Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Time doesn't heal all wounds; it just teaches us how to live with the scars

Saparata was the boy who was always on edge. 

Ever since he was betrayed by his “Best Friend” Fluixon. His life has never been the same. He even installed extra locks at his vacation homes door because he feared of a asassiantion attempt on his life, but that wasn't the only thing he feared.

Saparata feared loving him still, but he wasnt aware of it. Though he despises him for betraying him, and for all the innocent leaders he’s killed. Saparata can't bear the thought of him dying. He hates the feeling, but it thrills him at the same time. Sometimes he thinks..what would happen if he would return to him? “What is wrong, and what is right?” He would repeat.

It made Saparata gulp, but it also made his heart beat rapidly at the same time. So fast that it felt like it was leaping out of his chest. Saparata swallowed the feeling, and splashed cold water on his face, and hastily glaring at the mirror. What is this feeling? Hatred? Negativity? He told himself.

“It was wrong to love him after everything he’s done,” Saparata scoffed. He thought about all their moments together. “He’s a criminal.”

At the coliseum.

The mining trip.

And that time on the beach where Fluixon and Saparata were watching the sunset, and Fluixon almost kissed him before they were interrupted by emperor Schpood. The moment was magical, but sadly ruined. After that day Fluixon acted like nothing happened, brushing it off, and they continued on with normal “friend” activities. It felt like something beyond that, but Saparata never dared to speak on it. 

Therefore Saparata continued his day to day life. It was boring, definitely not thrilling, but it was safe. Like a cozy campfire in the wintertime. Saparata climbed into bed, and reflected on all of their memories. It felt the same with Fluixon, but even more cozy. It made him feel warmth on the outside, and inside. It was safe, and thrilling. Which was the best part about it. Saparata snapped back to reality staring up at the ticking clock. 

12am.

 Fluixon wasn't coming back, he was a coward, Saparata thought.  Didnt have the guts to turn himself in. 

Bastard.

Saparata eventually dozed off to sleep. Before he fell asleep completely, he mumbled something. 

“Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he came back,” he mumbled, completely falling into dream land. 

Fluixon was a criminal. Committed war crimes, and murder. That somewhat didn't matter to Saparata in this haze. Saparata just wanted his “Best friend” back.  He wanted to feel like himself. A part of him died when he left. Buried with the other 6 leaders who died too. It was a brutal death. It was wrong to still need him. He felt like nobody without him. He felt like everything when he was with him.

When Saparata stirred under the sheets the next morning he cried. Not because of Fluixon, he told himself. It was a lie he’d gaslighted himself into thinking. He rolled off his bed onto the hardwood floors, forcing himself to get up and into the bathroom. 

Saparata’s eyes were puffy, and red. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pale as a ghost.

“This is pathetic. There is nothing or nobody to cry over.” he said, turning away from his reflection, ashamed. 

Saparata missed watering his hydrangeas yesterday, because he was reminiscing– hating fucking Fluixon. He grabbed his watering can, and strolled outside onto his porch, and he stepped in a couple off puddles. He walked down the flight if stairs, and as he reached the last step, the sky turned pink and purple. Strange? Laughter echoed beside him, followed with an arm around his shoulders, and warmth against his side. Fluixon was smirking at him laughing. Saparata was lost at that moment. How is he here? Fluixon’s eyes were pretty. He couldnt help but notice how dilated his pupils were, and how his gaze was soft.  Saparata felt like a magical spell wascast on him. “Promise we'll be friends forever?” Fluixon chuckled, and leaned into him.

“I promise..” Saparata said, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

“I know, Saps.” 

“Do you?” Saparata chuckled. 

Saparatas hand lingerd on Fluixons shoulder, and then he raised his arm. 

When Saparata reached out to brush his cheek, feeling the coldness of his skin. He was back to reality. It was just a hallucination. Sobs racked out of him. He dropped the watering can, water spilling everywhere, down the stairs, seeping into the grass. Burying his head in his hands. Saparata didnt know what he needed. A hug, or Fluixon?

A million words would not bring you back; I know because I tried, neither would a million tears, I know because that's how many I cried. 

Saparata didn't end up watering his plants that day.

The next day Saparata woke up to the same cruel thoughts again. This time. Saparata didnt cry, but he instead watched the sunrise. A meditation tactic, or escape? Before he knew it he was in the kitchen, grabbing a banana from his fruit bowl, and cutting it into circular pieces. 

Saparata grabbed a piece of toast, and slipped it into the toaster. He pressed the spring down and set the time to 4 minutes. Then he grabbed a plate from the cabinet, and set it down next to the toaster.

My world is a million shattered pieces put together, glued by my tears, where each piece is nothing but a reflection of you.

That's what he said. What he said at the beach, sand on his face, and saltwater coating his hair. Hands tracing slow deliberate circles on his back. Eyes glimmering with pride, and amusement. Corners of his mouth tilted upwards, and words he couldnt makeout, slipping out his mouth slow, and calm. Head tilted back, and hand pointed towards the sunset. His–Spring

Oh. The toast is done. 

Saparata picked at his food. I'm not hungry, so why did I make it? “Saparata eat your breakfast.” The words echoed in his head, and he looked down at his plate. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and dripped onto his plate. “I'll eat later.” He said, but he knew he wouldnt.

A lot of you cared. Just not enough. You didnt care enough to stay, so why do I wish for you to come back? 

Saparata told himself over and over that he should hate him, that the memory of her betrayal should be enough to harden every soft edge inside him. And yet, when the nights grew too quiet, his heart still reached for him; like a prisoner reaching for sunlight through iron bars. He remembered the warmth of his laughter, the way his touch had once felt like home, even as the truth gnawed at him that he had shattered that home with her own hands. He loved him still, against his will, bound to the very person who had left him bleeding. It was a cruel devotion, a yearning he could neither silence nor escape.

Could you just try to come back to me? 

Saparata got up from his seat abruptly, and strided to his poarch. He sat down on the swinging bench, staring out into the distance. He could see the field of flowers, and the gleaming forest. He glanced over at the empty spot of the bench, snd spotted a brown leather notebook. Fluixons journal. He flipped over the cover to read the first page. It was 2 weeks before the betrayal. 

Journal Entry — To Saparata

I don’t even know if you’ll ever read this, but maybe writing it down is the only way I can say what I should’ve said before.

I thought about you in every plan I made. I wanted to take you with me, Saparata. Every time I looked at the road ahead, I imagined your footsteps beside mine, your voice cutting through the silence that I knew I couldn’t face alone. You were never just part of the picture, you were the picture.

When I left you behind, it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It wasn’t because you weren’t enough. I swear it. It was because I was terrified, terrified of dragging you into the mess I’d made, terrified that you’d end up hurt because of me. And in trying to protect you, I ended up being the one who hurt you most.

I never meant for it to be this way. If I could go back, I’d choose differently, I’d choose you. Always you. But instead, I left you with wounds I can’t heal, and all I can do now is live with the truth that the one person I wanted to keep safe is the one person I destroyed.

I’m sorry, Saparata. More than words will ever be able to carry.

–Flux

Saparata’s hands trembled as he closed the worn journal, his fingertips lingering on the imprint of Fluixon’s handwriting as if the letters themselves still carried the warmth of his touch. His chest felt tight, like every word had been carved directly into his ribs. Anger sparked at the edges of him; anger for the hurt, for the nights of silence, for the way Fluixon’s choice had torn everything apart. But beneath it, buried so deep it hurt to breathe, was the ache of love that refused to die no matter how much he wanted it to.

Tears blurred the ink on the page as he whispered Fluixon’s name, the sound raw, almost broken. He wanted to throw the journal away, to pretend it meant nothing. Yet he clutched it to his chest instead, as if by holding it he could hold onto the boy who had promised him forever and left them both bleeding in the wreckage. The apology was there in black and white, but it could never rewrite what had been done.

Still, Saparata found himself wishing, against all reason, that Fluixon was beside him, whispering those words aloud so he could believe them. So he could believe him.

What hurt isnt the words Fluixon wrote. But to know he’ll never know he read it. He tucked it under one of his broken floorboards. Never to be found. To always be thought about. He hated that man. Or did he? 

Saparata sighed so loudly, wiping his tears away, and curled up into a ball on the bench. His hands were tucked inside his hoodie, and he swung back and forth on the swing. It was a moment of peace nobody could take away from him. Not even himself. This was nice. He wished there were more moments like this. Just himself, and island 2. 

He stared at the ocean between the 2 islands. Unconsciously he thought about where Fluixon was now? Was he alive? Dead? Laughing in his basement with Thomas. God he hoped he wasnt dead. A bird flying past snapped him out of it. He walked back into the house, closing the door quietly. It was quiet, but not quiet at the same time. His thoughts were the noise, and he was the chaos.

Saparata decided he needed to clear his head. 

More like a desperate attempt at trying to forget Fluixon, which obviously would not work at all.

 Saparata walked on the stone path, rocks crackling under his feet. The forest led to a doc, which then led to westhelm.

 He was anxious

That was for sure.

 He rubbed his eyebrows and fiddled with his fingers. Biting his nails, and letting out an exasperated sigh. He glanced up at a triangular form of birds when suddenly, a voice racked out behind him. 

“Saps?” the person said. It was the same voice as he once heard months ago. Sharp. Deep. Casual. 

He felt like a dagger was lurched into him.

It hurt both ways.

Fluixon. 

Saparata snapped around faster than the speed of light, and a small gasp escaped past his lips, barely audible. “Fluixon. What the fuck are you doing here,” Saparata stammerd.

Saparata felt a rollercoaster of emotions. Anger,betrayal,relief,sadness, and hope, all at once. He started at Fluixon, opening his mouth, but the words were stuck deep in his heart. 

Fluixon stared at him with equal shock, but with a hint of amusement. “How nice–” He was cut off by distant voices. Westhelm Guards. 

Fluxion's eyes widened, and before he knew it Saparata pulled him behind a tree. Hand clamping over his mouth. The voices grew closer, and closer. Saparata peeked behind the tree, then looked up at Fluixon. Eyes just like how he remembered them. Fluixon looked down at him, meeting his gaze with the same emotion. Fluxion's hand brushed Saparata's side slightly, making his cheeks flush slightly.

“Where could he be!” Guard one said.

“He was last sighted on the dock, on the way to the Cass Coalition. 

The guards' voices grew quieter, as they walked farther in the distance. Saparata looked up once more at Fluixon. God those eyes. Those fucking eyes. They flashed with arrogance, and something else? Pity? Amusement? Shock? 

Saparata didnt know. 

The guards of Westhelm passed. Saparata’s hand stayed over Fluxion's mouth as the voices grew smaller and smaller into the distance. Saparata's arm lowered.

“I guess you don't hate me as much as I thought,” Fluixon said, smirking.

“I do,” Saparata said, though with a bit of doubt in his tone. Fluixon was damn right. He didn't hate him. Saparata missed him so badly it hurt, but he would never show , or admit it. In fact, he probably didnt even know it. 

“Mhm” Fluixon said, smirking stupidly. 

They were lost in the moment gazing into each other's eyes. Until Saparata snapped back to reality. “What the hell are you even doing! God forbid you get caught, and killed,” Saparata said angrily. 

“You wouldn't let that happen. Plus I knew you missed me Sap’s.” he said, with that infuriating smirk.

“I didn't. I despise you, Fluixon.” he said, harshly. But a crack in his voice ratted him out.

“No you don't," Fluixon said.

“Yes I do.” Saparata snapped back. 

“I'm coming back with you.” Fluixon said.

He wasn't asking. He was demanding. 

“Why should I let you do that? Do you know what would happen if you and I were caught!?” Saparata yelled. 

“I know.” Fluixon said, stern. He rolled his eyes.

“Dont you realize I hate you! I fucking hate you Fluixon! You betrayed me.” Saparata said, hurt in his eyes as he looked away. 

“Listen–Im..sorry okay?” Fluixon said awkwardly, looking away. He glanced back down anticipating his response.

Saparata’s eyes flashed with shock,replaced with anger, and uncertainty.  "You're crazy,” Saparata said.

He was the crazy one. Well, atleast that's how this conversation was going.

“But fine I give in, under one condition.” Saparata said. He had an unknown look in his eyes that Fluixon couldn't decipher.

“And what is that?” Fluixon said confusedly, but still smirking.

Fluixon leaned forward practically centimeters away from Saparata. He was tempted to close the distance, Fluixon didn't even know how bad he wanted to close the remaining space between them. 

“You do anything I want you to. Become my personal assistant, and I'll help you get pardoned, but under my control” Saparata said, and smirked at him innocently.

Fluxion's smirk vanished.

“Fuck you.” Fluixon said, but he took it into consideration. It was the best place he could hide since nobody would suspect Saparata. The one he hurt. The one he betrayed. It was for the greater good. It was worth it

Was it?

“But fine..” Fluixon said, shame lining his voice.

“Giving in so easily, Fluixon? How come.” Saparata said, with an underlying hint of pleasure, and satisfaction.

1 hour later 

As Saparata, and Fluixon arrived at the vacation home a wave of renaissance hit them. 

“Brings back memories. Good ones.” Fluixon said, expression unreadable. 

As Saparata twisted the doorhandle—a wave of bittersweetness washed over him.

“Lord help me,” he said. 

Fluixon stepped inside, and glanced around. Same red striped rocking chair. Except when he glanced over to the wall his painting they made together one October hung nowhere to be found. Instead it was replaced by a picture of the colosseum in Westhelm. 

Fluixon frowned a pang of hurt seeping into his lower abdomen. Obviously he would get rid of it. He thought.

“I have a guest bedroom you can use,” Saparata said. It snapped Fluixon out of his thoughts.

“Thanks, Saparata.” he said, with genuine gratefulness that astonished Saparata greatly. 

“Try not to fuck everything up.” Saparata said, scoffing harshly.

His voice cracked at the end, but Fluixon didnt seem to catch it as he was busy looking around?

“Enjoying my humble abode?” Saparata said sarcastically. He crossed his arms and then Fluixons eyes met his. The stare was deeper, and carried more depth than he thought it would. Fluixons eyes looked amused, but hollow for a moment 

“Indeed I am,” Fluixon said amused. 

“Saps?”

“Yes?” 

“Do you push people away because you're afraid you might not heal again if you get hurt..?” 

He didnt respond. There was just deafening silence. The kind of silence that was understood not through words, but through presence. 

Fluixon drifted back into his inner consciousness. I'm sorry saps. He didnt say it out loud. 

Saparata headed to his room. Head in his hands as he walked through the halls. He entered the bedroom, and flopped onto his bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin. Then he rolled to the side and stared at a cracked photo frame laying on the floor.

It was them at the beach. Saparata rolled out of bed, and picked up the photo frame blowing the dust off. Fluixon had an arm around his shoulder, and Saparatas hand was resting beside his knee. His eyes were glassy but he didnt dare to ket the tears fall, after all Fluixon was in the other room. Saparata placed it down on the wood floor gently, and kicked it under the bed. He didnt need another reminder of them.

The words Fluixon said echoed in his head. Over, and over till sleep took him away. 

“Do you push people away because you're afraid you might not heal again if you get hurt..?” 

It was never enough. He was never enough. 

Chapter Text

Saparata woke up to the sweet smell of pancakes. Who is cooking pancakes at 7 in the morning? Is there an intruder? Saparata practically jumped out of bed, landing on the floor boards with a squeak. His sleeping mask layed sprawled across the room, as he crouched, and traversed the room. He snuck behind his bed, and opened the door silently–or he tried to. 

The door sqeaked as it opened enough to peer into the hallway. There was a figure he could barely makeout, but just enough to see the black hair. Who was this? He tiptoed down the hallway, the floorboards creaking. He paused for a second. 

Then Saparata gulped down his fear and continued onward. He reached for a stray metal bar that broke off his ceiling last weekend. It was metal, and rock hard, the perfect weapon. His hands twiched, as the bar sent a cooling sensation into his hands.

His hands sweated still, and suddenly the metal rod was out of his hands with a sickening; CRASH!

“Saps?”

Oh. oh. 

Fluixon appeared in the doorway, pan in hand. Hair messy, and clothes rumpled. “Why is…there a pipe on the ground?” Fluixon said, confused. He glanced at the pipe at the ground, and smirked back up at Saparata.

The corners of Saparata”s mouth twitched up almost into a smile, but he quickly masked it with annoyance. He brushed past Fluixon and into the kitchen. “Didnt know you were a chef.” Saparata said, sarcastic. 

“I can do many things,” Fluixon said, “It's nice to see you critizing my work again. Fluixon crossed his arms. 

Fluixon leaned against the doorway, his shadow stretching across the tiled floor, watching every shallow breath Saparata took.

Finally, Saparata’s voice cracked the silence. “I hate you.” The words came sharp, almost spat, but his hand shook too much for the venom to fully land.

Fluixon’s jaw tightened, but his gaze never wavered. He stepped closer, each footfall heavy with something unspoken. “Do you really?” His voice was low, steady, but there was an edge to it, like he was daring Saparata to tell the truth, to cut him open again.

“You ruined me, Fluixon. You left me with nothing but empty nights and questions that never stop burning holes in my head. Do you know how many times I woke up reaching for you and had to remember all over again that you weren’t there? Do you know how much it kills me that even now, after everything, I’d still take you back if you asked?” His voice cracked into silence, tears pouring down.

Fluixon’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his own face twisted with a grief he couldn’t disguise. “You think I don’t know?” His voice is low and rough. “You think it didnt destroy me every single day, knowing I’m the reason you look at me like I’m both everything you ever wanted, and the worst mistake you ever made?”

Saparata pressed the journal to his chest, sobs shuddering through him, the pages damp with tears. “I wish I could hate you,” he whispered.  “It would be so much easier if I could.”

“So do I.”

Fluixon, and Saparata locked eyes, and Fluixon placed a plate of pancakes on the table. “Eat if you're hungry,” Fluixon said.

“I'm not,” Saparata said, maintaining his pride, but his stomach gave him away with a growl.

“Liar.” Fluixon said, rolling his eyes. “Eat.” Fluixon said sternly, stepping off the wall, and closer to Saparata. He guided him to the table, and made him sit down. 

“I dont need a babysitter, especially you.” Saparata shot back, crossing his arms. He picked at his food, and pretended to eat it. He spit it out into a napkin, and into the garbage. Of course Fluixon caught it. He grabbed the fork, and cut a small bite, raising it to the boy's lips. 

“Im not some puppy, and I can eat by myself” Saparata said, snatching the fork. The taste was amazing, but Saparata would never admit it. 

But before the swallow could settle, his face twisted. His body rebelled, a wave of nausea tearing through him like a volcano erupting in his stomach. He lurched from the chair, the fork clattering to the floor as he stumbled to the garbage bin. The sound of retching filled the room, raw, leaving him bent over the trash.

Fluixon froze in place, his chest tightening like he’d been stabbed. He wanted to reach for him, to steady him, but the look on Saparata’s face when he finally lifted his head stopped him cold, red-rimmed eyes, lips quivering, a mix of humiliation and hallowness. 

“Even the good things don’t stay down anymore,” Saparata whispered hoarsely.

Saparata straightened up, and simply walked into the bathroom. Fluixon could hear the faucet running low.

Fluixon’s throat ached, words caught somewhere between apology and a snarky remark, but nothing came out. All he could do was stand there, shattered, watching the boy he once ate dinner with; unravel piece by piece. 

It hurt. 

It really did.

Minutes dragged like hours before he emerged. Eyes bloodshot, face pale. 

Fluixon took a step forward before he could stop himself. “Saparata–..”

“Dont.” He whispered sharply. The air was cold, and empty. Saparata turned his head away, and looked down. ​​

He walked past him, brushing so close that Fluixon could feel the cold air clinging to him, yet there was no trace of warmth, no sign of the boy who used to lean into his touch without hesitation.

Fluixon watched as the boy he once knew, and hoped he still did, disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. He had left his mark, and it would haunt him for however long he lived.

He followed him, and watched him slam the door shut, something about Saparata just made him want to come closer, and closer till there was no space left.

Fluixon stood in the hallway, his back pressed against the cool wall opposite Saparata’s door. At first, there was nothing, just silence, heavy and punishing. But then he heard it. Muffled sobs seeping through the wood. 

He moved closer, until his forehead rested lightly against the door. “Saparata…” His voice was low, as if he were afraid the door itself might throw him out him. “I can hear you crying.”

The sobs inside the room didn’t stop, only grew harsher, like the words had made them worse. Fluixon’s chest ached, and he pressed his palm flat against the wood, guilty, and wishing he could touch him without being unwelcome.

“I’m sorry. Just come out. I dont want to be alone,” Fluixon said, almost pleading.

From the other side, Saparata’s muffled voice came, hoarsely. “Then why did you do it, Fluixon? 

“Im sorry.” 

“Thats not an excuse.”

“Im sorry.” 

“Okay.” 

The words were empty, with no meaning. No bite, no anger, no sadness. Just nothing. A silent gunshot rippled through the air into Fluixons chest. That's what it felt like, and he deserved it afterall. For the dripstone. For the blame. For everything. 

Fluixon quietly slipped down the hallway. Dreadful of when he would have to meet his eyes, and soul again. The one he broke, but can't all broken things be fixed? Right. After all, Saparata fixed him, so why couldnt he be fixed? He stepped out into the cool night air, and onto the rocking chair sitting on the poarch. He rocked back and forth thinking of all the times they layed together under the stars.

A shooting star flew across the midnight sky, and he made a wish. 

Just let me take it all back. Please. 

He closed his eyes, and just made peace with the moment. He wished Saparata was sitting next to him again. Giggling. Smiling. Happy. 

But he was gone. Gone with all the lives lost in the battle of infernus. Gone with the colosseum. “I'm sorry.” “Okay.” The words echoed endlessly in his head. Fluixon wondered if his words made the same impact. 

“I thought I was saving you,” he whispered into the night, his voice shaking in the empty air. “But I only ended up saving myself from seeing you break. And now…” His throat tightened, his chest aching as he dragged a hand through his hair. “…now I’ve made sure you’ll never trust me again.”

The porch creaked under his weight as he leaned back, eyes fixed on the indifferent stars, silently begging for forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

Saparata lay curled on the bed, the sheets damp with tears, the silence pressing too close. For a while he thought he heard footsteps outside his door, the faint shift of weight against the 

Outside, Fluixon sat motionless on the porch steps, staring at the stars until the night blurred into shades of blue. The air was cold against his skin, but he didn’t 

move, didn’t care. 

The house between them felt like a wall made of stone, thick and unyielding. Both of them were awake, both of them broken in different ways, yet neither could cross the space to the other.

At last, Fluixon let out a long, shuddering sigh and leaned back, his hands pressed over his face. “I love you,” he whispered into the dark, the words torn out of him like confession, knowing Saparata couldn’t hear.

And inside, alone with the silence, Saparata whispered into the sheets the same words, knowing Fluixon wasn’t listening.

Neither of them would ever know what eachother said that night, or maybe they would.

I’d bleed myself dry for you over, and over again. 

Fluixon knew it would never be the same. No matter what he did. If they became friends, or not the betrayal would always linger. Sickening, and cruel, he was. 

Fluixon leaned back against the porch railing, eyes fixed on the sky until the stars blurred together. The chill sank into his skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold lodged in his chest. Somewhere between the silence and the ache, his mind drifted backward. 

He could still see it clearly, Saparata lying on the grass beside him, the sky stretched endlessly above them. Fluixon remembered how Saparata’s laugh carried into the night when he pointed at random constellations and gave them names that made no sense, but were always amusing. “that one’s a dragon eating a sandwich” or “that’s a horse with two left feet.” Fluixon hadn’t cared about the stars then, not really. What he cared about was the way Saparata’s eyes shined brighter than anything in the sky, reflecting the starlight like they belonged up there too.

“You’re not even looking at the stars,” Saparata had teased, nudging him with an elbow.

“I am,” Fluixon had said, eyes never leaving him. “Just not the ones up there.”

The memory tore at him now, sharp and merciless. He pressed a hand over his face, dragging it down slowly, trying to hold himself together. He had once made Saparata laugh under this same sky, made him feel safe enough to dream out loud. And now, under the same stars, Saparata was crying himself to sleep behind a locked door because of him.

The stars hadn’t changed, but they felt colder, crueler. And Fluixon wondered if he remembered the promises he had made that night, the ones he had broken so abruptly.

​​The morning light crept through the curtains, pale and unforgiving. Saparata sat at the edge of his bed, eyes swollen, his body heavy from a night of broken sleep. He knew Fluixon was already awake.

Dragging himself out of the room, Saparata walked down the hall, each step hesitant, as if the air itself was holding him back. In the kitchen, Fluixon stood at the counter, a mug of coffee in his hands. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, but his posture was stiff, too careful.

Their eyes met briefly, then slid away just as fast. The silence between them pressed heavier than words.

“Coffee’s there,” Fluixon said finally, nodding toward the pot. His voice was low, almost uncertain.

“Thanks,” Saparata muttered, his throat still raw. He poured himself a cup, the smell filling the space, but neither touched their drinks.

They stood only a few feet apart, yet it felt like an ocean stretched between them. Both wanted to speak, to bridge the distance, but the words stuck like glass in their throats.

Stab the body and it heals, but the wound lasts a lifetime.

“Oh stab me bloody.” He murmured.