cell, he knows. He won’t escape that orbit. He knows it, even as they make the escape, JV’s dead body still fresh in his mind, Cell’s screams from the island shore following him across the sea as Guaxinim and Mike urge him to look away, to sleep.
(Cell is in every dream. He doesn’t tell Mike, but Mike already knows. They don’t talk about it.)
Pac, now free (is he truly free?) and on the run, has escaped his prison, but he is changed - his stars are dulled, will he ever see them again? Will he ever feel so close to the skies, to what lies beyond? Prison boy, he thinks of himself, something made human, tugged down from the great abyss of space, a fallen star made mortal and bleeding, imprisoned. He is a boy. He is a man. He is human.
He can’t bring himself to blame Cell, yet, so he blames himself.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The years go by. Slowly, but surely, Pac’s stars brighten once more. It’s slow, yes, and sometimes they dim once more, before brightening with more work. Recovery isn’t linear.
(He still misses his leg, sometimes. Almost as much as he misses Cell. It’s confusing.)
On the run becomes their constant, as they are together - Pac and Mike, against the world, just the two of them together, evading everything they can, never staying in one place for too long. When they sneak onto a boat heading out of Brazil on one of their trips, hoping to get away for good, there is something wrong. The cargo ship is near empty, devoid of life - he’s looking around for answers when he blacks out.
When Pac awakens, he’s in a room, and Mike is there - but they’re not alone, not here - Felps is there, someone Pac recognises distantly from prison, thought to have been left for dead. Forever is new, tall and broad, smiling so wide it’s almost infectious, curious and loud. It’s endearing.
Cell is there. It makes Pac’s heart stop in his chest, just for a moment.
(He’s scared. He’s scared, he’s terrified, he is past the event horizon, he is being pulled in, there is no escape. He will never be free.)
Cellbit, he calls himself. He’s different, now - taller, his jaw angular and shadowed by his facial hair, his eyes less cold, but no less calculating. His hair is longer. He’s older, they all are, but it hurts, a little, in a way Pac can’t properly describe. Cellbit barely offers them a word beyond an uncertain but friendly greeting, and Pac almost forgets he’s the same man who ate his leg.
Pac feels more human, around Cellbit. He doesn’t know if he likes that feeling. Mike is by his side, squeezing his hand, but Pac cannot find the strength to squeeze it back.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Quesadilla Island is a lot. The stars are beautiful, in the night sky, but unfamiliar, strangely so - nothing is quite right, here, and Pac doesn’t understand it. He can escape anything, he knows, and yet, as the months pass, he cannot escape this place.
The five of them are given an egg - a child, adorned in a Brazilian shirt, rambunctious and wild, full of energy, constantly insistent on doing what he likes. Richarlyson reminds him of himself, sometimes, in that respect. Pac loves him. Pac would give his life for him, in a heartbeat.
The people on the island are sweet, too, and for a while, Pac fancies himself enamoured with the French warrior, Etoiles. He’s strong, but he is kind, sweet, and selfless. If Pac were stronger, more confident, less stuck on the past, maybe he could’ve said something. Instead, he admires from afar, befriends others, takes care of his son.
Felps goes missing, after a while. Pac doesn’t know how to feel - he misses him, but he doesn’t know how to help, how to find him, and the helplessness is a thorn in his side, an itch of frustration and disappointment he cannot calm.
Cellbit is a better parent than Pac expected - at least, that’s what he thinks, until he turns heel and betrays them, attempting to take Richas for himself, hurting Forever deep in his heart in the process. It turns out to be a lie, though, when he goes missing, too, and Pac almost cries when they find him, seeing him and Felps there behind the glass. He stands back, though, and lets Roier rush forward to help Cellbit. He’s seen the way they are around each other. He’s seen how happy Cellbit is with him.
(It stings, it burns, it’s a vicious tear into him, like Cellbit’s teeth in his flesh all over again, blood spilling across flesh and past grasping fingers, onto the cold floor. Cellbit gets to get better, gets to be happy, gets to move on. Pac is on his event horizon, never to escape. He does not get to change. He has not changed, since prison. He is still the prison boy, human, a grounded star.)
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
They end up in prison, again. It’s not so bad, this time - they have practice with this, they know how this goes. They escape, and they make a friend of Fit, a man that makes Pac feel… happy. Comforted, in a way, knowing that he and Mike are not alone, here. Someone cares. They befriend Walter Bob, too, comforting him, before he is taken from them. It hurts, in a sudden, frightening way.
It keeps happening, though - this island, it is cruel, it is ruthless, and people disappear. Sometimes, it goes almost unnoticed.
Pac gets taken to the bottom of the sea and taken away. It is an oblivion, a far away sort of state his mind cannot seem to slip out from. It hardly feels real. He’s afraid, the person in the other cell is suffering, and Pac doesn’t want to die here, where he can barely feel Mike’s presence in his mind, alone in the dark.
But Mike does find him, in the end. He’s safe with him. He’s safe.
Mike gets kidnapped. It’s the worst fucking thing, and Pac doesn’t know what to do with himself - he’s lost, the bond in his head with him stretched thin, barely present. He tries to reach out, to make his stars brighter, but he cannot. Pac is a moon without a planet to orbit, and he feels helpless, pointless. Who is he, without his other half?
Fit is a steady presence, now. The man had become a close friend, and Pac trusts him, Mike trusts him. He’s down to Earth, helpful, so sincere, and Pac has never met someone quite like him before. He likes him. So, when Fit is by his side to recover Mike without fail, Pac finds himself starting anew, pushing the remnants of Cell from his mind as much as he can. Cellbit gets to move on, to change, to be happily married to Roier, so it’s only fair that Pac should, too, right?
(His dreams of Cell border on yearning and terrifying, equal parts viscera and adoration. He’s not free, yet.)
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Mike is barely around, now. It’s painful, the way they grow distant - it’s a pain Pac likens to that of the loss of his leg, but all encompassing in his brain, a near-loss of a fundamental part of his soul. He is half a person, without Mike. He is worthless without Mike.
The eggs go missing. It’s a rush of sudden panic, something nobody could have predicted, and with Richas’ absence, everyone seems to spiral. Felps and Mike, practically off the radar entirely, Cellbit buried in his investigations, Forever getting roped into something he cannot control. He takes the fall, for them, in his anguish and desperation to help his missing son.
When Pac sees him on the pills, he is looking at an unfamiliar picture, someone he does not recognise. This is not the Forever he knows. This Forever is too happy, deep in denial, desperate. Pac cannot stand idly by when nobody else can fix it - he’s good, he’s smart, when he tries, but he doesn’t know if he can do it without Mike.
He wants to make a cure. He will make a cure. Or, at the very least, find one.
Being on the pills is- it’s agony, at first, and then a blissful nothing. His mind is empty, almost, a few stray thoughts slipping through, but he is lonely and he is afraid and he wants to be happy. He does not get angry and frustrated like Forever, when it wears off. No- he gets sad, overwhelmingly so, anguished and frantic denial, because no, he cannot do this anymore, he cannot be alone again, he doesn't want to be alone again. He’s not free anymore. But it’s the least of his worries.
Cell- Cellbit finds his notes, with Philza and Badboyhalo. The notes he made, speculative in his research of the cure done in his brief moments of lucidity, spurred on by a reminder of who he is and what still remains for him. He needs to help. He just wants to help, he cannot be worthless. It works, in a painful way, leaving Forever comatose. Pac is guided home by Cellbit, and for once, he isn’t scared. He’s just tired. He sleeps. Sleeps and sleeps, until he can regain his sense of self, human and blood and flesh with stars in his soul.
Pac is not alone. You are not alone, prison boy, you are not alone.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
They end up somewhere else - another island, herded away from their homes by the Federation, and led into a death trap. Pac is separated, in his team, from everyone he loves, everyone he cares for. He is alone. He is alone again, stars dimmed, a slow death in his soul.
Fit reaches out to him, though, and even with the terror and the threat of Cell, reemerged as the beast, the black hole Pac knows him to be, Fit still stays a constant in Pac’s life, now, and Pac feels a little less alone.
Their escape from the island is hellish, fearful - they’ve lost people, Pac has lost people, but they are finally home, and Pac almost kisses the ground, when they return to Quesadilla Island, a star burnt out, or perhaps something less, a failed star, something that never truly had a chance to burn. He has Fit, he has Richas back, but he feels an emptiness there. A loneliness that aches.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
He finds himself up on the edge of the wall one night, when everything is said and done, the sky dark and full of stars. Fit sits beside him, his hand holding Pac’s, a gentle and tentative sort of thing. It’s sweet. It’s safe.
“Sometimes I feel like I am still that person, you know, who I was in- in the prison. I haven’t changed. I’m still the same. I don’t know if I escaped, I’m still so scared and trapped. I feel like I am always hiding, trying to escape.”
He confides in Fit, because he trusts him. He cares about Fit. Ramón wants him to marry him. Maybe one day, he thinks.
“You- I think you’ve changed. In a good way, of course, you know? Like- you’re strong, you’re smart, you’re a cool guy. I think you’ve come pretty fucking far.” Fit looks at him like he is a star, burning bright in the sky, something beautiful. Pac stares back.
If Mike is his planet, and Cellbit is a black hole, Fit is the sun, a star for him to love just the same as he does those in the far-away up above. With Fit, Pac is not prison boy, he is not queridinho, he is Pac, and he is good. He is strong and he is not alone, and he feels warmed simply by being under Fit’s gaze, alive from the sunlight of it. And, looking at Fit, he cannot help but admire him. It may be the first time he has stargazed, without looking at the stars. He still has stars in his soul, and with Fit, they burn brighter than they ever have before.
Maybe he can change. Maybe he gets to change, to be better now. To be less afraid. To be himself, not one half of a whole, but a whole in himself, in his entirety. He gets to be Pac. He can leave prison boy behind, let him go his own way.
Pac squeezes Fit’s hand in his own, and smiles at him.
“I think so, too.”
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───