Chapter Text
If the hallways of foxfire were filled with cheer, in Fitz's world, all he could hear was the deafening silence Keefe left behind.
Fitz doesn't know why he cares so much about this one stupid boy. Why when this boy ran off to join the neverseen, Fitz's heart shattered and was unable to reform.
Fitz looks in the bathroom mirror and practices his smile. He hates his reflection. He hates how disgustingly perfect he looks. Because it is everything he seems to be yet not even a lick of it makes it inside. He hates how disgustingly good he is at pretending he's fine. But Fitz is fine. Fitz is absolutely perfect. Because society deems he has to be.
The boy opens the doors and walks into the corridors. He can see the looks he's getting left and right. But Fitz steadies himself, because despite all the damage Alvar did, the Vacker name is still on top of a mountain that's too steep to fall off.
Fitz hates Alvar. He hates that everything he's ever known about his brother is a lie. He hates that Alvar jumped off the mountain without a second thought when it's all Fitz's been trying to do to stay on. He hates that he knows the true reason why Alvar left. But that is nothing compared to how much he hates Keefe.
If Alvar's betrayal hurts like a knife wound to the heart then Keefe's was tearing apart his soul, slowly agonizingly, silently. Fitz really isn't a stranger to betrayals, not really, especially from Keefe. But this time it's too big, too terrifying. 'I'll always be there' Keefe had said. That was a lie. Fitz isn't the type to cry. Fitz solves his problems with anger, even if tears stream down his cheek. But this time its different, this time he couldn't stop the sobs.
Fitz is silent, he doesn't want to talk about it. he doesn't want to think, not about Keefe, not about the letter he left behind, not about the truth only he knows.
Fitz hates Keefe. Because when Alvar left it was loud, and it hurt and it was angry. But Keefe left silently, without a sound. Keefe was the wind. Fitz still doesn't know why he cares about Keefe so much. Keefe is sweet. He's sickeningly sweet. It's toxic, the taste sweeps into Fitz mouth and he wonders if he'll ever lose it. Keefe is the kind of sweet that makes you dizzy and dazed and makes you unable to think straight.
The wind breathed it into his ears and it dissolved into his soul. Fitz's soul is peppered with tiniest little bits of Keefe in it and it's so small he can't see them, but once they're gone the absence haunts him because he doesn't know what's missing and how to fix it. Keefe didn't just leave though. Keefe took all the tiny, important, colorful bits of Fitz's soul with him.
He opens his locker, mallowmelt being the flavor, but he already had twelve servings yesterday in his bed to try and fool himself into thinking he's fine, and today it tastes sick. Fitz wants to throw up.
His locker has photos in it, photos of Sophie, photos of the gang, but the numerous photos of Keefe hurts his heart more than anything.
Fitz never knew Keefe. Not really. Not in the way he knew Sophie. It was superficial. But not like the way he interacts with everyone else. There was no act. Fitz doesn't try to find Keefe, and neither does Keefe find him. They play in the certainty and the way they know they'll always be there. He knows Keefe. He knows every scar, every inch of his skin, all the depths of his soul. He knows all the holes of Keefe's heart and yet he doesn't, not really. They’re little more than strangers.
"Fitz?" Sophie taps his shoulder from behind and the boy jumps.
He mumbles something inaudible and Sophie nods. She forces a smile in fake cheer.
Fitz hands her the gift he's prepared for her.
"Open it," Fitz smiles his perfect smiles and his stomach lurches as Sophie melts.
The girl in front of him tears the paper gently to reveal a set of rings with their initials on them, Alden's suggestion.
"They're for cognates" Fitz cringes
He doesn't know what Sophie will think of them. Or maybe he does, he realizes as he sees Sophie dissolve into another gooey mess. Maybe that's why he got them. Fitz is supposed to love Sophie. He has been bred and tamed this way. He has their little moments circled in hearts on his calendar, all the tiny heartbreaking days, the day he found her, the days she nearly died and came back to life over and over again. Fitz Vacker loves Sophie. This is a fact. Everyone knows this, because the answer is written on his face. This is a fact no one questions, not even himself.
But then again, Fitz has never been one to question the rules.
Fitz hates himself. But Fitz is different from Keefe. Keefe is built in layers, each one carefully wrapped in the other and you don't know whether or not you've hit something real. Fitz is surrounded by a wall, a wall with nothing else on the inside.
Because unlike Keefe, Fitz is desperate for someone to see him.
He slips it onto Sophie's hand, but as he looks up he sees Keefe and only wishes he was here instead. Fitz wishes it was Keefe's hand he was holding, wishes he was slipping the ring onto his finger.
Sophie gives him his favorite dessert without meaning to, and he forces a beam. They smell of Keefe. Fitz never told him they were his favorite, just because they were Keefe's. He doesn't want to think.
His hat is emptier than usual. So is Biana's. Alvar, after jumping off, was slowly tearing down the mountain.
They sit down at the table afterwards.
It feels empty without Keefe. Stupid Keefe.
But Fitz forces a smile at everyone else anyways, because he's fine. He really is.