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Fluixon’s chest heaved rapidly, as if his ribcage were about to burst open. His breath was ragged, uneven, and burning hot. His gaze remained pinned to that tiny, furry body lying motionless on the gray concrete. The little kitten was dead.
He had killed it himself.
Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the dust and blood on his cheeks before dripping from his chin. Inside, he wanted to sob out loud, to scream so fiercely that the entire town would wake up, but he clenched his teeth so hard his jaw trembled. He would not make a sound.
He would not cry. He had to swallow this agony in silence. That kitten belonged to him. The responsibility was his. Yet, he couldn’t even grasp how it had happened, or what he had done wrong in that split second of blinding panic and rage. Everything had ended in a single heartbeat.
Fluixon was the very definition of a total defeat.
Under the bleak, dreary sky, his navy blue school uniform was in tatters. His tie was swept to the side, the buttons of his shirt torn away, the fabric shredded. His hair was a wild mess, as if he had just emerged from the center of a vortex. The fresh bruises and cuts on his face and hands stood as silent testaments to the violent frenzy he had just endured.
Right then, a dark silhouette separated itself from the deep shadows of the lane. Saparata approached Fluixon, his footsteps completely silent, moving like a ghost.
Saparata was always known for his delicate, soft, and timid demeanor someone who never looked for trouble. Fluixon, on the other hand, was a ticking time bomb: bitter, harsh, and utterly unapproachable. Fluixon absolutely despised the obvious affection, that boyish infatuation, Saparata harbored for him.
Saparata’s fragile, overly sensitive nature grated on Fluixon’s very last nerves.
Saparata stopped just a few paces away. He first looked down at the lifeless kitten. He stared at the grim sight for several seconds—a scene that would make any ordinary person scream, recoil in disgust, or at least panic in horror.
Then, he slowly shifted his gaze upward, locking onto Fluixon’s shattered face.
There was not a single trace of fear on Saparata’s face. No anger. Not even a hint of revulsion.
Instead, his eyes burned with an indescribable, almost sacred admiration and a profound, bottomless love. He looked at Fluixon not as a dangerous youth who had just taken a life, but as the most innocent, fragile creature in the world who desperately needed protection.
The corners of his lips curved slightly into a soft, comforting smile. He possessed a terrifying calmness, acting as though Fluixon hadn't just torn a soul from this world, but had merely spilled a glass of milk.
When Fluixon noticed this eerie lack of reaction and that pathologically tender gaze, he savagely wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. His shock instantly morphed into pure, unadulterated fury. His predatory defense mechanism, fueled by crushing guilt, kicked in.
"What are you staring at?" Fluixon roared. His voice cracked and rasped from the strain of holding back his tears. "What? What is so damn funny to you? Get the hell out of here!"
Saparata didn't even flinch at the harsh outburst. Stepping even lighter, he moved a fraction closer to Fluixon. As the rain began to drizzle in the gray alleyway, the distance between them closed, and the clean, neatly pressed scent of Saparata’s school uniform reached Fluixon’s nose. This pristine cleanliness stood in mocking contrast to Fluixon’s own filthy, blood-stained reality.
"I'm not leaving," Saparata said, his voice as light and delicate as a feather. "I can't leave you like this, Fluixon."
"I told you to get lost!" Fluixon shoved Saparata back by his chest with sudden fury. But his hands were trembling; his strength was utterly spent. "Don't you see? Don't you see what I did?! I'm a monster. I... I killed it! Go report me to the police, go tell everyone, do whatever the hell you want, but stop looking at me with that pathetic face!"
Despite the shove, Saparata didn't lose his balance. He simply stood there, not even bothering to dust off his jacket, fixing his deep, pitch-black eyes onto Fluixon’s glistening ones. The affectionate, all-accepting smile on his face didn't waver for a millimeter.
"The police?" Saparata let out a soft chuckle. It sounded so pure and genuine that it carried absolutely no mockery. "Why would I do that? It’s just a cat, Fluixon. But you... you are my everything. I can see that you are hurting. I can see your hands shaking. That is the only thing that matters."
Slowly, he extended his hand, his fingertips brushing just beside the open wound on Fluixon’s cheek. Fluixon flinched and pulled his head back at the touch, but the unshakeable devotion in Saparata’s eyes seemed to paralyze him for a moment. This fragile boy whom he despised had just witnessed his darkest hour, and accepted it as if it were a blessing.
"You're insane..." Fluixon whispered, his rage slowly dissolving into a profound, helpless despair. "I hate you, Saparata. I truly hate you."
"I know," Saparata said softly, drawing his hand back but never breaking eye contact. "But that doesn't stop me from loving you. Come on, let's clean you up. Let's get out of here before anyone sees."
Turning around to cast one final glance at the kitten on the ground, Fluixon found himself unable to resist for the first time in his life, allowing that despised, delicate hand to lead him away.
Saparata’s slender fingers felt ice-cold against Fluixon’s trembling wrist. Fluixon tried to stay grounded by clinging to the intense wave of hatred and disgust burning inside him. He hated Saparata; he hated his boundless optimism, his sickly naive worldview that assumed the universe revolved around him. Yet, at this very moment, that frail, delicate grip was the only thing keeping his knees from buckling and pinning him to the earth.
They walked toward the shadow of an old, abandoned warehouse with crumbling bricks at the corner of the lane. The persistent, heavy mist plastered Fluixon’s messy hair to his forehead, slowly washing away the dried blood and mud from his face. But it wasn't enough to hide his tears.
Fluixon clenched his jaw so tightly that his jawline strained visibly. The massive lump lodged in his throat threatened to suffocate him with every breath.
He wouldn't cry. He had promised himself. He wouldn't sob like a broken monster and make himself look even more pathetic in Saparata’s eyes. Taking a sharp, aggressive breath, he threw his head back toward the sky, letting the cold rain flood his eyes to force the tears back down.
"Let go of me," Fluixon hissed, spitting the words out to hide the tremor in his voice. "Don't touch me. I can walk on my own."
Saparata remained completely unbothered. He smoothly released Fluixon’s wrist but didn't back away entirely, leaving only a few inches between them. Reaching into his school blazer, he pulled out a pristine, neatly ironed handkerchief bearing the academy's emblem.
"You're still fighting it," Saparata murmured. His voice was so soft, so clear, that it echoed like a lullaby in Fluixon’s ears. "Crying isn't weakness, Fluixon. Especially not when someone as... strong as you is in pain."
"Shut your mouth." Fluixon glared at the handkerchief as if the fabric itself had insulted him. "I'm not in pain. I'm just... pissed off. I'm furious at you, at this damn day, at everything!"
Saparata took another step closer. With his delicate hands, he gently straightened the collar of Fluixon’s battered navy school uniform. Repulsed by his proximity and his scent, Fluixon tried to step back, but his spine hit the cold, hard brick wall. He was cornered.
Saparata raised the handkerchief, gently wiping away the mixture of tears and blood from Fluixon’s cheeks. His movements were incredibly tender, as if he were carefully dusting a priceless, fragile artifact. Yet, Fluixon had just taken a life. He was covered in scratches, his clothes torn to shreds.
"You say you hate me," Saparata whispered, his eyes locked onto Fluixon’s bloodshot, tear-filled, but stubbornly wide eyes. "But right now, you're letting me stay. Because you know... in this entire world, I am the only one who can love your darkness, the side no one else sees. That cat... it was just a start, wasn't it? I can see the violence inside you. And believe me, that wrath only makes you more flawless in my eyes."
A single tear betrayed Fluixon’s iron will, escaping his eye and splashing directly onto Saparata’s finger. Fluixon instantly snapped his head to the side, shutting his eyes tight and biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood just to stifle the sob. His chest heaved violently; the emotional storm inside him was on the verge of exploding.
"...I really hate you, Saparata," Fluixon choked out, his voice breathless and barely audible. "You are completely out of your mind."
Saparata looked down at the tear on his finger, then used his other hand to gently brush a strand of wet hair away from Fluixon’s face, his signature, gentle smile intact.
"I know, Flux," Saparata breathed, his warm breath fanning over Fluixon’s face. "And I love that hatred of yours. Come now, stop crying. I am right here."
Hearing the nickname "Flux" escape Saparata’s lips sent a violent shiver straight down Fluixon’s spine. This dark alleyway, this boy standing before him... everything felt like a living nightmare. As Saparata’s delicate fingers traced through his hair, Fluixon ground his teeth so hard he could hear the pounding of his own pulse roaring in his ears.
The urge to break down climbed up his throat like a clawing beast. His throat ached, his eyes burned. But no, he wouldn't kneel before him. He wouldn't give this freak the satisfaction of seeing him broken.
"Don't you ever..." Fluixon whispered, forcing weight into every syllable to stop the trembling, "...call me that again."
Saparata didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he slid his fingertips down Fluixon’s temple to his dirt-stained cheek. The unshakeable, obsessive admiration on his face remained perfectly intact.
The rain had soaked them both completely; Saparata’s hair now fell over his forehead, fracturing his usual image of a neat, well-behaved boy. But his eyes... his eyes still worshiped Fluixon like a deity.
"Why?" Saparata asked, his voice as gentle as the patter of raindrops on the pavement. "Does reality terrify you? Knowing that here, in this abandoned corner, while your hands are stained with the blood of your own kitten, I am the only person who treasures you above all else... does that frighten you?"
In a sudden surge of adrenaline, Fluixon snatched Saparata’s wrist and violently threw his hand away from his face.
"Nothing frightens me! Especially not a pathetic loser like you!" he screamed, his voice echoing off the walls. But the outburst did nothing to alleviate the agony inside him. His eyes overflowed, his eyelashes heavy with moisture. Exhaling a sharp, ragged breath through his nose, he averted his gaze completely.
Saparata didn't seem to feel any pain from the tight grip on his wrist. If anything, Fluixon’s savage, volatile reaction only seemed to thrill him further.
He stepped closer again, completely obliterating the space between them. He stared at Fluixon’s exposed collarbone through his torn shirt, then traced the fresh scratches marking his face.
"A loser?" Saparata smiled softly, his eyes boring into Fluixon’s glistening, stubbornly hidden gaze. "Look at who is dependent on whom right now. Your school uniform is shredded, your face is covered in wounds, and you're standing in the dark, barely aware of what you've done. If I hadn't come along, you would still be standing over that tiny corpse, suffering in silence until you lost your mind. Stop lying to yourself. I know exactly what lies behind your hostile, defensive walls."
Fluixon’s heart hammered against his ribs. Every single word from Saparata was a needle plunging into his deep-seated guilt. He was right. Fluixon was on the brink of insanity. Remembering how he had broken the kitten made him want to claw his own mind out, but Saparata didn't need to know that.
"Shut up..." Fluixon muttered, his voice losing its venom. He clamped his eyes shut. Even in the darkness behind his eyelids, he could still see the lifeless, gray fur. His lips trembled. As a sob reached the precipice of his lips, Fluixon clamped his teeth down onto his own arm, burying the sound in his own flesh. He wanted physical pain to drown out the emotional agony. He still refused to weep. He was still fighting.
Saparata watched this desperate resistance with absolute rapture. He slowly raised his hand, and this time, he smoothed Fluixon’s wet hair back completely, fully exposing his face.
"Shh..." Saparata whispered, leaning his face in close to Fluixon’s ear. "Don't hurt yourself. You don't have to be strong around me. Hate me, hit me, scream at me... but don't break yourself just to hold back your tears. I will weep for you. I will carry this sin for you. Just... come with me."
As Saparata leaned against his ear, his breath felt like a warm, intoxicating poison in the freezing rain. Fluixon’s teeth gradually loosened their grip on his arm, his lips parting, but he couldn't form a single word. The battle to suppress his sobbing completely froze at Saparata’s next words.
"If..." Saparata continued, his voice maintaining that delicate, velvety tone, deepening with intense gravity. "If you are angry with me, Fluixon... If you need to unleash that wrath, that uncontrollable violence swelling inside you, unleash it on me. I am letting you hit me."
Fluixon slowly opened his eyes under the crushing weight of those words. Saparata’s face was so close he could see the obsessive, bottomless loyalty swimming in his pupils.
"As much as you want..." Saparata murmured, placing his palm flat against Fluixon’s chest, right over his racing heart. "You can inflict whatever pain you like on me. You can break me, hurt me, torture me. If it makes you forget the agony of that little kitten, if it brings you peace... use my body as a canvas for your rage. And believe me, I will wear every single mark from you like a prize."
Fluixon’s trembling body went entirely rigid. The sheer shock of the proposal instantly severed the storm of guilt and anger raging in his mind. His eyes widened fully, his gaze locked onto Saparata’s serene, smiling face. He was struck utterly speechless.
This boy... this fragile boy whom everyone at school deemed weak and easily broken, had just offered himself up as a literal sacrifice. Fluixon was toxic, volatile, abusive, and he hated Saparata; yes. But the entity standing before him wasn't human—it was a terrifying monument of obsession pushing him past his limits.
As Fluixon stared in frozen disbelief, rainwater dripped from his lashes down his cheeks, making it impossible to tell if he was finally crying. Saparata’s hand on his chest could feel the frantic, erratic rhythm of Fluixon’s heart.
"Why do you look at me like that?" Saparata asked, tilting his head slightly. His smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a passion that threatened to consume Fluixon entirely. "Are you surprised? I am entirely serious. No matter what you do, I will still be here. Come on... don't you want to strike the first blow?"
As Saparata watched Fluixon’s paralyzed state, his lips parted again. With blinding admiration, he began to say, "If you want, so your delicate hands don't get hurt, I can even do it to myself—"
A sharp, violent crack shattered the bleak silence of the alleyway.
Fluixon had thrown his hand with everything he had left, his palm connecting squarely with Saparata’s cheek. The sheer force of the slap whipped Saparata’s head sharply to the side, forcing him back a few steps. Rainwater sprayed through the air as a bright crimson, hand-shaped welt materialized on Saparata’s pale skin within seconds. A thin trickle of blood began to seep from the corner of his lip, carving a path down his chin.
Fluixon was panting heavily. His chest rose and fell erratically, his striking hand trembling violently. With that single slap, he had forcefully expelled all his repressed sobbing, panic, and guilt. But he didn't feel relieved; instead, the absolute madness of the boy before him filled him with pure dread.
"You're... you're a goddamn psychopath!" Fluixon screamed, his voice sharp and predatory enough to cut through the downpour. "Is this what you want?! To feel pain?! For me to butcher you like a monster?! What kind of a sick freak are you, Saparata?!"
Saparata remained completely still for a few seconds, absorbing the shock of the blow. He slowly raised his head, peering at Fluixon through his disheveled hair. For the first time, a look of genuine surprise crossed his features. Perhaps he hadn't actually expected Fluixon to take the bait so violently.
However, the shock was fleeting.
The surprise in Saparata’s eyes instantly dissolved into a deeper, far more warped sense of euphoria. Slowly raising his finger, he dabbed the blood from his split lip. He stared at the crimson on his fingertip, then looked back up at Fluixon. An even larger, more unshakeable smile spread across his face. His cheek burned, his lip bled, but his eyes shone with absolute triumph.
"Yes..." Saparata whispered, his voice barely audible but carrying a chilling weight of submission. "Exactly like that. Look... you've stopped crying. Now you are focused entirely on me, Fluixon. Only on me..."
When those words reached Fluixon’s ears, every single fuse in his brain blew simultaneously. Only on me echoed like a brand, a chain, a sinister spell meant to enslave him completely. The volatile rage fed by his underlying guilt mutated into a massive explosion against Saparata’s reckless, spine-chilling composure.
The fragile boy struggling not to cry was gone, replaced by the sheer ferocity of a cornered, wounded animal.
Closing the distance in a single bound, Fluixon used a sudden, almost superhuman surge of strength to violently grab Saparata by the lapels of his rain-soaked Saint Jude Academy uniform. He slammed him hard against the rough, unforgiving brick wall.
A dull thud echoed as Saparata’s back collided with the brick, but his frail body offered absolutely no resistance against the brutal treatment. Fixing his pitch-black, rage-filled eyes onto Saparata’s, Fluixon yanked him forward by his uniform, pulling him dangerously close. The distance between them vanished; their breaths mingled, and rainwater poured down their faces at the exact same velocity. Fluixon gripped the fabric so tightly the threads groaned under the strain.
Fluixon wanted him to be terrified. He wanted him to beg, to finally drop that maddening, serene mask. But at that exact moment, Saparata’s expression underwent an entirely different transformation.
Under Fluixon’s dominant, aggressive hold, Saparata’s pale skin flushed with a deep, radiant heat. His cheeks bloomed with a vivid pink—not from the trauma of the slap, but from an intense, overwhelming wave of arousal and thrill. His pupils dilated, his respiration skyrocketing in a single second. Being pinned against the wall, having his clothes nearly torn from his body, and feeling Fluixon’s breath so close completely fueled the pathologically twisted fire inside him. Far from being afraid, he stared at Fluixon through flushed cheeks, looking as though a lifelong dream had just come true.
This reaction drove Fluixon completely over the edge.
"You disgusting psycho!" Fluixon snarled. He pulled his free hand back, curling his fingers into a destructive fist, ready to unleash a devastating blow. He wanted to shatter that blushing face, to completely wipe out that ecstatic, submissive look. His hand hung suspended in the air, every muscle coiled to strike. He was on the verge of tearing him apart right then and there.
But then, Fluixon froze.
Time seemed to grind to a complete halt beneath the pouring rain. His suspended hand began to shake, but this time, it wasn't from rage. It was from a foreign, terrifying sensation blooming right in the center of his chest.
Fluixon’s heart began to beat with a frantic, chaotic violence he had never experienced before, as if it were trying to shatter his ribs and escape his flesh. The sound was so deafening it drowned out the roaring rain and the ringing in his ears. The sudden, unhinged rhythm of his own heart filled him with absolute horror.
Being this close to Saparata, holding him so tightly that he could feel the frantic thumping of the smaller boy’s heart beneath his own palms... it completely derailed his reality.
The bottomless, all-accepting, intoxicated adoration in Saparata’s eyes paralyzed Fluixon’s hand in mid-air. He couldn't bring himself to drop the blow. He couldn't tell if this frantic heartbeat belonged to his hatred, or if it was proof that he was slowly being dragged down into Saparata’s warped, maddening universe.
Drenched and panting, Fluixon could only stare at the delicate boy pinned beneath him, his fist hovering uselessly. For the first time, his internal chaos fell dead silent against the relentless pounding of his heart.
Saparata looked up at Fluixon’s frozen hand and the sudden hesitation drowning his eyes. He could see the rapid rising and falling of the aggressive boy's chest, feeling the hammer of a heart that threatened to tear through his shirt. Despite the freezing chill of the desolate lane, a suffocating, magnetic heat flared between them.
Fluixon didn't strike.
He couldn't. His hovering hand gradually went limp, but his other hand maintained its iron grip on Saparata’s uniform, as if he were terrified to let go. He knew that if he released his grip, he would drown completely in this sick reality. The fact that his heart was racing so uncontrollably left him entirely defenseless before the boy he claimed to despise.
The deep blush on Saparata’s cheeks intensified at Fluixon’s sudden paralysis. His lips parted slightly, his shaky breath brushing against Fluixon’s chin. There was no fear; instead, Saparata looked completely mesmerized by this proximity, by the loud echo of Fluixon’s heartbeat.
"You're not hitting me..." Saparata whispered, his voice acting like a delicate, hypnotic melody against the rhythm of the rain. "Why did you stop, Fluixon? I told you that you could do whatever you wanted to me. I told you that you could break me... But your heart... why is your heart beating so fast?"
"Shut up..." Fluixon hissed. This time, his voice wasn't a fierce roar, but the desperate, cornered whisper of a broken child. He tried to rip his eyes away from Saparata’s vortex-like gaze, but he found himself entirely unable to move. "My heart isn't racing. I just... I just find you repulsive."
"You're lying," Saparata murmured, his adoring smile softening into something deeply tender. Tilting his head up, he leaned in closer, seeking to close the final millimeter of space separating them.
"You hate me, yes. But right now... right now, you can't run away from me. Because the innocence you lost when you killed that little kitten, the fractured soul inside you... I am the only one who can mend it. No matter how much you abuse me, I am ready to wash the blood from your hands."
Fluixon’s fingers tightened convulsively around Saparata’s navy fabric. Every word out of the boy's mouth systematically demolished the hostile, impenetrable walls Fluixon had spent his entire life building. As the rain poured over them like sheets of ice, Fluixon stood utterly paralyzed, entirely lost for the first time in his life. He despised this fragile, psychotic boy, yet he could feel himself being irreversibly sucked into the abyss of his devotion.
His knuckles turned stark white from the pressure of his grip. He could feel Saparata’s pulse racing alongside his own frantic rhythm. The sensation sickened him. He hated this boy, he hated his absolute submission, and he hated how everything seemed to fall perfectly into Saparata’s twisted design.
But most of all, he hated his complete inability to command his own heart.
"You should have... you should have stayed away from me," Fluixon whispered, his voice nearly swallowed by the howling wind. "Everyone stays away from me, Saparata. The kids at school, the teachers... everyone knows what a piece of trash I am. And you... you're just a pathetic coward. What the hell are you babbling about?"
Saparata’s eyes flashed with even brighter fervor at the desperate insults. It was as though Fluixon were showering him with the most beautiful praises imaginable. He didn't shift an inch against the wall, continuing to watch Fluixon’s ruined face through his deeply flushed cheeks.
"Because they are cowards, Fluixon," Saparata said, his delicate tone shifting into an unshakeable promise of total surrender. "They only see that hostile, angry shell of yours and they run. But I... I can see how fragile, how extraordinary you are beneath it. That is why I am here. No matter how far you push me away, I will always be standing right behind you."
Fluixon felt the air leave his lungs at the sheer weight of that absolute devotion. The hand he had raised to strike slowly dropped to his side, but he didn't let go of Saparata’s collar. Instead, he pulled him even closer, bringing their foreheads together until they touched. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"You are insane..." Fluixon breathed, his voice stripped of all anger, leaving only a defeated, absolute acceptance. "You are truly insane."
"For you," Saparata whispered, his lips hovering a breath away from Fluixon’s. "Only for you, Fluixon."
In that dark, rainy alleyway, beneath the shadow of a tragic, lifeless kitten, two students from Saint Jude were entirely lost in one another's breath. One was consumed by hatred and guilt; the other fed that hatred with pure, unyielding love.
When Fluixon’s forehead pressed against Saparata’s, the freezing air of the lane seemed to shatter against the stark, contrasting heat radiating between them. As raindrops traced down their faces, Fluixon realized with absolute finality that there was no escape from the labyrinth of this boy's eyes. Saparata was so close that with every single breath, Fluixon inhaled his twisted, unshakeable loyalty.
Saparata slowly placed his own delicate hands over Fluixon’s iron grip on his collar. He didn't try to pull away or break free; instead, he gently pressed down, pinning Fluixon’s hands firmly against his own chest.
"Calling me insane changes nothing, Fluixon," Saparata whispered, his velvety, fragile tone shifting into a chillingly hypnotic seriousness. "If this is madness, I accepted losing myself in your world a long time ago. I told you... you can inflict whatever agony you want on me. Hurt me, shatter me right here, tear my soul out... I don't care about any of it. Every ounce of pain from you is just your way of touching me."
As Fluixon reeled from the impact of those words, Saparata didn't relent. He stared deeper into Fluixon’s wide, terrified eyes. With his flushed cheeks and the thin line of blood trickling from his split lip, he looked like he was taking a solemn vow of eternal martyrdom.
"I belong solely to you," Saparata stated, his voice ringing with a conviction that drowned out the downpour. "The school, the streets, this miserable town... none of it has any claim over me. I exist solely to be yours, Fluixon. Throw me away like a piece of garbage if you want, or sacrifice me to hide your inner demons. I am your toy, your victim... I am yours alone."
Fluixon was entirely frozen. The hands holding Saparata’s collar began to shake. The terrifying, absolute loyalty emerging from this fragile, delicate body was unlike anything Fluixon had ever encountered. Everyone else fled from his toxic temper, yet this boy had looked directly at his worst, darkest sin—the cat's blood on his hands—and offered his entire existence in return.
The shock tore Fluixon’s hostile, impenetrable walls to pieces. For the first time, he realized just how dangerous and unreachable Saparata’s psychological state truly was. These words weren't a mere confession; they were iron bars forming an inescapable cage around him. Unable to speak or react, he could only stare in utter bewilderment at the beautiful, mad boy pinned against the brick wall.
Saparata’s slender fingers slid smoothly off Fluixon’s hands. His rain-drenched skin felt icy, yet as he raised his hand to Fluixon’s face, it burned like a branding iron. He placed his long, delicate fingers against Fluixon’s bruised left cheek, directly over the dirt and bloodstains. His touch was so light it felt like a stray feather caught in the wind.
Fluixon flinched at the unexpected warmth against his skin, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't. The violent, erratic hammering of his heart had completely short-circuited his brain.
Saparata gently wiped away the moisture on Fluixon’s cheek, tracing the stubborn path of a tear mixed with rain. The contrast between his flushed, bashful cheeks and the bottomless, dark obsession in his eyes was utterly terrifying. His lips parted slightly, closing the final, minuscule distance between them.
"I love you, Fluixon," Saparata breathed. His voice carried a purity and a warped devotion that would never belong within the cold, stone walls of Saint Jude Academy. "I love the violent, uncontrollable darkness inside you that no one else can stomach. I love this utter helplessness you fall into when you are drowning in guilt. No matter what you do, no matter how monstrous you become... I love you more than anything else in this world."
Fluixon could only stare back through his soaked eyelashes. His bewilderment had reached such a profound peak that even his destructive anger fell entirely silent. The words died in his throat.
Having spent his entire life ostracized, viewed as an unlovable monster due to his bitter, volatile nature, Fluixon was experiencing this absolute, worshipful adoration for the very first time. And it was happening while his hands were still foul with the blood of his own pet. This fragile boy was entirely prepared to wear Fluixon’s worst sin like a crown.
Paralyzed like a stone statue under the warmth of that soft hand and the echoes of the confession, Fluixon stared deep into Saparata’s eyes. His long-standing hatred began to lose its direction, drowning in this mad ocean of devotion.
As Saparata’s arms wrapped around Fluixon’s trembling, mud-stained frame, the world around them seemed to fall dead silent. The tragic, lifeless body on the ground, the aching cuts on Fluixon’s face, his shredded uniform... everything ceased to exist outside the surreal, terrifying sanctuary Saparata had engineered.
Saparata slowly lifted his head from Fluixon’s shoulder. His eyes held not a single shred of doubt.
With agonizing tenderness, he cupped Fluixon’s chin with his fingertips, treating him as though he were made of the finest porcelain, on the verge of shattering into a thousand pieces. He wiped away the tears pooling in Fluixon’s eyes, leaning in closer.
And he kissed him.
Fluixon offered no resistance. He didn't push him away, nor did he return the embrace. He was completely catatonic. With his lips slightly parted and his eyes wide open, he simply surrendered to Saparata’s reckless, delicate tenderness. As Saparata’s lips pressed against Fluixon’s cold, metallic-tasting mouth, time fractured and stopped.
But in that exact instant, a suffocating, horrific sensation gripped Fluixon’s soul.
Saparata’s lips felt impossibly frail, impossibly faint... like a dying breath struggling to cling to life. The moment their lips met, a sharp, agonizing pang pierced the center of Fluixon’s chest, filling him with a desperate urge to scream and weep. Because this touch did not feel like the love of a living soul.
It felt as though Saparata were actively fading away, dying right there in his arms.
It felt as though the venomous, destructive darkness in Fluixon’s soul hadn't just slaughtered the kitten, but was actively poisoning the very boy who worshiped him. Saparata’s skin felt ice-cold, and what passed between their lips wasn't life, but a serene, accepted demise. Saparata loved him with such a sick, absolute finality that he viewed his own destruction by Fluixon's hands as an ultimate gift.
When Saparata slowly pulled back, that peaceful, delicate smile still graced his features.
But the brilliant light in his eyes seemed to have dimmed, just a fraction more.
Watching the boy he claimed to hate, a broken sob finally tore from Fluixon’s throat. The more Saparata smiled at him with that pure adoration, the more Fluixon could feel him stepping closer to the grave, and the sheer helplessness of it hurt worse than any wound he had ever suffered.
Suddenly, a violent fracture occurred in Fluixon’s mind. His perception of time and space warped entirely; the surrounding trees, the dead kitten, and his shredded uniform vanished for a terrifying split second. A primal, cosmic realization flashed from the darkest corners of his subconscious, forcing him to witness a reality that didn't belong to this timeline.
In another life, in an alternate universe or a completely different dimension... he felt the absolute absence of Saparata. He felt the agony of Saparata slipping through his fingers, leaving behind a massive, echoing, black void that resonated through every single cell of his body.
The sheer horror of that phantom loss instantly obliterated Fluixon’s pride, his walls, and his hatred.
Without a second thought, acting purely on survival instinct, he lunged forward and threw his arms around Saparata. He locked his arms around the boy's slender waist, squeezing him against his chest with a desperate, frantic strength, as if Saparata would dissolve into ash and blow away if he loosened his grip for even a second. The silence that had sealed his lips exploded into violent, uncontrollable sobbing. Fresh tears burned against the raw cuts on his cheeks, soaking directly into Saparata’s shoulder. Fluixon wept hysterically, burying his face in the boy's neck, inhaling his scent.
Saparata was caught completely off guard by the sudden, desperate embrace. His arms remained frozen in mid-air, entirely unsure of how to react. The idea of Fluixon voluntarily wrapping him in an embrace—let alone with such absolute, fragile vulnerability—was something Saparata had never even dared to fantasize about.
Normally, Fluixon only spat venom at him. He would humiliate him without mercy, mock his fragility, and state his absolute disgust for his existence at every given opportunity. Yet Saparata had accepted those insults and harsh words as a form of worship, continuing to love him blindly.
But now, the volatile boy who had always violently pushed him away was trembling like a frightened child in his arms.
"Fluixon...?" Saparata whispered, the sheer shock fracturing his usual delicate composure. Slowly, carefully, he brought his arms down, placing his hands flat against Fluixon’s shaking back. "What's wrong?"
Fluixon couldn't form an answer. He simply tightened his grip, clinging to him even harder. The phantom pain of losing him in that alternate reality felt too terrifyingly real, completely eclipsing the ominous, deathly chill radiating from Saparata’s lips.
No matter how much he claimed to despise him, Fluixon realized through the agonizing lens of that vision that Saparata’s obsessive love was the only anchor keeping him tethered to sanity.
Fluixon, Completely neglected by his family; suffers from a severe lack of affection. He developed a volatile, hostile exterior to prevent anyone from seeing his deep-seated vulnerability. He has no concept of romance or healthy attachment, making him entirely incapable of processing or reciprocating genuine feelings. View love as a foreign, terrifying weakness that threatens his control.
Saparata, Fundamentally ostracized and rejected by society. He copes with this alienation by inflicting severe emotional and psychological self-harm. To him, affection is empty unless it is validated through suffering and degradation. His love language is pain he equates absolute devotion with enduring trauma.
They exist as two psychological extremes—completely opposite, yet catastrophically locked into one another's gravity.