Archive of Our Own

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Those are the words Flux screams at Saps in the silence of night, the clock on his bedside table blinking 23:39 like a curse. All they’d done is brush arms, Saps had been asleep. He hadn’t even realised, but the sickening burn of skin on skin is enough to shock Flux into action.

He rolls out of bed, unable to stand the crestfallen, hurt look on his partner's face. Saps' voice is thick with sleep. "Flux what-"

Bugs are crawling all over him, down his arms, down his spine. Crawling and digging and burying their way into his skin. Suffusing through his bloodstream, carried through veins and capillaries and arteries. Pumped through his heart, into his lungs. So many fucking bugs.

He heaves a breath, wild eyes finding the door with pinpoint accuracy, scratching at his arms like it might get rid of the writhing mess making a home in his body. "I need to go."

"Go?" Saps sits up, duvet pooling in his lap. His features are flooded yellow from the lamp that never turns off, right outside their window. Bewildered, blindsided. “It’s almost midnight, where are you even going to go? You’ve got work tomorrow Flux, you can’t-“

Work. Of course he has work tomorrow. He has work every fucking day of his fucking life. The walls of their room start to close in. Looming high, they stretch and warp and reach towards him in the blanketing darkness. He can’t breathe.

"I have to-"

He breaks off, unable to justify the urgent, pressing need to escape that's roaring hot through his blood. Instead, he rushes downstairs, plucks the keys from the bowl by the door, slips the closest pair of shoes on - unsure if they’re even his - and gets in the car. Headlights flick on, he slams the car into reverse and pulls away, accelerating into oblivion like he’s being chased.

In some ways he is. Chased by Saps, who’s followed him down and is now stood on the drive, a hoodie hastily thrown on over his boxers, staring after the cars’ retreating lights as though they hold the answers to everything. Chased by work and bills and unanswered text messages and what they’re going to eat for dinner the next day, the day after that, chased by the rising sun.

Chased by tomorrow. Everything always leads back to tomorrow.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, and he doesn’t care. The road stretches on, limitless and black. Houses turn to hedges, turn to trees. He doesn’t stop driving.

Those are the words that set everything in motion, but long before that, it started with something smaller. Something hardly noticeable.

It starts like this.

With a brush of skin against skin, with fingers trailing along shoulders and sinking into hair. With linked elbows and tangled fingers and chaste kisses and arms around waists.

Physical touch is a love language.

One of five.

Words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service and physical touch.

Apparently, every person on this earth has a primary love language. Flux is not sure he's one of those people. He has no idea what his is. Nothing fits; not truly, not completely. Maybe he’s broken. Maybe he was never meant for this whole loving thing. Maybe he was never meant for this whole being alive thing either. It’s not something that ever used to bother him, but sometime between then and now, like everything else, it suddenly does.

Without a doubt, Saps’ love language is physical touch. It always has been, it always will be. Flux knew this before they even started dating. He'd seen it from the moment they first met in a local bar. Flux had been there for a work function, Saps was there drinking with friends. Saps had reached out then, placed a hand on Flux's elbow, even as total strangers, and smiled, offered to buy him a drink. It'd set the first few dominoes falling.

Connection in its purest form.

Through trial and error, they'd learnt to love one another and in that time, Flux came to learn that Saps is filled with a startling amount of love. Every time Flux bears witness to it, it’s like a bucket of ice-cold water is tipped down his back. Invigorating, breath-taking. Saps reaches out, again and again. For the first four years of their relationship, Flux had reached back. Met him in the middle.

Somewhere along the line, that had changed.

There's an art to sharing oneself, one that Flux has perfected over the years. To connect is to peel pieces away from the soul in shreds just large enough to satisfy. Enough to create a sense of intimacy, of knowing a person better than anyone else will ever be able to.

In that time, they've given almost everything away to one another, and Flux has finally shaved down to all the rotten, decaying pieces of himself. With nothing left to give, the festering, wounded part of his soul is laid bare and threatens to present itself in all of its earth-shattering glory. The thought of Saps seeing the rest of him sends a white-hot bolt of panic surging through his veins. So, he guards it close to his chest, behind a paper-thin veneer and refuses to give anything more.

That lack of give and take is all it takes to start the wedge driving them apart.

Everything is pointless. It’s all a means to an end. There’s no reasoning behind any of it. Life is a scam and a drag and a bore.

A person is born to die. It’s inevitable. The stuff in-between doesn’t matter. Flux doesn’t want to matter; he doesn’t want to leave a mark on this earth. He wants to fade into black nothingness and let the world continue turning without him. His life is inconsequential. Whether he’s here or not won’t change a thing.

That thought poisons Flux. It had first trickled into his brain when he was fourteen; a steady drip, drip, drip that’s only grown over the years. It'd spiked at the age of seventeen, left him depressive and unravelling at the seams. It had been a rough, constant battle of feeling so low he never wanted to move again and inescapable, final thoughts.

But it had settled, into something of a baseline, and he'd functioned and gotten out of bed every morning and continued on. He'd met Saps in those golden years, when everything hadn't been quite so heavy. They'd been so horrendously in love. Entrenched in one another with such finality that the world orbited around them alone.

Recently, the tap has turned back on. The drip has become a torrent, and now it’s spread through every inch of his being like an infection, raging and incurable. Too far gone.

There’s no fucking point to any of this.

He’s one tiny speck in a universe larger than life itself.

Nothing he does will ever amount to anything, so what’s the point in trying?

Every day is the same. It all blurs into one. He wakes up, has breakfast, brushes his teeth, drives to work, works for eight hours straight, one hour of unpaid lunch in the middle, drives home, has dinner, spends time with Saps, showers, gets ready for bed, sleeps.

Five days a week, forty-seven weeks a year. The same thing, day in, day out. Those five weeks of holiday are not enough to even scratch the surface of monotony. This will be his life for the next forty something years, until he’s old and grey and begging for it just to end. If he even makes it that long.

One day he blinks, and just like that, the last few years of his life vanish down the drain. He can’t remember a single thing from them.

Saps and Flux have a routine. It's born from familiarity. From monotony.

They get home from work, Flux later than Saps because of his flexi work hours.
As a software engineer, Saps prefers working early to have the afternoons free, so he's usually gone before Flux even wakes. He cooks most of the time and Flux cleans up most of the time and they finish their evening intertwined with one another on the couch.

The night it changes, Flux gets home exhausted and wrung out. It's the first night that they don't fall into one another as they usually do. The movie still plays, they still collapse onto the same sofa, but Flux sits at the other end, tucked into himself. The thought of getting close to Saps, of feeling his chest rise and fall, of feeling their arms brush or wind around him sets off a horrible churning in his gut.

Being close to Saps suddenly feels so daunting in a way it never has before. Like there’s an immovable mountain between here and there. If anything, he'd much rather be alone, locked away in the bedroom just to try and breathe for a moment, but he settles for this instead. Sat on the far end of the sofa from Saps, he resolutely keeps his gaze fixed on the show he's not even paying attention to.

Saps doesn't give any indication that he even notices it, and something relieved settles in Flux's chest.

Once is an anomaly, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.

It keeps happening. It becomes normal for Flux to claim the opposite end of the sofa, for the closeness and embraces to become something of the past. Firmly, they split between Saps' side of the sofa and Flux's side of the sofa. He's a little surprised their closeness even lasted for as long as it did. That's the sort of fresh in love, totally obsessed with each other stuff only new couples do.

But Saps notices. Of course he does. And Flux pretends not to see every time his face falls a little as yet another night goes by where they don't so much as even sit beside one another. When Saps shifts a little closer, lays a hand in the middle as a peace offering that Flux doesn't take, his eyebrows pull down, lips pursing. Guilt closes around him, tightens around his throat. Saps doesn't say anything, he just leaves his hand there in case Flux changes his mind.

He doesn't.

Flux has never been one for affection in public. It makes his nose wrinkle and derision slither through his veins. At most he'll tolerate a small peck or holding hands on a walk. It makes him cringe just a little. Love isn't a show, it doesn't have to be visible for it to be there. He's more than happy loving from the confines of their own home. Either way, Saps doesn't really care. But he does notice when Flux stops tolerating it at all.

The morning stretches thick, sleepy and subdued. Not many people are out, just the occasional runner or passing bike and the low hum of early wildlife. Coffee lingers on his tongue, and Saps reaches out to tangle their fingers together. It's normal, they've done it a million times before. But the buzzing is new. Electric, zapping shocks race up his arm, flooding through his nerves. Frowning, Flux squeezes Saps' hand in an effort to make it stop, but all it does is make the discomfort intensify.

It steals his attention as Saps talks, mind consistently drawn to the foreign feeling, unbearable as it tingles and spreads into every corner of his body. He pulls away. All at once, the zapping stops and Flux breathes, wriggling his fingers to try and ease the ache from them.

Saps turns to him. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine." He links his elbow with Saps instead, hips bumping as their steps align.

A muted, numb tingling spreads from the crook of his elbow, but he ignores it, focuses as Saps rambles on about one of his co-workers. He works at an office just around the corner and Flux has been privy to many of Saps' irritated rants about the stupidity of the people he works with. Flux commiserates. He's got more than his fair share of idiots in data science as well. He'd gotten the job right out of university, and somehow he's managed to work his way up until he's actually become important. It’s not something he particularly enjoys but he’s in too deep to give it up now. They bitch and moan while Flux's skin revolts and aches.

Over the next few weeks, they turn from hand holding to linked elbows to nothing. Flux can't stand it: the buzzing, the pain, the numbness. He pulls away when Saps gets close, ignores the cut-off sound he makes, and isn't surprised when Saps eventually stops reaching out for him at all.

This new aversion to touch bleeds into the rest of his life like a sickness.

Like everything else, they have a set of habits. On the days Flux goes into the office, Saps will cook. Flux gets home to the aroma of spice and searing meat, an apron tied neatly around Saps' waist. He turns, smiles as Flux shuffles into the kitchen and dumps his bag on the floor.

This is the part where they usually meet in the middle, where Flux falls into Saps' arms and buries his face into Saps' chest. Where he'll ask about Flux's day and listen to the boring, mundane answer as though it's the most fascinating thing he's ever heard.

Except he's learnt now. That hasn't been their routine for the last few weeks. There's no point in trying to get close to Flux after he comes home. He brushes Saps off, side-steps the hug with any excuse he can think to give. I’m tired, I need to get changed, it’s been a long day, I need a shower. Eventually, Saps had stopped trying.

"Hey," he says warmly, not moving from the stove. "You're home late?"

"Yeah. I had a project I needed to get finished. It ran over a little, sorry," Flux mutters. The lie rolls off his tongue so easily.

In reality, he'd sat in the car and stared out at absolutely nothing. His project had finished right on time, he'd left the office at the same time he leaves every day, 17:35 on the dot. He'd gotten into the car and been completely unable to turn the key in the ignition. He'd sat and he'd stared as the car park emptied out around him, as the cleaners went in and came out over an hour later.

His vision had blurred, and time had slipped through his fingers until he finally found the strength to head home. He'd driven slowly, so afraid that at any moment he might accidentally jerk the wheel straight into oncoming traffic. Rationally, he'd never do that, of course he wouldn't, but he couldn't get the sick fear of it out of his head.

"No worries," Saps says, wiping his hands on his apron. He leaves a smudge of oil in his wake. "Go get cleaned up, it won't be long until it's ready."

Flux nods and he slopes off to change out of his work clothes. He throws on a pair of sweats and one of Saps' old t-shirt's, ripped at the collar. It smells like him, and Flux fights the urge to bury his nose in it. He hasn't been able to stomach a hug from Saps in so long that sometimes this feels like it’s the closest he can get to him at all. Weariness floods through him in a staticky wave and the tension coiled in his shoulders ache. He digs his fingers into the muscles hard.

The table is set when he goes back down, candles flickering in the low light. Saps has even poured him a glass of wine. He waves off Flux's offer to help, serving up with a practised ease.

Saps' passion for cooking has honestly been a lifesaver. Without it, Flux knows he'd be living off of ready meals and oven food. He can never stick to a schedule when Saps is out of town; he eats when he's hungry and often he forgets, so he won't start cooking until it's well into the night. Saps doesn't like to eat that late, and it's only his insistence that keeps them on a better schedule.

"Here," he murmurs, placing the plate down in front of Flux, a hand trailing along the back of his shoulders. Without thinking, Flux flinches away, hissing as needles drag across his skin, digging in like thorns. Saps falters, taking the place across from him, a furrow to his brow as he swirls his wine and takes a sip, eyes not leaving Flux. It's silent, oppressively so, and as they start eating there's only the sounds of their cutlery clinking and scraping between them.

It goes on so long that Flux almost breaks it from sheer discomfort, when Saps asks, "Are we okay?"

Flux's gaze snaps up, knife stilling where he's cutting through the pork. A whisper of unease crawls down his spine, wraps around his lungs. He swallows. "Of course we are. Why?"

Saps finally looks away, ducking his head. "I feel like I've done something wrong. Like I’ve made you mad."

"No," he says slowly, the unease settling in his stomach like a stone. "Why would you think that?" It's not like Saps to bring this sort of stuff up. They've always tackled their problems head on, in a burst of flames, words traded faster than they can think. Their arguments don't happen often, but when they do, they explode into something dangerous and then fizzle out just as fast. This quiet questioning has Flux's hackles raised.

Saps meets his eyes briefly. "You’ve just been so distant recently. Every time I try and spend some time with you, it feels like you’re never interested."

"I-" Flux's chest clenches. He can't have this conversation right now. There's no justification for it, nothing that he wants to tell Saps because it barely makes sense to himself.

How do you tell someone you love that one day a switch had flipped and all of a sudden you can't stand to touch them anymore? That certainly doesn't feel like love. He looks away, eyes catching on the photos of them scattered across the walls, on their shoes piled by the door and the analogue radio perched on the windowsill that they’ve spent many nights dancing to in the kitchen.

His stomach twists, his already decreased appetite draining away faster than he can blink. Finishing his dinner is suddenly too much to bear. He scrambles for something to say. "I do want to. I've just been so busy recently. It's a rough patch with work, it'll pass."

"Sure, I get that but I'd like to spend some time with you again. Even if we just go out this weekend somewhere?"

"Maybe. I'd like that." The words crumble like chalk. It’s another lie. He'd like nothing more than to stay in bed and never get out again. The thought of going somewhere, of being around other people is so draining.

But Saps smiles, and Flux feels that knot of guilt clench tight. He can't bring himself to say no, and he hopes his returning smile doesn't look as brittle as it feels.

Things don't really improve after that. They don't end up going out, Flux spends the weekend closed off and tired, moving between the bed, the sofa, and occasionally the bench in the garden.

There's stuff that needs to be done outside. With summer comes the uncontrollable plant growth, but he can't bring himself to start it. The day passes in a sluggish blur as a headache sinks its’ claws into him. Saps does the gardening instead, coming in covered in dirt to shower and then head out drinking with some friends in the evening. It’s another invite turned down by Flux, and he’s still awake when Saps gets home in the early hours. He doesn't make it back to bed.

The next morning Flux finds Saps sprawled across the sofa, noting with surprise that he's not had all that much to drink. The smell of booze doesn't cling to him the way it usually does after a night out, and a rattle of wariness kicks up. Through experience Flux has learnt that Saps doesn't drink much when something's bothering him and he can hazard a guess that if he's not been drinking then he's been talking, and somehow that's worse.

But Saps doesn't say anything, so he keeps quiet and muddles through the heaviness in his limbs and the fog clouding his mind. He does his best to ignore the thoughts that keep looping somewhere dark.

That evening, they get ready for bed together. Saps is stood just behind him, a physical presence at Flux's back that feels too close and too far all at once. He can't catch Saps' eye in the mirror, still fogged up from his shower where his heart had raced and he'd fought hard with himself not to smash his head into it just to see it shatter, but he's scared of what he'll see. Scared that Saps will stare back at him with hatred, an unforgiving anger written into the lines of his face.

Surely, he can see what Flux is doing, that he doesn't want to be here anymore, that he's pulling away and is drawing a line in the sand like something uncross-able.

Or maybe, Saps will be completely devoid of life, dull and far away, like Flux feels all the time. It would be Flux's fault, and that'd hurt more than the anger or the fury. Just the quiet, cold indifference to the fact that Flux is ruining their life. He shudders, moves aside to let Saps rinse his mouth out and dries his own hands on the hand towel beside him.

He climbs into bed, lights switched off and it plunges the room into some quasi darkness, only the wash of yellow lamp light from outside their window illuminating Saps' route to bed.

Flux is crashing, energy levels running on empty as they have been for a while now and it's a terrible way to go into the start of the working week. He can't bring himself to reach for the book at his bedside or his phone that's on charge. Instead, he curls up and sinks into the mattress, something he and Saps had spent hours choosing. They'd compromised in the end, unable to decide between the firmer one that Saps had wanted for his finicky back and the softer memory foam one that Flux had wanted. They'd met in the middle, and it's something he's come to appreciate.

Sleep feels far away and unattainable tonight, like he could keep reaching for it and miss by a centimetre every time. It'll be a long night of lying awake, eyes gritty and sore, staring into yellow light.

The bed dips beside him as Saps crawls in, and he pulls Flux close, a hand around his waist, presses him flush to his chest. He folds around Flux like he belongs there and a few months ago Flux would've said he does. But now, nausea floods through him, an itch and a roar descending from where they're pressed up against one another that's kicking up into a burning ache. He just wants to sleep, and he can't do that with this surrounding inferno licking through his body.

Rolling out of Saps' arms, he settles at the far side of the bed. The shift in the air is tangible, as is the sudden hurt that pours off of Saps and nestles into his bones.

"Can you not tonight?" Flux asks, his voice a whisper in the darkness.

"You don't want a hug?" he confirms. Flux shakes his head, words caught in his throat like tar. Saps stares, a sliver of light catching gold in a way that makes them shine. It feels like he's looking straight through Flux. He curls tighter and shuffles back a little more. "What's going on with you at the moment?" He says, voice soft.

Defensiveness leaps in his chest and Fluxs bristles. "Nothing."

"This doesn't feel like nothing Flux," he murmurs. "We haven't had a proper hug in ages."

"I know, I'm just not sleeping well at the moment."

Saps takes a breath, still staring at Flux as though he’s a puzzle he can’t solve. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Flux shakes his head again. Nothing ever helps. Sometimes it feels like he'll never get better at all and that’s just his life. Hesitantly, Saps asks, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just tired."

"Right." Saps stares for a moment longer and then turns his back to Flux, pulling the duvet over his shoulder. It feels horrendous, leaving him scraped out and empty. It's what Flux wanted, but the distance between them abruptly feels cavernous.

After that, Flux doesn't spend another night in Saps' arms. He stays up late, settles on the sofa with a book and he ignores the lead lacing his blood and the overwhelming tug that pulls him towards his bed. Over time, he gets good at ignoring it, at learning when Saps will fall asleep and when it's safe for Flux to come to bed without the shattering disappointment that comes every time he pulls away.

Before Saps, there was Thomas. His best friend, his anchor, his everything. They’d grown up together, eleven to twenty-seven, sixteen long years of friendship. Thomas has stayed through it all and he’s sat across from Flux now, a pint of beer in hand.

He’d come when Flux had called, like he always does, and Flux doesn’t deserve his loyalty. He doesn’t deserve anything from anyone. He can’t reciprocate if ever Thomas needed him. Drop everything, drive over, concentrate and talk and be present. He knows he's a shitty friend. He doesn’t know why Thomas has stayed.

"How are things with Saps?" Thomas asks, elbows resting on the sticky table. Dark eyes flit over Flux, stare right into his soul and pull him apart. Thomas has acquired different pieces of Flux's soul, a little less of the pink warm affection that Saps has and more of the dark, nasty pieces. Not much, but more than anyone else. Enough to start connecting the dots and see the similarities between Flux’s behaviour now and from when he was younger.

"Terrible."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Just really fucking bad," he mutters. He should elaborate but the thought of talking is too much to bear. Vaguely, he realises he should probably be polite too. Courteous. Engage in small talk and pretend he doesn’t want to rip his hair out. He’d asked Thomas to be here, he'd wanted to catch up and talk, but the words seem to get stuck in his throat. "How are you and Micro?"

"I- We’re good," Thomas says, and it looks like he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. He cringes, really driving it home with his next statement. "We’re really happy actually."

“That’s great.” He feels hollow and numb. The words are brittle on his tongue. “I’m so glad you’re happy.” There’s a gaping hole in his chest and everything tastes like ash. He swirls the wine in his glass and thinks that too would taste like ash if he were to actually take a sip. His stomach turns.

Thomas shifts. “What’s going on with you and Saps?”

He stares into deep red and keeps staring. It’s such an interesting colour; the colour of drying blood. He could cut his wrist right here, right now. He could flay open the artery and watch bright scarlet spill out, paint his pale skin red. Watch his life force drain out of him in front of his very eyes. As it dries, it’d go a deep wine red. It’d stain the table, stain the floor, stain his clothes. It’d probably stain Thomas too, rushing across the table to clamp a hand over his wrist, frantic eyes and frantic words, fingers slipping against slick skin. Why would you do that? he’d ask, horrified and scared, pressing into Flux's skin hard enough to leave marks.

And why would Flux do that?

It would be a stupid thing to do. It would be the stupidest thing he’d ever do. It’d wreck his life and it’d destroy Saps and shatter Thomas. It’d ruin his family and everyone that cares about him. He can’t help the way his heart craves it like a drug.

"Flux?"

Startling, he looks up, dimly registering that Thomas has been waiting for an answer. It takes a moment for the question to come back to the front of his mind. What’s going on with you and Saps? He doesn’t even think about it before answering. “I don’t know. I really don’t know."

"You don’t know?" he repeats dubiously, squinting at Flux in the low light.

They're tucked into a shady corner of the pub, the ebb and flow of the other patrons so far away. Sometimes, Flux finds it hard to believe that every person on this earth lives their own lives. That each day they go home to faceless, nameless people and live a life that he knows absolutely nothing about. They don't feel real at all. Flux feels like he's the only person truly alive on this planet sometimes.

"I don’t know. He’s driving me insane. He keeps touching me and I can’t-" He sucks in a breath, runs his hand down his face, presses his fingers into his eyelids. Starburst colours flash across his vision, bright and staticky against inky darkness. He could sink right into this vignette blackness, float through it for the rest of his life and never think about anything ever again. If this is what death looks like, he’d take it in a heartbeat.

"Touching you?"

"Yeah. You know Saps, always in motion, always attached to me somewhere. It’s his love language." Flux had found it so charming once. To be wanted so badly that Saps couldn’t seem to let go of him. For years it’d been their everything, their world, but somewhere along the way it had turned suffocating.

"And that’s a bad thing?" His head is tilted curiously, trying to fit together the pieces of a story that Flux has been drip feeding him. It’s the fourth question in a row, maybe the fifth. Flux doesn’t know, he lost count. Thomas is just repeating Flux’s words back to him, so many questions, no meaning to any of them, just words strung one after another to make a sentence. Maybe this is what a conversation is. Endless questions and endless answers that don't mean anything at all in the grand scheme of things.

Thomas doesn’t get it. No one does. Flux himself doesn’t even get it. He doesn’t understand what’s changed, when it changed. When Saps’ touch started to feel damning and oily, shivers running down his spine instead of the bright and electric sparks of life it had once been. Something he used to chase after, seeking out like a moth to a flame. Because he had enjoyed it. Once. The fleeting brush of his arm, the tangled fingers, the linked elbows, the kisses pressed into his hair, the embraces while watching TV in the evening, the intertwined legs and chests pressed flush.

"It’s not a bad thing," he says slowly, fingers tracing the stem of his glass. "I just don’t really like it anymore."

Thomas only frowns and Flux can tell he still doesn’t understand. He doesn’t fucking get it. There’s confusion and questions swimming in his dark eyes and Flux thinks he might just start crying if he has to try and explain it all. Everything he’s feeling, everything he doesn’t feel. It’s all a big, tangled mess and no amount of patience or perseverance could ever sort it out. It swirls in his stomach like bile and acid. Sometimes, it threatens to come up.

"Saps loves you," Thomas says, and he sounds so sure of it. He says it like it’s a fact. Like it’s written into the stars and carved into their ribs. Saps loves Flux. It’s final. It’s life. This is their forever. Flux knows this.

Saps wants to propose. Flux knows this too. He’d whispered it into his skin before all of this started to become a problem. Before Flux had pulled away and started to build an impenetrable wall, brick by brick. Forehead pressed into Flux’s shoulder, arm heavy around his waist, he’d whispered into the darkness You’re it for me Flux, I don’t want anyone else.

At the time, his heart had jumped, and his chest had stuttered, electric and so profoundly alive. It had sent a tingling shock racing down his limbs and he’d turned in Saps’ arms and kissed him so hard they’d lost their breath. Their hands had wandered and their breathing had grown heavy and their skin had dampened with sweat as they’d lost themselves in one another.

That had been over a year ago. Saps hasn’t brought it up since.

"I know he does," Flux responds quietly. Everything about him has become quiet recently. He’s withdrawn into himself, squashed himself down and folded himself up into his tiniest, most unobtrusive form. When he’s not exploding outwards with a stark, shattering anger, he’s this: quiet and small. Flux studies his hands, stretching his fingers out as far as they'll go, the sinking guilt that has resided in his chest these last few weeks intensifying. It weighs down on his lungs and makes it hard to inhale properly.

"Do you still love him?"

"Of course I do." He doesn’t even hesitate. It’s out of his mouth before his brain can process the words. But these things are rarely that simple. He can still love Saps and ruin his life. Flux would know, he's the one doing it right now.

"Then you need to show him. You need to make him see it."

Helplessly, all Flux can say is, "I don’t know how."

"I know. We’ll figure it out." Thomas closes a hand over his wrist, squeezes reassuringly. Flux is hit with an abrupt image of blood spilling between his fingertips, then he blinks and it's gone. The contact burns. It’s not often that they talk like this, but when they do, Thomas has this way of making Flux believe anything that comes out of his mouth. He says things with such gravity that they can’t possibly be untrue.

Flux doesn’t remember the rest of that conversation. He’s not drunk. He’s not even had a sip of his ashy wine, yet it slips through his mind like smoke. The harder he tries to hold on, the more he loses it.

All he knows is that he gets home late. Saps has left a light on in the hall for him and he strips down to his boxers and a loose shirt, sliding into bed beside him. He doesn’t even stir, and the longing in his heart tells him to roll into Saps’ side, to wriggle his way under Saps’ arm and lay his head on Saps’ chest the way he’s done so many times, but the buzzing in his skin makes him recoil from the thought of it alone. He turns his back to Saps and lies awake for hours, staring out of the window at the stupid streetlamp that never turns off.

Tomorrow his eyes will ache, and a headache will build as he stares at his screen for hours at a time, and he'll wish with every fibre of his being that his heart stops beating, and his lungs stop breathing.

In the end, he never gets the chance to figure things out with Thomas. It all falls apart too soon.

The weeks blend together, a haze of days where Flux wakes up, works, and tries to keep going. He's not sure what day it is right now, he's not even sure what month it is. Just that the evenings have been getting longer, dribbles of golden light hanging on as the night gets later.

Saps is talking, he has been for a while now and Flux hasn't heard a word of it. He'd stopped listening around the time Saps had mentioned that the car is making a weird squeaking noise whenever it gets above 32mph, and haven't you noticed it, Flux? and doesn't it need to be taken into the garage to be looked at?

It's another thing to add to Flux's to-do list, along with the shopping and the haircut he's been meaning to get for the last two weeks, and the lawn that needs mowing and the hedges that need trimming. Saps has been just as busy mending fences, scrubbing down the patio, cleaning the house and somehow, he's not flagging anywhere near as much as Flux is. All Flux wants to do is collapse.

"-Flux!" Saps snaps, and it brings him back to the present. Sluggishly, he tears his gaze away from the paint that's cracking in the corner of the living room. That probably needs fixing too, at some point,

"Hmm?"

"Were you even listening to me?"

"I- what?"

"Wow, okay," he says, raking a hand through ivory hair. Irritation pours off of him in waves. "I don’t know why I even bother sometimes."

"Saps, hey wait. I’m sorry. I was listening, the car needs to go into the garage and-" He hesitates, caught. No matter how hard he wracks his brain, he can't remember a single thing that came after that.

"And what Flux?"

"I'm sorry," he repeats. Guilt rises up his throat and chokes him. "It’s just been a long day, I’m tired."

"You’ve had a lot of long days recently, haven’t you?" Saps considers, tilting his head. His tone is unreadable, distant and Flux has never felt so far away before.

"I guess," Flux wavers, uncertainty twisting in his lungs. Saps is pissed, more so than usual and it feels different somehow, in the absence of a snapshot trigger and an explosion of anger. This is something cold, something that's been building for a while and it's finally coming out. The consequences of Flux's own actions. Saps was only going to let it slide for so long, and now it's catching up to him.

Flux can't stay here a minute longer. Not under Saps' heavy, damning gaze or the cold, radiating disappointment. Just like that, he gets up and he flees. He pretends not to hear Saps' questioning call as he goes.

Night has crept in and washed away those final pale, milky rays of sun. It’s left the world covered in a dusky velvet blue. The stars twinkle and flicker, straining to be seen in the not quite darkness. Flux sinks deeper into the grass, lets the prickling blades cradle his weary body, an earthy smell flooding his nostrils. He's lost track of how long he's been out here, but the birds are still singing, quiet and ready for the night. Flux stares up into the sky, imagines it closing in towards him, swallowing him whole. It'd fold around him, hold him so tenderly and between one moment and the next, he'd cease to exist.

Softly, the back door opens, closes, and Saps comes out, barefoot in the grass. He drops down beside Flux, legs crossed under him as Flux shifts over to rest his head in Saps' lap. Fingers slide through his hair, scratch against his scalp in the way he always liked. A hot, burning trail of fire follows in their wake. Flux shudders but doesn't pull away. He deserves the pain. It's the least he can do after running out on Saps this evening.

"I didn't mean to get upset with you earlier," Saps says quietly. He's not looking at Flux, so Flux keeps his gaze on the sky. He can just about catch Saps' features in his peripherals. White hair messy, like he's been running his hands through it, mouth downturned. He's staring at their little house, at the life they've built together, light from the kitchen reflecting in his features.

"I didn't mean to zone out either," Flux murmurs, eyes slipping closed.

"I know. You would tell me if something's wrong, right?" He sounds so unsure, voice fracturing.

Flux exhales hard, body seeping further into the dirt below. He doesn't know when this happened, when they fell so far apart from one another. It's all his fault, that much he knows, and he doesn't want to lie to Saps. Not like this, but inside the splintering, swirling mess cowers back, hissing and snapping at the thought of talking about anything at all. The lie slips out, easier than breathing. "Of course. I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He turns, kisses the inside of Saps' wrist. It blisters, and he's staring at Flux with anxiety shimmering in the depths of his eyes. It's something he's trying so hard to hide but is missing by a mile. Flux can read it off of him like a book, and he looks away, unable to stand the evidence of what he's caused.

That night, they lie in bed side by side and Saps doesn't even attempt to pull him in. He already knows the answer. It feels like there's a chasm between them, something so present he can almost touch it. He can't remember the last time they'd gone to bed intertwined with one another. Saps is gracious about it, but he catches those funny little glances sent Flux's way when Saps thinks he's not looking.

He's a smart man, he knows there's something Flux is hiding from him. What he doesn't know, is how long it'll take to finally blow up in their faces.

Flux thinks about dying. He thinks about death all the time. It plagues his mind, infects his bloodstream, haunts his shadows. Something dark he catches out of the corner of his eye every time he turns his head just that bit too fast.

He thinks about it in the quiet moments: when he’s in the shower or getting dressed in the morning. He thinks about it at work, when the tiniest little inconvenience feels like it’ll tip him over the edge, leave him desperately wanting to punch his computer screen. He thinks about it when he's stirring their dinner in the pan, when Saps is talking to him about his day. He’s thought about it nestled in Saps’ arms in those days before he started to push him off, a sickening itch racing through his skin like wildfire.

The family dog died when he was twelve, old and frail. It had been time. It had been kind. It had also been his first experience with death. Cynikka had sobbed and sobbed, and Flux hadn’t understood it then and he doesn’t understand it now. It was the right thing to do. A life lived, a life over. He hadn’t felt a thing when he said goodbye.

Death is not something to be feared. It’s to be welcomed with open arms. To fall into death with a sweet smile and a beating heart is what it means to be alive.

Death is just going away for a while, never to come back. It sounds so peaceful.

He’d do it right now if he could. Staring up at the ceiling, Saps’ quiet breaths beside him. They’re not touching, not even a little. Long gone are the days when Flux would crawl into bed and curl up beside Saps, when strong arms would wrap around his waist and pull him in. He’s not sure he misses it.

Suicide. It’s such a harsh word for something so freeing. He’s thought about it for years. It’s been turning over in his mind like a prayer, etched into the corners of his brain. So many different ways to do it. So many different ways to fail.

He could cut his wrists, slice from hand to elbow, cleave himself in half. He could hang himself, a necklace of rope slowly choking the air from his lungs. He could jump; from a building, from a bridge, from a balcony. Somewhere high enough to shatter his bones and steal the life from his blood. He could drive and drive and drive, the little needle ticking up on the speedometer, enough to make the whole car shudder and shake. The speed isn’t what kills, it’s the sudden stop that gets you.

He could overdose, he could drink bleach, he could lock himself in a garage and inhale enough carbon monoxide to do the job. He could jump in front of a train or tie a weight to his waist and drown. He could get his hands on a gun, put the muzzle in his mouth or against his temple and pull the trigger.

He could, he could, he could.

Really, the sky is the limit. Everything’s been done before. It’d be nothing new.

But it would devastate those around him. He’d leave a Flux-shaped hole in their lives, gone but not forgotten. He doesn’t care, but they would. He’s touched their lives, he’s forever a part of them now.

Honestly, he’s never understood the people who say that suicide is selfish. In his eyes, there’s nothing selfish about it. It’s the final symptom of a disease that kills. It’d be like saying a terminal illness is selfish. He can’t control it. God knows he doesn’t want to feel like this. He’s tried. He’s tried so fucking hard and he always ends up back here.

Leaving Saps will kill him. Staying with Saps will kill him.

None of it is Saps’ fault. Saps has fallen in love with the wrong person at the wrong time. If Flux could make him forget it all he would. It’d be out of mercy. Saps doesn’t need this. Doesn’t need him.

But he is selfish enough to stay.

It ends like this.

Flux gets home late, trembling and shaking all over, a sheen of cold sweat clinging to his spine. Saps is there in a heartbeat, switching the engine off, unbuckling his seatbelt, gathering Flux up and ushering him inside. He sets Flux down on the sofa, disappears into the kitchen, comes back with water that neither of them touch. Crouching in front of Flux, he does his best to catch violet eyes. But Flux is far away, lost, floating outside of his own body.

"Talk to me Flux, what’s going on?" The tremor in Saps' voice is like a shard of ice piercing his heart.

"I don’t know."

"Flux please-"

He shakes his head, composure hanging on by a thread. His eyes are wet and he's trembling so hard he might break apart. "I’m sorry, I really don’t know Saps."

"You disappeared Flux. You just vanished; you can’t do that."

The tears beading at his lash-line spill over, a release of pressure that has been building for so long that he shatters in a stunning explosion of grief. "I’m sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-"

Saps stares at him, mouth falling open slightly in shock. A beat. He pulls himself together. “Hey, hey it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Sobbing harder, Flux curls forwards, burying his face in his hands. It’s not okay, none of this is okay. He’s dyingand Saps is here, telling him that he’s okay. He’d spent years in this hell-pit as a teenager, he can’t claw himself out of it a second time.

“It’s not, it’s not and I'm so sorry that I can't-“ He breaks off, words caught razor-sharp in his throat.

Reaching out, Saps cradles his face, thumbs away the salt dripping down his cheeks. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. Where’s this coming from?”

Sharply, Flux pulls away, slipping through his fingers. The tears flow freely down his face and his lungs feel like they're being held in a vice-like grip, squeezing ever tighter. Gasping, he manages, "I don't know. I don't want to be here anymore."

The air stills, Saps' breath catching in his chest. "What do you mean?"

Flux exhales shallowly. He thinks of the life he’s built here with Saps, he thinks of Thomas' words Then you need to show him, of their splintering relationship, of the last rotten pieces of his soul that are still tucked away, spoiled and rancid. He has nothing left to show. He can't love right, he can't live right, he probably can't even die right. All he has left to give Saps are these broken disgusting pieces of himself, the last of his soul that he's been hiding. Come completely clean. He really doesn't want to, he can't think of anything worse than Saps knowing about this, but the words spill out anyway.

"I don't want to do this. Being alive. I don't want to do any of this, and I can't-" He’s held it in for so long and now it's fractured and burst. A balloon blown too big, overfilled with air. A collapsing star and now Saps will never look at him the same way again.

“Come here,” he murmurs, beckoning Flux forwards. Maybe while the centre of his universe is imploding, it won’t hurt so much.

Flux cries into Saps’ chest, ugly heaving sobs and he feels so disgusted with himself, tears staining his shirt, wet gasps echoing loud in the silence. Saps’ touch - along his shoulders, over his back - burns like fire, licking down his spine, scorching his bones.

This was a mistake. Nothing has changed; he can't even have this one comfort. Desperately, he pushes against Saps’ chest. He has to get away. It hurts. It hurts so much that he wants to rip his skin off and scrub his muscles and nerves and bones until they’re raw and aching. Until numbness eclipses the pain and he can’t feel anything anymore.

“Don’t, please don’t-“ he sobs, and Saps doesn't move. He only shushes Flux a little more and strokes through his tangled hair.

It’s funny, Flux thinks, through the tears and the aching pain, Saps’ arms unrelenting around his shoulders, how he’s been so cruel to Saps for all these months, yet here he is, holding Flux as though he means the world to him. As though he can’t bear to let him go. He doesn’t deserve even an ounce of this care. Throw him to the wolves, leave him forever; anything would be kinder than this.

“You’re okay, I'm here, I've got you,” he soothes, whispering it over and over again into Flux’s hair.

And that’s the problem isn’t it?

Flux has chosen this. Saps is always going to be here. He'll die if he leaves Saps. Their lives are so tightly interwoven, to unpick them would be impossible. There's no telling where one of them ends and the other begins. So much energy and effort and time has been put into their relationship, but it's not enough to make him want to stay on this earth. If Saps' love could keep Flux alive, he'd live forever. Saps has more than enough to keep them both going, and Flux doesn't want to leave him. He doesn't want to start over, but at the same time, he knows that what he's doing is killing Saps too.

Guilt eats him alive, day in, day out. It's a constant. A reminder of the person he's become, of the person he's turning Saps into. That spark of life that had drawn Flux in at the very start is diminishing. Snuffed out a little more every time Flux pulls away. He's rejecting Saps' truest form of connection, and the light in his eyes is dimming because of it.

He doesn't know how to stop. He doesn't know how to fix this.

"Have you been feeling like this for a while now?" Saps pulls back, meets watery purple. All Flux can do is nod, heart pounding, breath punching out of him in waves. Saps swallows. "You said- you said being alive is too much. Do you want to die?"

Flux’s head throbs, tears drying against inflamed skin. Tingling static races through his limbs, and he clenches his fingers haltingly, trying to will some feeling back into them. His tongue feels thick, clumsy as he replies truthfully. "Yes."

"Do you have any plans to-"

"No," he cuts in, voice breaking. Saps looks so fucking scared, face drained of all colour, and that seeping curl of guilt spreads. "Not actively."

"But you've thought about it?"

"Of course I have. I'm tired Saps. I'm really fucking tired." Honesty has never tasted so vile. He doesn't say that it's all he's been able to think about for the last few months. That his world has been ending and he's been pretending that everything has been fine. He's lied to Saps' face so many times. Told him that he's fine, that there's nothing wrong, that he's sure. So many lies. They've curled and wrapped around him like a noose, and finally he's laying it all bare. Stripped away, it leaves him aching and raw.

Saps falters, eyes flitting around like he doesn't know what to do with himself. There's heartbreak written into his face, devastation pulling at his brows, and Flux knows his confession has caught Saps out of nowhere.

"How long?"

"Saps," he chokes, razor-blades tearing apart the lining of his throat. "I can't-"

"Please," he murmurs, thumbs sweeping along the line of Flux's cheekbones. A fresh wash of needles and knives follow the touch. Saps catches the new tears that fall, and Flux forces himself to stay deathly still.

He swallows past the pain. "A long time."

"How long Flux?"

"Longer than we've been together." Balanced on a precipice, the ache of the truth is staggering. "Longer than I've known you."

The noise that tears from Saps is not something Flux likes to remember. Golden eyes look away, and Saps doesn't try to hide the tears that fall. "Why didn't you-" Saps stops, shakes his head, gathers himself. "Okay, okay." Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to Flux's forehead, flushed and over-warm. "Thank you for telling me."

"I'm sorry," he breathes.

"I know," Saps whispers into Flux's hair, arms around his shoulders once more. "I know you are."

"It's not been the whole time," he mumbles, fresh tears slicking his face with salt. He can't catch his breath and it feels like his world is ending. But it's important that Saps know this. "It was bad when I was a teenager, but I'd been okay for a little while when I met you. I don't know what happened." His breath hitches. "The last few months have just been really awful, and I'm sorry-"

"Shh, I know."

Flux settles into his arms, muscles going lax as he pushes further into Saps. If he pries apart Saps' ribs and climbs inside the cavity of his chest, maybe then the bugs and itch and fire will fizzle out into nothingness. Maybe the love and softness will repair the rip in Flux's soul, cleanse him of the rot and sickness that's been festering there for so long.

When his eyes start to dry and his chest stops heaving for breaths he can't conceivably take, Saps pulls away. He moves to sit beside Flux, hovering close enough to touch, yet not closing that final gap, as though sensing Flux will shatter under even the lightest touch. Flux can't look at him. All he can see is hurt and pity and pain. None of it was meant to happen like this. Flux had planned to take this little secret to the grave. Saps was never meant to know.

The air between them is so thick it's almost tangible. "Is this why you've been pulling away so much recently? You've been feeling… bad?"

Bad. The understatement of the century. Flux nods anyway. He's already told Saps more than he ever meant to; he may as well finish the job. Voice brittle, he says, "It just hurts. Every time you touch me, it just really fucking hurts. I know it's important to you, and I tried, I swear I did, but I just can't help it."

Taking a knife and gutting Saps himself would hurt less than this. He didn't think it could get any worse, but Saps looks like he's about to start crying again, heart break carved into his features. "What do you mean it hurts? I've been hurting you?"

Flux looks away, pulling his arms tighter around himself. These days, it's the only thing he can tolerate. "Not on purpose," he says weakly. "It's just- whenever you touch me, or anyone I guess, it feels like fire."

"Okay," Saps nods, fighting to hide his wrecked expression. "What can I do to help?"

"I don't know. I just don't know." Those words have become his mantra over the last few months. It's all that ever seems to leave his mouth and he's sick and fucking tired of it. It doesn't help him, it certainly doesn't help Saps, and he just wants all of this to stop.

"That's fine," he replies, but there's a thin undercurrent of panic that means Saps is lying. It's not fine, Flux can tell. He's too exhausted to do anything about it. "We'll work something out. You can get help and I can stop touching you until you start to feel a bit better and-"

He's rambling, dangerously close to falling apart again and Flux doesn't know what to do. He tips over, lays out alongside Saps, burying his head into his chest. Saps goes still underneath him, hardly breathing. His hands hover over Flux's back, and Flux can hear the thump, thump, thump of his heart.

"What are you doing? Doesn't this hurt?" he asks urgently.

He only hums, and it feels like he's been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, burning hotter than the surface of the sun. It's agony, but he doesn't move. Saps needs this. He needs this more than it hurts Flux. Sinking into the pain, he lets his mind fall blank. Saps' palms lower to tentatively rest against his shoulder.

Wavering, voice thin, he pleads, "Please don't do this just for me. I don't want to hurt you."

"I'll be okay." Another lie, but Flux stays, and the pain makes a home in his bones and still he doesn't move. "I know I've been horrendous to be around these last few months."

"You haven't. You've just been far away." Saps' heart picks up under his chest. He's breathing in controlled inhales. "I thought you were going to break up with me. I really don't want that to happen Flux. I love you so much and it's killing me that you've been this fucking unhappy and I didn't know."

"I didn't want you to know. There's no way you could've figured it out unless I wanted you to."

"But I knew that something was wrong. I just didn't know what."

"You did." Flux thinks back to all those moments over the last few months, all the times Saps has checked in with him, asked if he's okay, if there's anything he wanted to talk about. He'd never pressed, respectful of Flux's boundaries, but also maybe trusting him enough to go to Saps if he had needed to.

And he hadn't. Instead, he'd pushed Saps away and kept him at arm’s length. He'd made both of them miserable in the process.

"In some shitty way," Saps laughs, sorrow tainting his words, "actually knowing makes a lot more sense. It makes it easier to understand what's been going on recently. And that's such a horrible thing to say-"

"It's not. I was awful to you. I never meant to be, but everything just felt so far away all the time. I could see I was hurting you, but I couldn't do anything about it. I'm sorry." The lump in Flux's throat is so hard to talk past, but he does anyway.

Saps presses his lips to Flux's hair and pulls him a little closer. "I know. I'm here, we're going to work this out Flux."

His very being is blown wide open, the rot spilling out at his feet. Only Saps can pick up the pieces and stitch him back together. They lapse into silence. Flux's breathing slows to match Saps' and numbness settles over him like a haze.

One conversation can't erase the damage already done, but the newly bared pieces of his soul make it easier to reach back, the final barrier between them crumbling away. The guilt that eats him alive doesn't weigh quite so heavy.

Tomorrow will come and Flux will stay home from work. Saps will stay by his side, and Flux will force himself to curl into his arms. Maybe it will be the best sleep he has in a long time, maybe the longer he stays there, the more the ache in his skin will fade into background noise. Maybe some days it will still become too much, and Saps will reach out without thinking and a fragment of understanding will pass over his features when Flux shrinks back with apologies tumbling from his lips.

The world will keep turning with Flux's two feet firmly planted on the surface. His mind will still drift and wander, will still venerate death like it's the last thing he has left to do on this earth. But in the clarity of tomorrow, a certain grace is extended.

They will sort through their relationship quietly, and some days will be better than others; Flux will still swing wildly between wanting to stay alive and wanting to go, but Saps will sit with him when he needs it and back off when he doesn't. They will learn to balance it and establish a new routine around it. Through it all, Saps’ love will be unwavering.

And that's how it ends. Without fanfare, without anything at all really. A weight off his chest and the unchanged knowledge that everyone will die someday. But for the in-between, Flux exists with Saps, and that is his life for as long as he chooses to live it.

Only he can decide whether to stoke the flame of Saps' fire back to life or let him burn out alongside Flux.