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The Torchbearer had to be especially attentive and cautious. After all, undercover activities, including scouting missions at Dema, can be quite demanding at times.
The constant feeling of someone else's gaze at the back of his head, goosebumps all over the body from every sudden sound or movement, easily caught in the periphery. He should've been careful, but something inside him rebelled, screaming to break the rules. Self-imposed, self-formed and generally accepted rules of behavior during the task were so strong, and yet... Breaking the rules ran in the Torchbearer's blood.
And fatigue...
Fatigue also circulated through his exhausted body, with each new cycle squeezing the it in its vice grip. On the outskirts of the city, the windows of the houses overlook the cemetery. Coldness creeps under Torchhbearer's clothes — that damp coldness that can be felt in that exact time before the first snow.
Dark and quiet...
Spooky...
He notices the coffee scent. And also the inevitability of winter in the cold air.
A moment later, he finds himself in front of icy neon sign. He habitually grimaces from his understanding of the nature of this light, but... The air smells like coffee. And he is tired.
The Torchbearer takes several steps forward, overcoming invisible self-made restrictions. He presses down on the doorknob, ignoring all the rational things echoing in his own voice through his head.
"I just want coffee, shut up."
He shuts the internal rationalist's mouth and enters the coffee shop. A silent empty place with dim neon light, identical to the coldness of the last days of autumn.
"I hope the coffee will warm me up."
With this thought, he comes up to the counter, but stops a second earlier than planned.
Freezes.
In place.
Clancy is standing in barista's place. Clancy is the barista. A fatigued look on his face, a friendly smile that slowly warms up... Heat flows down the Torchbearer's cheeks , even lower, causing an uncontrollable desire to respond with a similar tired smile.
– You came too late... – Clancy says it with a weak sigh.
– Yes... – the smile immediately disappears from Torchbearer's face, the burden of understanding pulls down the corners of his lips. – I'm sorry, Clancy...
Clancy glimpses at the badge with his own name, which the Torchbearer is only now noticing. After that, without any shadows of anxiety or fear noticed by the Torchbearer, Clancy looks back at him with an empty expression.
– Oh, I'm sorry... We should be closed by now, but... – he sighs, looking into the Torchbearer's eyes, – I will gladly prepare a drink of choice for such a polite gentleman.
The Torchbearer is silent. He pretends to choose a drink from a hand-painted menu with only a few items on it right behind Clancy.
Tears are suffocating. Eyes burn. Only dizziness and complete derealization are there in his head...
But understanding inevitably fills the necessary clusters of consciousness. Realizing that Clancy doesn't remember him. He does not remember anything that is related to him. And, obviously, he doesn't remember himself? The real one, because Clancy, the one that Torchbearer knows (knew? does he know this person behind the counter?), would never, under no circumstances, agree to work himself to the bone serving people on the outskirts of Dema. But he is alive...
"He is alive. This is the main thing..."
To be absolutely honest, Torchbearer abandoned Clancy, allowing the city to almost completely swallow the boy's soul. Almost, because Clancy did eventually leave the perimeter. Clancy did go after him, secretly following, as Torchbearer once dreamed, as he once (frankly way more than once) tried to persuade him to escape. And as a result...
In the end, the Torchbearer alone could not keep Clancy free, watching helplessly as Nico returned the fugitive to this, grandiose in its scale, prison cell.
And now the Torchbearer is here, in this place, together with the person he was thinking about
e v e r y
d a y
– Americano. Double, large, no sugar. Please.
Just for the sake of bitterness of the drink. To kill the taste of disgraceful tears.
– And... No milk? – Clancy asks.
– Sure.
The Torchbearer takes a step aside and hides his gaze in dark corners, somewhere under chairs made of carelessly welded together metal pipes and enameled plywood as a seat.
– I can only make it to go, sorry...
– Not a problem, – the Torchbearer says quietly. – I'm in a hurry anyway.
Sorrow is no longer possible to hold back. He turns his eyes to the café's window. Snowflakes are swirling in the light of a single neon lantern.
***
Is Clancy telling the truth, or is he skillfully lying as usual? And which option scares Torchbearer the most?
***
Frosty air is filled with the cigarette smell, coffee in a paper cup has already grown cold.
It's snowing.
A cigarette is dangling between his fingers as snowflakes twirl in feeble neon gleam. The urge to inhale one last drag of smoke fades away.
Mesmerized, he is watching the snow which whirls around, shiny in the glow of the cold lantern light.
Mesmerized, gloomy and devastated.
Finishes his coffee in two gulps. Bitter drink has warmed and braced him up a little, but that is meaningless. It all feels meaningless, anyway.
He definitely wasn't expecting to meet Clancy's eyes at the end of this long exhausting day. He frankly didn't even think that he's still alive.
It was easier to bury Clancy somewhere in his mind.
Still... The cigarette is dying out and the quick steps are approaching. He throws the stub in the empty cup, shakes it in order to put out even the tiniest spark, watches it closely...
Clancy is walking towards him.
The crunch of the snow is getting closer, microscopic snowflakes are breaking in halves under the weight of someone, who's not visible through the darkness yet. But Torchbearer will recognize those footsteps even with his eyes closed.
So he waits. Looks at the wet stub in his cup hoping Clancy would pass by. For he is still Clancy– insidious, unpredictable snoop, whose path must never be crossed. Never.
Also Clancy should never be trusted. Not ever.
Memory loss? He didn't recognize him? That would be damn easy for him to fake, so...
–Did something happen? You were supposed to... –the concern in his voice is unsettling.
"Breathe. Steadily."
–Nothing. –shrugs. –Change of plans.
He watches Clancy by the corner of the eye.
His look is concerned and pose is careful-considerate. As if he doesn't wanna seem nosy.
Just like that he should've played this role.
Torchbearer realizes that the trap has closed. That he is already doomed if Clancy is lying.
"What if he isn't?"
Torchbearer sighs. Glances at Clancy, then looks away at the snowy whirlpool.
–Change of plans, I'll have to wait till dawn...
How will he react? What will ask?
Torchbearer slowly puts the cup in an overflowing bin next to him. Looks at Clancy. Looks and sees a shadow of doubt in his features. Almost as if he can't brace himself enough to respond.
All is left is to wait. And observe the snowflakes falling on the dark hair, clinging to the eyelashes...
–It means... Free time... Till morning?
Torchbearer shrugs. He has to at least remain alive untill the morning and not fall asleep in the middle of the street letting the snowstorm weave him a soft blanket. He has to face the choice of trudging to the other side of town to reach a secret place in an old, unheated dorm, or opting for a warm but utterly uninviting basement.
–Is everything… alright? – Clancy asks. No wonder, as Torchhbearer has spaced out, mind roaming deep through his downhearted reflections.
–It's nothing. –he responds, quickly pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. He releases a first small smoke cloud and continues, looking Clancy straight in the eyes: –I just won't be able to come back home today.
***
Can't control– lead? Do they even say it like that?
Torchhbearer has been reassuring himself with this thought since the moment he accepted Clancy's timid invitation to spend the night at his place.
So what? You have to keep your friends close but your enemies closer, right?
Definitely right.
He looks at the ugly beige tiles in the kitchen, sitting at an unstable table on an equally unstable stool. Meanwhile, the owner of the apartment, which is located on the third floor of a multi-story panel monster, opens a hanging cabinet above the sink.
The torchbearer awkwardly clutches his hand and hides it between his thighs. Clancy awkwardly pulls an open bottle of alcohol from the shelf and turns to his guest.
–I won't fall asleep otherwise. –smiling sadly. Seems like he's trying to justify something. –Do you want some? I have juice...
Sounds like something long forgotten from the childhood, hidden in the playground, some memory, some smell...
–Apple juice? –Torchbearer asks.
Clancy nods, something alive and real sparks in his eyes for a moment.
–But don't pour me too much alcohol. –Torchbearer asks. –I really have things to do tomorrow.
–Yeah, I remember. –Clancy smiles.
And for some reason this smile, this curve of lips that used to terrify Torchbearer so much before, doesn't scare him at all now. Apparently, today he just wants to believe in his own fate, from which there is no hiding.
***
Microapartment pressures, if you're used to large spaces. The sound of a flushing toilet, then the tap water in the bathroom... It all seems very close, making you feel claustrophobic.
Clancy's cheeks are flushed. Or, at least, were while he was sitting on a stool in front of Torchhbearer, a flimsy table with thin legs between them. It's unreliable, too small, almost like a prop. And him and Clancy are just actors in an amateur production, pretending to be strangers. Or is he the only one pretending...
Maybe Clancy's cheeks are flushed now as well, while he's leaning on a sink, staring at his expression in a bathroom mirror. He's definitely doing that, Torchbearer is so sure, as if he sees this picture behind his closed eyelids.
Clancy's tipsy and, because of this, sincere, open. It's in his gestures, in his laughter. Or maybe that's the initial plan?
Torchbearer can't think clearly. Coffee was the only thing he’s had in his stomach for the entire day. And now there's a taste of childhood memories with a hint of alcohol on his tongue.
It's all missing a cigarette, but Clancy pouted and asked not to smoke without him. So now the Torchbearer is waiting, sitting on the low, folded-out sofa in the cramped room, looking at the door, behind which the sound of water suddenly stops.
Torchbearer breathes in. As he breathes out, the door opens.
–You okay?– Clancy asks. And at this question, which sounds so sincere, Torchbearer can only shrug, because this unexpected feeling of a lump in his throat prevents him from saying anything.
Clancy had never asked him about something so... easy, so mundane. So important. Only the torn cry of "why do you want to leave me?!" still lives in his mind as Clancy's imagery. Does he really not remember?
–I think I left my cigarettes in the kitchen... – Torchbearer says as he strokes his thighs.
–I'm gonna go grab them.
–Okay.
Nicotine addiction is his constant. He picked up smoking in his youth and hasn’t given up since. Mostly– because of Clancy and now Clancy passes him the pack and opens the window.
–Won't you get cold?– Torchbearer asks nodding at Clancy's thin white button up. Clancy shakes his head but he's already trembling.
–That won't do. –Torchbearer sighs as he gets up. He leaves the room only to come back a moment later with his cape in hand.
–No need... – Clancy tries to refuse but Torchhbearer's serious commanding gaze meeting his is enough for him to give in with a sigh.
"What if it all is genuine..? " is all that's on Torchbearer's mind while he's securing the cape on Clancy's shoulders.
He really doesn't remember? He isn't lying? He is not playing pretend?
Torchbearer looks into Clancy's eyes, clouded with a drunken haze, as if it is possible to see there the answers to all these questions.
–What? –Clancy asks confusedly, looking away.
–You sure you wanna try?
Clancy nods. Almost too sharply, almost as if trying to hide that he, in fact, doesn't want to try.
–Whatever. – this takes responsibility off Torchbearer's shoulders. He passes a packet of cigs to Clancy, who can't take one out from the first try. Torchbearer... watches his thin fingers which tremble from exhaustion and uncertainty.
This Clancy is different. It's kind of impossible to describe, though... Everything about Clancy is impossible. This epithet suits him very well.
Finally, a cigarette is in between Clancy's fingers. Torchbearer takes his one out, pulls out a lighter. Lights the cigarette.
Clancy observes this procedure attentively and then raises the clenched cigarette to his lips, looking demandingly, waiting.
Another flash from the lighter creates a second, smoldering speck in the darkness of the night. Clancy takes a slow, deliberate drag. Slowly releases the smoke.
–Exhale outside or else it'll be like in a chimney in here and you won't be able to sleep. –Torchbearer's tone of voice got annoyingly instructive.
Clancy smiles and rotates more towards the window. He takes a puff and smirked again.
–I'm so tired, could literally sleep in a dumpster.
Torchbearer nods. Stares in the distance, at the neon lighting of gravestones, at the city, covered in snow...
"You're already in a dumpster, Clancy. In a slaughterhouse, in a holiness of which we are forced to believe. You do believe, right?"
He asks that inside his own mind, even though he once already tried to reach Clancy with similar words. Now's not the time. There's a snowstorm outside and a different Clancy is by his side.
"What if it's just his body? What if he's long dead and now I'm being fancifully mocked?"
It's so cold. Much colder than outside, just because of this thought.
He noticed at the corner of his eye how snowflakes fall on Clancy's cigarette, making it hiss and go out. Making it give in.
–Aw... –Clancy exclaims. He does that with a sincere childlike pout.
Torchbearer instantly forgets all frightening thoughts. There's only him, Clancy, the suddenly extinguished fire, and the apartment that presses down on them, vacuuming them.
–Light it up, go on. –he says already leaning in with his cigarette.
He pulls the smoke into his lungs while Clancy tries to pull out his fire, taking it for himself. Eventually, he succeeds.
But it's so hard to breathe after this.
Torchbearer seems to be short of air. It was so close, but so far from the real thing... What do they have between them now? Years of life? Stolen memories? An abandoned neighborhood where he could never have imagined Clancy be before. Because he lived with the mindset and the dignity of the best. And now...
Torchbearer finishes his cigarette, looking absentmindedly ahead of him.
–Nice view. –he says quietly.
Clancy laughs.
–Good thing it's in the East. It stinks in the West…
Torchbearer nods in agreement. Chemical plants specializing in synthesis are located in the west. It is better not to know what exactly they synthesize many consumer products from. Unfortunately, he does know.
–How long have you been living here?
Clancy shrugs.
–I don't remember. Maybe since I've finished school?
–About school... –Torchbearer tries to sound at ease. –What do you remember about it?
Clancy spaces out, his cigarette smoldering.
–I remember what we were studying. But people...– looking at the stub, he unclenches his fingers, letting it fall down into the snow.– I have a poor memory of faces, names. I see all these workers everyday and they still look the same to me. And you... Did you ever tell me your name?
Clancy stares at him. What does he have to say?
–I don't think so. Do I need to, if you're gonna forget it anyway?
Fuck. How painful it is to hear this spoken out loud, scattered though the air... And yet it seems to be true. And this truth makes him want to run away from it right this instant.
But Clancy doesn't allow that to happen, even in his mind. Because he smiles. In a drunken, open way, showing his teeth.
–I've memorized you already anyway, but the name... I don't like that people see mine on the badge. It's like they already know me, even though I didn't want that...
–Sorry I called you by that name... Maybe we close the window?
–Are you cold? –Clancy asks, looking Torchhbearer right in the eyes. He shakes is head in response. –I'm not cold too... Let's sit on the couch and look at the snow? It's... Snow... It's...
–Pretty?
–Yeah, pretty. The first snow is always pretty, 'cuz you've already forgotten what it was like last year.
Clancy sits down on the couch. So does the Torchbearer. They are very close, because they sit across the width of the laid out bed, which is still cramped, just like everything else around it.
–Do you think... it's the same with people? –Clancy asks. –When you haven't seen someone who means a lot to you for a long time, it's like snow. Have you ever felt that?
He looks directly into Torchbearer's eyes. And he has to force himself to not look away. Because that would be weakness. An escape from reality, if Clancy isn't lying.
What if he does? Twisting the ropes around the Torchbearer's neck with these words, slowly taking away the ability to breathe.
–I don't know what to say... –he admits. There is no acceptable honest answer. He does indeed have a person that is like the first snow, and he's right next to him. And Torchbearer is so happy to see him, however is also sure that if that person was himself, to some extent, everything would be different.
Clancy wouldn't have sat so close. He wouldn't have looked at him openly. He wouldn't have shifted his concentrated gaze to his hair, which had grown too long again. He wouldn't be touching his hair with his fingertips now, shoveling away the soft snow, he wouldn't be reaching out to...
Living in a dangerous environment has sharpened his reflexes for protection, so Torchhbearer reacts faster than he can process.
The palm of his hand is on Clancy's lips, separating his from danger. Why? For the sake of them both, maybe.
Clancy's wide-open eyes stare at him, hurt and defenseless.
–Don't. Okay? –Torchbearer asks weakly, hoarsely, his voice strained.
Clancy nods, looks away.
The torchbearer holds his palm longer for a moment of weakness. But only for this barely noticeable moment.
Exhaling through his mouth, Clancy purposefully shifts sideways and rolls his eyes.
–You're one of them, am I right? –he asks.
–Of whom?
–The ones that left the perimeter.
–Ah... –he took a moment to realize. –Why? Why d'you think so?
Clancy shrugs his shoulders. He still stares at the chunky snow which flies into the room.
–I don't know much about life. I haven't seen much, but what has caught my eye...–Clancy sighs, lowers his head, raises his hands and rests his chin on his open palms. –I see people. Every day, from six in the morning to eight in the evening. I...
Clancy covers his face with his fingers. Exhales a long, long breath.
–I'll close the window, though, okay? –Torchbearer asks worriedly.
It's cold. It's really cold.
Torchbearer freezes his gaze on thе boy's face. He can't tell the truth, no... Clancy won't take it, the knowledge that he is already falls in line. That he has already been killed.
Nicotine addiction... His eyes are searching for a pack of cigarettes. But... Will he be able to smoke in peace after smoking with Clancy? Will he be able to leave him again?
Nonsense.
He just has to pull himself together. With all the strength, with all the rationality in his understanding of the future.
–You still wanna know?
–No, that was a prank. –Clancy grimases.
–Okay, you... Do you remember me?
Clancy's eyes glaze over with a sudden, terrible realization. His face is terrified, gets pale in just a second.
–No... –whispers.
–And I...
–No! Stop! Don't! Shut up! –Clancy stops him, moving his hand. –Don't talk, I don't wanna hear it from you.
–But you wanted truth... –Torchbearer sighs.
–Not this one... –Clancy tucks his legs under him. –I didn't want this one... I... Is this even my name?
–Yes.
Empty, glassy eyes are filled with tears. Torchbearer notices this too late.
- Clancy? –Torchbearer's voice also trembles for a second.
Tears break out running down his pale skin. The next breath is ragged.
–Clancy, stop... Hey... Fuck.
Torchbearer almost leaps to his side and grabs him by the shoulders.
–Look at me! Don't you dare cry!
He doesn't look. He's crying.
They will hear, they will definitely hear it. No one should ever cry. Because they will come, it's happened before.
- Clancy, please...
A long time ago, so long ago that it almost faded from memory. But now it came back to life...
Clancy was crying, he didn't want to die. They came. And they will come again, because he is crying uncontrollably, shaking hysterically.
Torchbearer is panicking, tries to wipe away Clancy's tears, reflexively looking around as if danger would suddenly emerges behind him.
–Shh, you dummy, be quiet now.
There should be no tears. But the old ones are replaced by new, and Clancy chokes on his sobs. Frustration, helplessness...
- Shhh.
Clancy can't breathe. Clancy is in a borderline state. He needs help.
By the protocol, the first point is a miss, it doesn't work. The second...
Torchbearer kisses Clancy unexpectedly, with pressure. Ignoring the boy's tears, snot, ragged breathing and resistance. Hand on the back of the head, pressing it closer. Clancy bites his lip, and he bites back.
Half a second to catch their breath. It's too much, you can't stop or slow down or even weaken your actions.
Provide with a fulcrum...
The torchbearer jerkes Clancy onto the couch, kisses him deeply and brazenly, pressing him down with a whole body, clutches his palms.
There's not enough oxygen. The other man's hands relax, and Clancy links their fingers together, returning the kiss, slowing the rhythm to a gentle one, until the Torchbearer is brought back into reality by his own moan.
He reluctantly unclenches his hands, rests his palms on the bed, breaking the kiss, lifting his body.
He looks at Clancy, at his squinting eyes, the swelling on his lower lip. He sighs uncontrollably, smiles:
–Tactical medicine... –he takes a breather while a smile blooms on Clancy's face. –was never my strongest side, to be honest.
Clancy's smile widens. He reaches up to his forehead, digs his fingers into his hair, and throws the Torchbearer off himself. Stands up on his elbows.
–You save everyone like this?
– Oh fuck you! No power can destroy the asshole in you, you know.
***
–I don't see...
Clancy's distracted whisper is cut off when the Torchbearer throws a hat at him.
–Quickly and quietly, –Torchbearer says in a commanding tone.
Clancy nods in all his seriousness. Despite being incredibly scared, to the point of feeling slightly dizzy. But he has to go. And as soon as possible.
He is not alone, so now - or when else?
The decision was agreed upon almost instantly. Hastily catching his breath after kissing, the forgotten friend asked, "Will you come with me?"
The no-return point was drawn with Clancy's confident nod.
Then he had to pack in a hurry. No, he didn't have any belongings with him, because Clancy didn't have anything of value, really precious. Only Torchhbearer demanded the change of clothes, to take off "this stupid shirt" and "put on something adequate." And a hat was a must.
–Tie your shoes tightly.
–Okay, listen... What's your name?
–You'll forget, won't you? I'm just the Torchbearer to you now.
Clancy nods, tying his shoelaces as tight as he possibly can.
Before leaving, the Torchbearer turns and whispers in his ear:
–You are following in my footsteps. Step by step in the snow, as if we're one.
And then Clancy walks on, diligently following the order. For some reason, he even enjoys it.
The crunch of snow under his feet, the silence around him. It's dark, all the lights are off. The back of the pioneer in front of you and the steps you take to move forward. Inhale and exhale, as if there is now more air, and a sudden smile, unexpected for yourself.
Ahead are the lights of the cemetery. It does not frighten, does not impress with its appearance. It is just there, and you just have to cross it.
Torchbearer stops. He turns around cautiously and says:
–Next, over the tombstones. Can you do that?
There is something caring in his eyes, some kind of understanding. Clancy nods, but he realizes that now he will have only Torchbearer's back in front of his eyes again, and he wants to see more of his face...
–So, what's your strong side? Weapons?
–Navigating. –Torchbearer says, looking into his eyes. –Now follow me.
Clancy's smile widens. Oh boy is he ready to go.
