Chapter Text
A Haunting Memory
Chapter 1
It had already been almost a year since Fluixon’s death, a year and Saparata still hadn’t gotten over him. Fluixon stood behind Saparata, who was sitting silently at his grave. He enjoyed Saparata’s warm presence, trying to ignore the permanent coldness that washed over his spirit. Saparata had usually talked to Fluixon, even if he knew he was only talking to the lifeless stone in front of him, but this time, no words were said, only Saparata staring at the ground with grief in his eyes. Fluixon knew his mental health was deteriorating over the days, he’d barely go outside unless it was to go to Fluixon’s grave, which he did daily, but Fluixon could do nothing about it. He could only watch as Saparata destroyed himself.
He would tell him about the visits he’d get from other people and complain about them, saying that he was fine and didn’t need help.
Oh, what a liar Saparata was.
Fluixon could tell that he was tired and drained. All of the energy he used to have back when he was alive was sucked out of him, and only came back when he was talking to his grave about something he’d remembered doing with Fluixon in the past. Back when everything was so simple, back when Fluixon hadn’t ever thought of betraying him yet. Fluixon had always kept convincing himself after his death that he had always been right, that he had to do it for the greater good of the people, but did he really? Has he ever been correct to do so? To destroy someone just for an outcome that never happened? To see the boy he’d once admired so dearly still miss him even after he made sure that he was left utterly alone?
Why was Fluixon thinking so much about what he had done to him now? He couldn’t fix anything, even if he wanted to. Nothing would ever happen to fix him, Fluixon had to be stuck to this cold grave, with absolutely no power to change Saparata’s health. The only warmth he would ever receive was when Saparata would visit him--and hell, even that wasn’t enough for him. How he wanted to hold his hand, sleep near him again. Now, the things he was able to do were cut back greatly and replaced with new abilities.
Fluixon couldn’t help but feel guilty when he saw how beautiful Saparata looked when the golden sunlight peeked out from the gloomy clouds and reflected off of his miserable, but stunning face. Never had he wanted to hold someone in his arms so close until now, but he was dead. What could he do now? Suddenly, Saparata spoke silently--barely audible even, but Fluixon could still hear him. “I miss you so bad.” The words rang in Fluixon’s head, making the pit in his heart wider. “I’m right here,” Fluixon whispered instinctively.
Saparata froze, looking around as if he’d heard him. “Fluix?” he mumbled, trying his hardest to strain his eyes to see even a glimpse of Fluixon. Saparata only saw the beautiful landscape stretching out from all sides around him, but nothing was as beautiful as the image of Fluixon that Saparata had in his mind. And yet, even searching for him now in his memories, he couldn’t quite remember what his face looked like. “I’m hearing things,” Saparata sighed. Stifling back tears, Saparata stood up and silently left, leaving Fluixon to be waiting by his grave again, feeding off of the last of Saparata’s scent that still lingered over the area. Was he really going to wait so long for him again?
A step forward. It was all it took, a single step--and then Fluixon came running after Saparata, trailing behind him as he trudged home. What was he doing? He was really chasing after his enemy, wasn’t he?
No, Fluixon wasn’t chasing a nemesis. He wasn’t chasing an opponent--he was chasing his childhood best friend. One he found comfort in, one that made him know what warmth felt like. He wasn’t chasing the person who killed him, but the person he’d mined diamonds with, his first love friend. Somebody Fluixon cared for.
Someone he cared for. What a stupid joke, after all, he framed Saparata hadn’t he? He convinced himself that he didn’t care about Saparata at all. Yet, there he was, walking beside him along the trail he used to duel with Saparata on. Fluixon walked steadily with him, sensing the uneasy glances Saparata would cast behind his back. If there was a chance Saparata could hear him, even a slight chance, Fluixon wanted to use it to speak to him. “I remember this trail, don’t you Saps?” Fluixon started weakly, trying to make conversation. Saparata didn’t reply, but his footsteps had gotten more rapid. “We used to spar together, with our wooden swords and all,” Fluixon chuckled. “I was always the clumsy one.” Saparata forced himself to walk faster, trying to pay no attention to the voice that seemed to belong to Fluixon. All he could see when he turned back was a blurred figure in his vision. Fluixon hung his head as nothing but silence came back in response.
Saparata sighed in relief as he reached his familiar house in the middle of a forest’s clearing. Surely Fluixon wouldn’t be able to follow him in? Saparata walked in, closing the door behind him on Fluixon. Fluixon paid no attention to it, phasing through the door with ease and looking around. The area was messy, items cluttered everywhere--everything had been disorganized. Fluixon grimaced at the sight, Saparata loved clean spaces. What happened? A stupid question. Fluixon knew what happened, he was the one who caused it after all.
Saparata sat on the couch, shifting uncomfortably away from the various items left on it, his back turned to Fluixon. “You never left things this messy,” Fluixon said to himself. Saparata went rigid again, had he heard Fluixon again? How could he possibly tell what was real from what was fake? Saparata turned around, looking directly at Fluixon. Fluixon went still, his eyes locked onto Saparata’s. “Fluix?” Saparata asked again, this time clearly seeing him. Before Fluixon could open his mouth, Saparata whipped his head back around, diverting his attention back to something else--something that wasn’t Fluixon. Had he really spiraled that far? Did he miss Fluixon so bad that he’s started seeing things?
No, Saparata was sane. Maybe, he was. Saparata looked at the cluttered mess around him, silently pleading for it to go away. He should do something, he loved cleaning after all, but somehow he couldn’t do anything but lie down. “I’m seeing things too,” he laughed somberly. “I really do need help.” Fluixon frowned at the sentence, he was here, he really was here. “Saps, I’m right here.” Saparata gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the little voice in his head that sounded so much like Fluixon’s.
Maybe it really was Fluixon.
Saparata pushed the thought away, he couldn’t be that desperate to see him again, could he? That would have been a new low for him. Despite his mind screaming at him not to, he looked back--Fluixon was still there, clear as day. Was he glowing? Was that real? Was any of this real, or is it just a twisted way for his mind to play with him? Saparata wanted to pull his eyes away, but they were glued to Fluixon, he was just as breathtaking as he was when he was alive. Saparata’s hand twitched, wanting to reach out for him, but it kept still. Those shining amethyst eyes that Saparata would always get lost in always had him hypnotized, and now, even though they weren’t shining anymore, his thoughts were still led astray.
Fluixon’s smooth voice snapped him out of his trance, shaking Saparata back to reality. “Saps, I’m real--please,” Fluixon begged. “Please listen to me.” Saparata couldn’t believe him, but he was standing right there, in front of him. “Go away,” Saparata muttered. “Saps,” Fluixon whispered, the nickname making Saparata shift uneasily. “Please leave me alone,” Saparata mumbled. Why was his mind so persistent on making him suffer? “I can’t,” Fluixon said. “I don’t want to.” Saparata curled up tighter, trying not to cry. His heart ached with longing, even if he’d done all sorts of horrible things to him. He hadn’t seen him properly in a year.
No matter what he did, Saparata couldn’t bring himself to hate him. Instead, he hated himself, hated himself for pining after Fluixon even after getting betrayed, even after losing everything--even after seeing his own face on the newspaper, marked as a traitor. It was ironic, considering he knew which of the two was actually a traitor. Seeing Fluixon again after the last time he saw him brought him back to the last time he thought he’d ever see him. His soulless eyes, the coldness of Fluixon’s hands as he fell into Saparata’s arms.
Saparata curled up tighter, sinking into the slightly dirtied couch. He hated it. He hated himself, he hated life. Would he have the gall to die and be with Fluixon? Would Fluixon even want him there? “Saps,” Fluixon called--softer this time. Saparata couldn’t help but look at him again, his captivating palette. The same body he stabbed. “I’m not just part of your imagination--come on now,” Fluixon repeated, unsure whether he would convince Saparata or not. “You’re lying,” Saparata said, doubting his own words. “What do you even want with me? Are you here to finally kill me like you said you would?”
Fluixon winced, he’d almost forgotten how much he’d ramble about Saparata, threatening him and saying things he would never say now. “No,” Fluixon answered. “Then why are you here?” Saparata asked. Fluixon couldn’t answer that question, he didn’t quite know why either. Maybe it was something stupid, as always. He never really knew what he was doing when it came to Saparata and his smile--his damn smile, that he missed everyday. Not often did Saparata smile when he came to his grave, but the few rare moments he did, Fluixon cherished deeply.
Saparata laughed weakly, wiping away the growing tears that drooped down his face. “I’m going insane.” But was he? Fluixon sounded so real, he looked so real, but Saparata was sold on the idea that Fluixon was not really there, even though his comforting presence was unmistakable. “You’re dead.” “I might be dead, but I’m not gone,” Fluixon said, almost ready to give up on trying to change Saparata’s mind.
“You are gone, I’m not supposed to see you, what kind of normal person starts seeing a ghost?” Saparata hissed. “I don’t know why you see me, but I know I still exist,” Fluixon replied. “I know that I regret it—hurting you.” Saparata heard those words--oh, how he hated those words, because he knew that he wanted to forgive Fluixon, but all he’d be forgiving was himself. He didn’t want to forgive himself yet. “Do you really?” Saparata said flatly. Fluixon walked closer, hesitating as he reached the couch. “I do,” Fluixon said, his words reassuring.
Saparata sat up, slightly surprising Fluixon. It was like Saparata was in some sort of trance, one that believed Fluixon was right there, right then, alive. Saparata reached out, trying to cup Fluixon’s face--but his hands wavered through nothing, feeling cold where Fluixon was supposed to be. Saparata retracted his arms, his eyes glazed with clear disappointment. “Oh,” he mumbled, turning back to the couch. Saparata bit his lip, he had been so stupid to think all of this was even real. He couldn’t even touch Fluixon. Saparata concluded, it was a nightmare, maybe. Was this dream supposed to be good? Saparata couldn’t tell.
“You’re not real,” Saparata said finally. Fluixon tilted his head, “Okay.” He couldn’t say anything to convince Saparata now.
That hadn’t been the answer that Saparata was expecting. “You don’t--” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “You don’t get to agree with me.”
“Why not?”
Because hallucinations were supposed to disappear when challenged. Because grief wasn’t supposed to talk back. Because Fluixon couldn’t be here, Saparata knew it. He was in the grave like he always had been.
Saparata shook his head, walking through Fluixon with a shudder as he ran to his room to try to salvage his seemingly crumbling mind.
Fluixon could only watch.