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Fire spreads very quickly. One catch, and within seconds it can engulf anything around it. The flames dance around and eat anything it can get its hands on. Anything it can seek will burn with it, replaced with a char that crumbles. Fires can last hours, or seconds.
That day had felt like hours to him.
Him, standing in front of that house as it crumbled in on itself, his family still inside. He was being held back, otherwise he would've ran right back in and died with his family.
Going back to that house a few days later after sneaking from the orphanage, just to see nothing there besides the dead grass painted grey with ashes.
Back then Florian wished they hadn't held him back. He used to wish he had ran back in, no matter how many people said it was a miracle. He used to wish that his parents didn't sacrifice themselves to get him out, because was that really love? Was dying for someone really love, or was that sacrifice? Selfless sacrifice?
Every day, every nightmare, every time he'd woken up and wished for a different outcome, the adults working at that orphanage reminded him he was a miracle. He would complain about his parents, a fear eating him up with no remainder of life that someday, he'd forget them. He'd forget the accident, he'd forget what he's done this for, who he'd done this for. But he was told to be grateful for that? To feel blessed?
These days, things have changed. Because he's grown. He's grown to realize it really was a miracle, it wasn't selfless sacrifice. And he should be grateful. It was a blessing, after all. A blessing he shouldn't be selfish over. That's what his brain was set on, so, it had to be true. Why wouldn't it be? Even after forgetting his parents' faces, their voices, and all that his parents had done for him. He was still well convinced it was all just a miracle, part of his life plan. This needed to happen, that's what everyone else taught him.
It was different for the survivor living down the hall.
Those days, he was locked to an image of himself that was even based on him, a doll. A doll. And yet, that said doll always seemed to do it better than he ever could, despite being just like him. As a kid, all the way to his adulthood, it was always that wretched doll set first. He was always a shadow of something that couldn't even assume a life form.
Nothing was a miracle back when he started that fire. He tried to make it one. He didn't want to die, but he knew he wanted it to die. And yet, that fire couldn't be described as a miracle, because Louis came right back. How could anything be a miracle for Matthias, when the one thing he'd even vaguely consider a miracle, would never happen?
And these days, it was still the same.
Match through match, he used that doll so much, so horribly worn down, and yet each day when he closed his eyes, no matter how broken the doll would get, it would stare him down, piercing his soul and plaguing his fears with only itself like a bloodthirsty hound, always wanting more and more. And when the puppeteer awoke for another dreaded day, that thing would be repaired. Clean and brand new, still staring him down the same way, piercing into his veins with its smile and lapping at his bloodstream, up to his brain, craving to thirst at his sanity for another day.
Every day, he'd gotten closer to that vision that his parents had assumed him of, a nobody. Nonexistent. And he hated it, it drove him more insane day by day, to know he was giving into the thoughts of people he hated, the thoughts of the people he'd tried so hard to impress with no avail. He was becoming what he'd wished he never would.
So he wished he would've died in that fire when he set it, along with the doll, along with those memories. His mind at peace, oh, how that'd be. The true miracle.
Florian was never good at accepting loss, so every time he'd been told by Matthias that he didn't need his help, Florian just shrugged and walked away bearing the same smile that could outshine the sun, then reminded himself that he was a miracle, he needs to be grateful for what he has, he has to remember that he could've died that day. So he can't be greedy yearning for stupid wants. He just has to pick himself up and keep going.
Matthias was far from the same. He accepted loss with open arms, that's all he knew, and all he assumed he would deserve. He wouldn't accept help because he could handle himself, he didn't deserve that. Like a rotting flower. You can't do anything to save it, it's dead. No matter how much you water it, it's still dead. No matter how much help he would get, it wouldn't fix him, so why would he take up someone's time?
It would eat at Florian every time he was denied. No matter how many times he told himself it was meant to happen, that he'd try again another day, deep under that his veins would ache and it felt like the strings in his heart would rip again and again from the added tension at every rejection. Because he just wanted to help, he'd been so gratefully accepted by others, so why wouldn't Matthias do the same? Florian knew Matthias had issues, he knew Matthias was hurting, but every time he'd even tried to ask, he would get shut down immediately. No matter how many times he pushed at it, he'd never get anything. He'd be left to ask himself why the puppeteer was so selfish.
He was a miracle too, Florian thought. So why wouldn't he take that? Why was he always so sad? He should be grateful. He survived a fire, just like Florian had. And Florian was never selfish about it, he spread miracles all around, and he happily helped everyone around him, but Matthias didn't. Why would he be so selfish with what he'd been blessed with? He was blessed to keep living.
Florian asked too many questions. Questions he didn't want answers for, and questions he wouldn't get questions for no matter how many times he asked.
Matthias never asked anything. He took life how it was, didn't question why things happened, didn't question others, he didn't care. He couldn't stand how Florian cared so much about people he didn't know.
Florian always wondered why Matthias was so devoted to his pain, why he took it all and didn't care. Why would he let himself keep going through it again, why wouldn't he at least try? He didn't even attempt to hide it, at that. He wanted the attention so bad, didn't he?
He'd have to ask about it today.
He pushed himself off his bed and trudged to his closet, throwing on one of the identical outfits he always wore, which was the only thing that they'd stored in his closet when he'd arrived at the manor. He could've asked for other clothes, but he didn't think at first that he'd be here this long, and it's probably too late to ask now.
He'd finished dressing himself, and with that he threw on his regular unnatural smile, leaving his room as if he were ready for anything, despite not getting any sleep. The second he tried to close his eyes last night, blurred faces that he'd tried so hard to remember plagued his mind, and drifted back to that day. So he spent the night lying there in the pitch-dark silence, reminding himself that it was a miracle as if that were the sole blanket of comfort he had.
The Fire Investigator stopped outside Matthias's door, knocking 3 times rapidly before dropping his arm back to his side.
The Puppeteer recognized the knock, and he contemplated not even bothering to answer. Only Florian knocks like that, and Florian is the only one who even comes to his room this often and this early. But begrudgingly, he rolled over before sitting up, quickly throwing on something random, and opening the door with a quickly followed yawn, hoping Florian would get the picture and just leave.
But as persistent as the blond is, he didn't walk away.
"Matthias, Mind talking?" Florian asked, inviting himself into the room already so the Puppeteer didn't have a chance to decline.
Matthias closed the door, an annoyed exhale leaving his lips as he flicked the light switch to turn on his room lights. He blinked a few times to adjust before moving to stand in front of Florian, who now leaned against the door.
Not giving the Puppeteer a chance to speak, he continued. "Well, I was wondering this earlier, do you mind me asking something?"
"Shoot it." Matthias responded, wanting to get it over with. So he could push Florian away and go back to trying to fix himself, like a badly sewn doll, trying to fix all the seams and stitches but they never quite sit right or looked right, but he didn't need help with that, he wouldn't accept help that he didn't work to deserve.
Momentarily, he gazed at Louis, laid rag-doll on the counter, where he was previously sitting against a drawer. Must've fell. He looked back at Florian.
Florian waited until Matthias had come back out of his mind before going on to ask his question.
"Well, you seem to always sit in your misery. Are you really okay with that? Are you okay with being selfish, Matthias?" He asked genuinely, letting his words flow without thought.
Florian could probably hear a pin drop through the silence that came after, as he waited for an answer. Why wasn't Matthias answering, was he scared of that truth? He cowardly hid from his problems the second anyone asked. But Florian just wanted to help, why couldn't Matthias take that? Why couldn't Matthias make it easy? Florian didn't want to be mean to get it through his head, but how else would he get it at all? It felt like something pierced his vein when he'd thought these, but why would it be wrong? Why would it hurt him to think poorly of someone who acted selfishly?
"Leave me alone, Florian." A sentence Matthias said so many times, and was saying again, yet he knew the Fire Investigator wouldn't give up until he got what he wanted. But it'd give him a few hours, maybe a day or two to think about that question, maybe even answer next time.
Though he had to think momentarily, how was he selfish? For being depressed? For hating himself? He couldn't help but wonder what Florian saw so good in him, to even consider him selfish. He'd spent so long trying to sew himself back to normal, to weave the threads of his mind back to something comprehensible. Was it selfish for him to want to be okay? Is that what Florian saw? Sure he was miserable, he could recognize that, but he had never been selfish.
Florian didn't say a word as he stood back up straight, but as he turned his back to Matthias, he looked over his shoulder. He could see the misery in that man, and for what? He momentarily frowned at him, before shaking his head and leaving the room.
As he made his way down the hall past Lily's room, back to his room, he couldn't help but feel bad. Why did he feel bad? Why did his bones tingle, and his head hurt at the thought of what he'd said to Matthias? He only told the truth. He only shared his thoughts, maybe a little rudely but it was honest. So why would he feel bad for being honest? Maybe he'd given too much, maybe he should've been kinder. He shrugged, walking into his room.
In Matthias's head, he still couldn't comprehend what Florian meant when he described the Puppeteer as "selfish." What did Florian define selfish as? How was he selfish? He barely knew the Fire Investigator. So, what could he know about him? It made his skin itchy, his bones, because he couldn't tell what'd be so selfish to that, and it worried him to think of if Florian knew more than he thought that he did. It left an uncomfortable burning under his flesh that he couldn't scratch away. He looked up, averting his eyes to the table that Louis laid on, now sat up against the drawer again somehow, still piercing through him with the gaze, as always. He'll just go back to sleep.
Florian sat down on his bed, rubbing his tired eyes, now determined to find a new approach to the conversation. He could try again tomorrow, and maybe finally, Matthias would accept the truth of his words.
Because he was a miracle, and so was Matthias, surely.