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Murmurs of machinery resonated in the distance, almost imperceptible. Pierre was occupied with a new project that had shown itself to be quite resistant, creating an opportunity for Maximus to gather his belongings and leave without having to interact. His nose wrinkled involuntarily as he picked up clothes that had been washed, ironed and folded to perfection. Placed in the living room like they belonged there. A little bubble of anger threatened to surface. Why did Pierre have to do that? Why did he have to make everything harder by pretending he cared? It would be much easier to disappear and focus exclusively on the purpose the motors were meant for if Pierre weren’t so damn… The door opened behind him, bringing his movements to a halt and cutting off his thoughts.
“Maximus, mon coeur, what are you doing? I was going to take those upstairs later, don’t bother.”
The petname caused his heart to sink. He ignored Pierre, keeping his back to him while he shoved everything in a bag, hastily. He wasn’t going to play this game.
“Maximus…” Pierre walked up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!” he lashed out, hitting Pierre’s hand away as he turned to face the man. “What do you want now?!”. Pierre backed away, confused, hands up in a surrender gesture.
“Mon amour, I just-”
“Stop calling me that, ¡puta madre!” Maximus screamed, surprising them. He had never lost his temper with Pierre. It was like a damn had broken, the first cracks giving in to unforgiving pressure, water ruthlessly seeping in until the concrete crumbled, an explosion of everything raw, an all-too-late discovery that something had died inside the reservoir and contaminated the waves; all that spilled was rotten.
“Will you quit this stupid game already?! I gave you what you wanted all week, we’re both done, so don’t treat me like I’m stupid, don’t laugh at my expense. Don’t pretend that we are like that, there’s nothing between us and you know it. I’m not a child!” Maximus was out of breath, shaking with his straightforwardness, shaking with every suffocating word that had been building up inside. His accent had become thicker with each syllable, regardless, the message seemed to have gone through. For a moment, he was scared. Was this the end of their deal?
Had he ruined his only opportunity to get those illegal items? He expected Pierre to laugh at him, to kick him out of his house, tell him to go offer himself to whatever other man who’d take him up on it. He expected scorn, expected to wake up tomorrow only to find out he was now the main joke across the island – everybody point and stare at the freak who was desperate enough to lay with a guy who sees him as nothing other than a booty call. Facing his plentiful wake hours was hard enough as it is, he had been disowned by any merciful sleep that could have taken pity on his frail mind – adding a new situation to run from might finally push him over the edge; no need for more motors if he quit stalling and put poison to use.
Instead, he was met with… Pain? It was hard to believe the sight, but Pierre seemed hurt. He had put his arms down to hug himself, in a vulnerable and uncertain manner Maximus had never witnessed before. His eyes – were they filled with tears? – darted to the floor, an unpleasant silence fell upon them. Was that truly all Maximus believed him to be? An inconsequent player who perceived him as another score? He should not be surprised; he had no right to it.
Yet, part of him, the part which was willing to admit with no restrains that he did want Maximus – the part that dared to hope Maximus was truly his to love – wished to take the risk and entertain the idea that Maximus understood it. Understood this “business partnership” had been agreed on driven by Pierre’s pride and vanity, but that it had changed. Still, his more realistic side knew he had been pushing his luck with the petnames, with the tender kisses out of bed, with the sentences that escaped him in the last second, ones he had to laugh off as a joke, even if it left a sour taste in his mouth, even if it made him hate himself.
Torn between wanting to be true to his feelings and keeping himself at arm’s length in order to not scare Maximus away, he had reinforced the persona everyone else seemed to recognize him for. People tangled in his sheets were a way to keep loneliness at bay, a way of measuring self-worth, even if he’d never admit it to anyone else – he could barely admit it to himself. He kept those notions locked in the depths of his unconscious; from time to time, they dared to surface, only to be shoved back down. No one longs for loneliness; realization invites self-confrontation. However, now, staring at Maximus broken expression, looking at his anguished features, he had to make a choice.
Perhaps, in the following week, Maximus would be back at his door as if nothing had happened. Perhaps they would quietly agree to leave this scene behind once Maximus thoughts got too loud, once he admitted he still needed… The motors. Pierre wasn’t taking any chances. Because even if Maximus did come back, even if they fell back into pretending, ignored their aches and grievances, if Pierre chose not to notice Maximus’ disgust every time he excused himself to the bathroom for a shower, ignored how his skin seemed to be scrubbed raw afterwards, there was still a chance Maximus would not indulge him anymore.
That single possibility terrified him. He had expected to be shunned eventually, but he could not live with it. He could not live with an empty bed, without loose strings of long black hair in his bathroom, proving there was some connection between the two, and if he just waited enough time, maybe they’d fall into a true routine, maybe they’d reach that blissful mundanity, become a real couple. This could be a world where they find peace, despite their blurry pasts, worn out souls and the vague sense of dread which loomed over their everyday life on this godforsaken island.
“That was not my intention” Pierre tried, using a soft tone. Before he could get another word in, he was met with Maximus cynical – almost hysterical – laugh. It was a joyless, fissured sound which made his heart hurt.
“Spare me your excuses” Maximus spat back. Yet, part of him, an oh-so-tiny part of him, made him hesitate for a second. He wanted to believe Pierre, but doubts clouded his judgment. How was he to believe that this man would end up any different than the others? How could someone truly love him for what he was? Dan had been the first and last person to do that, and look where that had gotten him: grieving his son, daughter and husband, the three of them taken by the Federation or the codes. Because he refused, he refused to believe Dan had abandoned them. No, he’d never do such a thing. Not when he looked at Maximus with gentle eyes and a caring smile, not when he witnessed Maximus for what he was and chose to stay, as if Maximus was not only a person, but one worth loving. Dan couldn’t just have left, right?
And if warm eyes looked at him with adoration and fear in this exact moment, he wasn’t sure he could take it.
“Maximus, if you’d let me explain m-” Pierre tried again.
“NO! Enough! I’m tired, I’m so tired of this, I’m so tired of people thinking they can say whatever they want because I’ll sit there and smile, pretending there’s nothing wrong! I’m-” Maximus’ voice broke, his knees threatened to give in. Tears rolled down his face, for he was unable to contain them any longer.
“Just let me help, Maximus, please. We should have talked about his months ago” Pierre’s tone was desperate, he stepped closer to him, hands up in the air once more, trying to make it clear he was no threat.
“Stay away from me!” Maximus shouted. Contradictorily, he closed off the rest of the space between them, shaking intensely. “You don’t care! You could never love someone like me! No one could love something like me! This is about sex, and, fuck, I can be a good toy, but don’t patronize me!” He hit Pierre with the side of his arms, fists closed. “Stop, just stop!” He rested his forehead on Pierre’s chest, gripping his shirt with both hands “Please, just stop…” Maximus voice was a trembly whisper, and when Pierre hugged him tightly, Maximus broke down in his arms. He wailed like an abandoned child, a horrible, shattered sound.
To the best of his abilities, Pierre tried to comfort him. He held him tight at first, trying to show Maximus he was going nowhere. Pierre’s heart was wrecked by his lover’s pain, he did not know what to say. Now sure Maximus’ body was stable enough not to buckle, Pierre moved one of his hands to the back of his head, while the other gently caressed his back and side. His movements were slow, he was terrified that even the slightest wrong motion would cause Maximus to disentangle himself as though searing fire had burned him. Cautiously, Pierre begun to whisper sweet nothings, both in French and English. How is one supposed to start a conversation that had been left unsaid for so long? What a funny concept. Words are immaterial, carried through sound. They are not supposed to have edges; they’re as light as air itself. Nonetheless, here was Pierre, measuring every and each syllable as carefully as he could, feeling overwhelmed by the unbearable reality that this could be the end of their little rendezvous.
“Let’s get you to the couch” Pierre bit his tongue in the lest second, in order to impede himself to add “chéri” at the end. Gods, he was in love with him, there was no denying it. He could only hope that come forth dawn, Maximus wouldn’t have lit the bridge between with gasoline to illuminate a new day with the burning certainty they’d never hold each other again.
Trembling, Maximus grasped Pierre tighter before he understood what had been said. He attempted to walk alongside Pierre, but his knees failed him at last. Pierre broke his fall, easing Maximus into a sitting position.
“Are you alright? I have a healing potion on me somewhere.”
“’M fine. Don’t need it.” Maximus responded, sniffling. He spread out his arms and Pierre obliged, sitting next to him. Maximus immediately moved to Pierre’s lap, burying his face back into his chest. Firm arms wrapped around him once more, a hand gently undoing his bun to alleviate his headache and pet him. They stayed like that for a while, either unable to get the first word in. Outside, sunlight gave way dusk, the rosy and orange tint of the sky transmuting into a deep purple sprinkled with the first stars. Soon, night proper would settle itself, inviting the islanders to party or rest.
Caught a bit off-guard by Maximus’ sudden mumbles, Pierre was startled for a moment. He adjusted himself to meet his lover’s eyes.
“Could you repeat that? I didn’t quite understand it.”
“You’re being so polite” Maximus laughed quietly “I said: don’t lose my hair tie, that one is my favorite” he sniffled, trying to keep a smile on his face.
“Ah” Pierre glanced at the hair band around his wrist “No worries, I have it secured.”
“I bet you do” Maximus tried to laugh. Dioses, this was awkward. His head was racing, trying to figure out ways to either break the tension or find an excuse to get up and leave. Pierre seemed to read his mind.
“Please, don’t go. We have to talk about this”. Maximus froze at the sentence. He was so exhausted; his eyes welled up with tears for another round, stubborn and persistent. He was unsure if he could discuss such matter. Where would he even begin? Was he willing to believe Pierre? Believe he had, for whatever insane reason, had a change of heart? And for him, of all people?
If it sounded so unlikely, why was Maximus aching to believe it?
“We don’t have to do this anymore” Pierre continued, and a pit opened on Maximus’ stomach. Realizing how he sounded, Pierre quickly added “I don’t want this to be only sexual! I don’t know what will take to convince you, but I’ve changed, Maximus. I want to be with you. Truly be with you. I don’t want this to be a secret, I can’t stand you coming and leaving in the middle of the night, hiding from others, like this is something dirty. Something you’re ashamed of…” he trailed off, and Maximus felt guilty.
Because he was ashamed of it. This was a means to an end. It wasn’t meant to be anything else – Pierre wanted another name to adorn his score list, to feel powerful. Maximus needed the motors to give the Federation a taste of their own medicine, to make a statement. So often his feelings seemed to bear no meaning before the cruel unfairness of life, this was the chance to make himself heard. To find peace.
Peace wasn’t supposed to be a person, not anymore. His home had been taken from him.
“I want to wake up to the sight of you in our bed. I want your voice to be the first I hear, I want you to feel at ease every time you’re around. I want you to be around. I want you as a proud part of my life”.
“You don’t” Maximus expression was bitter. The words sounded suffocating, they closed in around him, too sticky, too sugary sweet. The picture being painted scared him: promises of slow mornings and tranquil days, scenes of the ordinary day-to-day life of two people who rejoiced and reveled in each other’s company. Moments painted in golden sunshine and silvery moonlight. Moments not meant for him.
“If you only gave me a chance, I could prove I mean it”. Pierre’s gaze was desperate, his tone was afflicted. It only worsened the sensation threatening to make Maximus bolt out of the door.
“Pierre…” He tried to disentangle himself, half-heartedly. That conflict, that lack of immediate reaction angered Maximus. Why was he hesitating? Pierre’s sentences threatened to consume him, he was not ready for this conversation. He did not deserve this amount of care.
“Maximus, please” Pierre’s eyes glimmered with tears. The tip of his fingers grasped Maximus in place for a second, only for Pierre to immediately stop. He didn’t want to make Maximus feel trapped, but it was quite clear he did not wish for him to leave. “Please”, he repeated. “You are the only person in this island I feel this way about, the only one I long for” Pierre cursed himself for the raw honesty, trying to slow down “If you humor me”.
“Pierre” Maximus repeated, attempting a firm tone which failed him. Conflicted, he did not move away from Pierre. A voice in his head was screaming at the top of its lungs for Maximus to run and never look back. He must be out of it, because he did the opposite, resting the side of his body on Pierre’s, letting his forehead find the spot where Pierre’s neck met the shoulder. He was so tired. “You don’t know what you are saying. You don’t know what you’re asking me”.
“Don’t I? Because it sounds like you’re the one who refuses to listen to me” frustration imbued his every letter. Pierre sighed heavily before running a hand over his face. Cautiously, he enveloped Maximus with his arms, resting his chin atop his lover’s head. Fine, they didn’t have to make eye contact for this. Be as it may, what mattered was the precious miracle constituted by the fact Maximus was still there. “I have no right to require trust from you in that regard. I get it. If you don’t believe me, I’ll have to do my best to earn it. I’ll take whatever you give me, just, please, indulge me with something, anything. I’ll beg if I have to”.
No immediate answer came from Maximus. His skin was smothering him, his chest was burning, he felt like throwing up. Because how, just how was he supposed to fathom he was worthy of such dedication? If you lay yourself bare, can you dare hope that somebody would look at you without disgust? Could they be struck with wonder, joy and the sincerest form of love? Could you trust them to not peel away at your flesh to discard it? Could you trust them with your bones? Or would they hold your core with only destruction in sight?
Torn between vulnerable honesty – such a rare, ephemeral creature – and a snarky remark that would make Pierre feel guilty, he shivered. Haven’t I given enough? is what he meant to say, yet he knew that was not what Pierre was asking for. No, it was the opposite Pierre wanted. He was willing to crawl through glass to win Maximus’ grace, and that thought terrified Maximus. Phrases in Spanish danced around his skull, alarming him due to their truthfulness: ugly, sharp sentiments pierced Maximus heart. He could not stay silent forever, the wish to vanish from Earth clawed at his interior. Helpless, he began crying again, silently.
“Mon amour” Pierre wiped away his tears and gingerly kissed both of Maximus cheeks. “You don’t have to answer now. I can wait a little longer”.
Although Maximus was thankful, the fact Pierre was, after all this time, still willing to abide by his demands made him feel sick. If he allowed the truth to prevail for even the slightest second, he’d be forced to face that he wasn’t the only one suffering here. Maybe that’s why he never thought about it, he carried enough guilt as it was: a small body, defenseless and vulnerable, laying on the ground lifelessly because Maximus had failed his son when he was needed the most. He could not grant this situation any more lenience, if not for himself or Pierre, then for the child he had never deserved.
“No” Maximus shook his head. “I’ve already made you wait for too long. Guess we’re both a bit of a disaster”, Maximus chuckled.
“Oh” Pierre looked at him expectantly, “Is that so?”. His hope was painfully palpable.
“You deserve somebody better, you know. Somebody who’s not this demanding” Maximus averted his gaze.
“I don’t want someone else. I just want you, Maximus. As you are.” sincerity shone in Pierre’s eyes, alongside a fierce affection Maximus realized wouldn’t fade away anytime soon.
Albeit there was still a voice screaming at him to escape, and even though guilt – for all he had done – and fear – for all that Pierre’s love meant – revolted in his stomach, he chose to let a smile find its way onto his lips. Because, for the moment, he was able to be brave. Right now, Maximus felt capable of setting aside his nagging doubts, his cold anxiety, his heavy loneliness. It would not be an effortless path to traverse, let alone an open path at all, but Maximus felt like he owned Pierre (and himself) a chance. Incomprehensible was what Pierre saw in him, the reasons he did not give him up were elusive at best. Gathering his strength, Maximus adjusted himself in a manner to face Pierre. He smiled, genuinely.
“I haven’t been the best of lovers. Or friends, for that matter”. Hell, maybe he was completely out of it, because he could not have imagined this sense of resolve. And maybe honesty had been brought by the darkness outside – come the first rays of sun, who knows how he’d feel about everything that had transpired and all that was about to. Yet, he persevered. Making a motion to stand up, Pierre followed, quickly rising to his feet. Both men supported each other as they moved upright. It was Pierre’s legs turn to falter, for Maximus had been atop them. This time around, Maximus kept Pierre steady.
Silently, Maximus took Pierre’s hand and guided him to the kitchen, the clean change of clothes long forgotten in the living room floor. Later, Pierre would pick them up and fold them with care. He’d bring them upstairs to be placed in the bedroom closet, Maximus sound asleep in bed. For now, however, they had much to talk about. He could feel Maximus’ determination, and it made his chest expand with joy. He had no illusions about an immediate change to dreamy, rosy days. No, this would take time and heart. If Maximus couldn’t handle being seen, Pierre was more than happy to wait.
Before he sat down at the table by Pierre’s side, Maximus grabbed water and clean glasses. He placed everything on the surface and took his seat. Momentarily, he remained silent, fidgeting with the tip of his tie. Pierre, ever patient, gave him space, only watching. Taking a deep breath, Maximus turned to face him. This wouldn’t be easy. This would hurt. This would make him wish he had listened to all those late-night bottles. But it was necessary to face the present, even if he was still unable to let go of the past. Because, looking at Pierre in the warm-dim kitchen light, he was met with someone who offered him a possibility he dared not consider in his most vulnerable hours: someone who would see beyond his trauma-ingrained past and grief consumed present, only to find a person worth loving.
“I wish I had the perfect thing to say, but truth be told, I don’t know how to begin” Maximus said, shy. He took Pierre’s hand in his.
“It doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be us” Pierre answered, his gaze overflowing with adoration and anticipation. Maximus nodded. One would be foolish to think this wouldn’t be flawed. Weren’t they all? He supposed it had to be a natural part of his humanity. There would be plenty of sleepless nights to resent it, this was not the moment. Taking one last shaky breath, Maximus assembled all of his courage to pour his heart out – as much as he could – to the one person who’d listen without being disgusted by all the imperfect and rotten things spilling from within his core.