Chapter Text
“Hey Fluixon?” Saparata's voice broke the memory replay.
“Yes?” He asked, disinterested in the white-haired man.
“Can I ask you a question?” Saparata asked.
“Sure” He agreed, even if talking to Saparata was the last thing he wanted to do right now.
“Has the feeling of guilt ever crossed you?”
…
Silence and orange sunlight flooded the room, only the quiet waves of the dusk-bathed sea breaking through the pressure that has now become the singular thing keeping this room from falling apart.
What a stupid question it was. No holding back, straight to the point. Unbelievably incautious and even insincere at that. Clearly Saparata wasn’t thinking even one step ahead, living after his feelings. It was obvious that a question like this came from place of immense anger. From rage, from betrayal.
But then again, how could he blame Saparata for demanding a piece of the hurtful truth, a truth, which he had been hiding from everyone? Even himself.
If it weren’t for Fluixon’s mental health crumbling into infinite pieces, which he never seemed to fully recollect, he might have answered directly, starting a fight and running away like the coward he was. However, Thomas’ return and goodbye was showing its effect in all its glorious variations: Fluixon trembled like he had been bitten by a violent animal, his breath was shaking, eyes were, though hardy visibly, shaking.
But all those symptoms could be excused by the cold breeze outside, since he had been standing there with Thomas for a longer period of time. He had also developed a habit of running up the stairs of Acropolis, keeping him out of breath. Since running away from Infernus, the peace in this prison had irritated him. His mental state, still in war-mode, was not compatible with the place around him. Which, funny enough, made the serious atmosphere at that moment almost comfortable, one could say, right. Running felt like a small punishment, reminding him, of what he was responsible for.
His mind, on the other hand, was in an absolute state of departure.
“Funny.” was all thought Fluixon could conjure up in his mind.
He felt numb. Oh, so unbearably numb.
And truly; it was funny. All these waves of panic and mental torment, the constant screams and memories in his head had been carving wounds into his life for the past few weeks. They marked his every day with the need to scream, to cry, to plead for relief and redemption. It had been consuming him from the inside out.
But there he was, all of it gone.
His mind blanking completely, only leaving his soul bathing in the sound of the waves, in the orange of the sunlight, which was flowing through the window, and the emotions in Saparata’s eyes.
Saparata’s words slowly sunk in. Minutes have passed and still, neither of them not as much dared to move even an inch, locking eyes as if it were a competition. There was no awkwardness, only the feeling of a trial. Saparata the judge for Fluixon’s sins.
Maybe he was.
Maybe it was better that way.
Maybe he had always wished it to be him.
Yes, this was very much enjoyable. Fluixon could watch the anger in Saparata’s eyes transition into frustration. Saparata’s strings of patience and composure were being torn thread by thread. It was pure pleasure to watch.
Saparata was aware of Fluixon’s body language; the tremble, the hasty breathing, his shaking eyes. But it was all meaningless. Irrelevant. What made him feel incredible uneasy was Fluixon’s stare:
There was nothing.
No emotion whatsoever. A complete and utter disassociation. Like a husk.
It felt inhuman. And the worst part; he had to bear the unbearable, stand against this godlike force. If he didn’t, Fluixon would leave his grasp again, letting Saparata rot with no answers to the questions that had been tormenting him for a seemingly infinite time.
He wouldn’t let Fluixon leave again.
Saparata, in this prison of a moment, in the fleet of his emotions warping and bending around and into each other, painting the atmosphere each second in a different color, decided to open his mouth yet again:
“Answer.”
Fluixon was partly pulled out of his trance, his mind still dangling in what felt like solace.
Though his mind had been cleared up enough to feel that his stay, as his answer, was overdue. So, with his skin still tingling from the warm sunlight and mind half foggy, he took a deep breath, which had over the long-lasting minutes slowed down He looked with now attentive eyes into the ones of Saparata. Fluixon smiled.
“Yes.”
With that, Fluixon turned around and left.
Saparata was left behind, too shocked to conjure up any strength to attempt stopping Fluixon. This single word had hit Saparata like a truck. In such a situation, one would think he would’ve been the one more prepared for that answer.
It felt almost like a lie, but at the same time, he knew it could not be more honest. Fluixon had smiled while he answered. This word hadn’t been directed at Saparata, he knew that. He had never been the judge.
Fluixon had always been his own judge. Saparata was only a witness.
This had been a confession to himself, a signature on his death warrant. But for Fluixon, a death warrant was the same as redemption.
Silence flooded the room yet again, the distant footsteps of Fluixon hammering into Saparata’s head. He felt worse than when Fluixon was standing right in front of him. Though he too, deep down, felt some kind of solace.
Maybe there was no place for forgiveness, but there was one for reprieving truth.
On his way through the hallway, Fluxion let the picture of Saparata’s face run through his mind. With sugar sweet, almost pleasuring guilt did he realize: Saparata’s demand for his answer, the one that was born from the dreading silence, had not been one of anger.
It had been one of pleading desperation.