Chapter Text
Apollo knows he and Skadj were only on a time limit. He knows that they cannot last much longer, the love that had once burned bright, now reduced to momentary sparks.
Still, even when his husband cheated, he loved Skadj. He was horrible at showing it, but he swears he loves Skadj. Even still.
Apollo can’t look him in the eyes at all. Their agreement, as stated by a lawyer, was Apollo would get everything because of his husband’s infidelity. He has their house with every memory imprinted on each surface, their car, which hardly works after years of driving around and goofing around together, even their fucking pet rat that has somehow lived longer than it should’ve now peers at his depressive state from his cage.
Some days, he even forgets to feed him, but he still holds strong. Apollo wishes he had the self-preservation of the rat.
When he opens the drawers, little notes from Skadj are still there, small doodles he’d created during boredom. It takes him five seconds to register it before shutting the cabinet with tear-stained eyes.
His mom calls and he tries to ignore it, but when he hears the voicemail shouting at him, he picks up.
“What? What could you possibly want right now?” He snaps angrily. He knows he sounds broken, but he is broken, he is hurting, and he can’t contain it all in this house that has little bits and pieces of Skadj everywhere, which in turn rip a piece of Apollo’s heart.
His mom pauses, clearly wondering what has happened. They are long past formalities, long past any reassuring words.
“I was going to wish you a happy tenth anniversary, but I-” She chooses her words carefully. Apollo shuts his phone off, throwing it at the wall to get it to shut up. He sees red until he notices the damage on his phone. His whole body sags, lost in his own house, not knowing where to go like a stranded hitchhiker. His feet take him to his bed, collapsing instantly.
He can’t do this anymore, he can’t pretend he’s alright when in reality the pieces of their messy relationship have maimed him beyond repair.
When he blinks next, Skadj is beside him, but isn’t looking anywhere near him. Apollo reaches out to feel his hair, his gentle touch, but he stands up and walks away. It is painful in every way, but the lovesick fool in him stands up and seeks him. Skadj runs and Apollo chases him desperately.
His heart cannot take anymore of the dream and he wakes up again. The kitchen knives are much shinier than they ever have been, glittering teasingly for Apollo. He walks up to the knife, eyeing it while making a decision. Suicide was mostly a quirky thing for teenagers, as Skadj and he always joked, but right now, it seemed like it was his best option, tempting him.
He doubts the crummy knives in his kitchen could do any real damage, or repair any heartstrings that have been tuned in a way that the notes are screeches of pain, of misery, of sadness, so he hikes to the peak of the canyons and mountains overlooking his home. No person who saw him walking knew what he was planning. For a while, he just stood still, watching animals fly by, walk by, listening to every sound.
The familiar shuffling of feet makes itself known behind him, yet he does not turn, his calm gaze resting near their favourite canyon, the one that could take Apollo’s life as quickly as a blink.
“Hey, dude, Apollo. Please get down from there.” A quiet voice squeaks. He doesn’t turn to face it. He doesn’t recognize it, but apparently the voice recognizes him. That’s enough for him.
The silence is known through the winds that are blissfully unaware of the situation at hand.
“Apollo, please. I want to talk to you,” The voice calls, more forcefully. Apollo can tell it’s a male voice, but it’s not Skadj’s.
He would’ve been able to tell his apart from any voice right away. He wonders if Skadj was able to tell the difference between him and his many hookups. He wonders if the guilt of cheating merged with every bone in his body, like how the sadness has taken over Apollo.
“Fuck off.” He gathers the dignity to say, but suddenly, there’s an arm on his wrist pulling him backwards, forcefully making him look at the man. He’s less than an inch shorter than Apollo, has curly brown hair, obnoxiously large tortoiseshell glasses and angry but soft brown eyes. He definitely doesn’t recognize the man, which shocks him that he recognizes him.
“Apollo. Look at me.” He urges, but the words sound oh-so-distant, yet sweet.
“How do you know me?” He whispers, because he needs the answer. The man’s eyes close with consideration.
“I’m your rat.” He answers. Apollo laughs, knowing he’s hallucinating. The desert air must be causing hallucinations.
He walks back to the peak of the cliff.
The man yells for him to stop, but the words are jumbled and hard to make out, impossible that he is real, a mere illusion of Apollo’s mind, but he won’t be swayed otherwise.
It is Apollo’s turn for his body to be buried within the sands of a canyon, for his bones to wither over time, until they merge with the earth.
Apollo jumps, the wind swirling around his body. He closes his eyes peacefully for the first time in years, the soft melodies of death softly playing in the back of his mind until he freefalls onto the sand, body thudding on impact. His vision swirls before he blinks, and can't bring his eyes to open.