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Several days had passed aboard the Dijiang, before the Endministrator returned to the room confining their only ever-held prisoner.
It wasn’t like he had forgotten, but rather… he hesitated. For the first time since his awakening, the Endministrator was unsure of his next course of action. The conversation they still had lingered in the quiet moments where he didn’t bury himself in work or papers, in between meetings and in the silence of the Dijiang’s night, in the hours he spent staring at his reports, rather than reading them.
“And the man I had loved.”
It was absurd.
Impossible, even.
And yet… Ardashir had never lied to him, not once, at least from what he could tell.
The most haunting part about it, however, was the sincerity, the pain that his eyes held, and that expression Ardashir wore, as he had said those words. It haunted him, even in his sleep.
The security outside the corridor remained unchanged. Two dozen guards, still rotating regularly. The seals upon the blast doors. Si’s Feranmut seal, responding only to him.
As the last lock disengaged, one of the two door guards glanced over at him, standing a little straighter. “... Same procedure, Endministrator?”
The Endmin nodded. “No interruptions.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door slid open.
Ardashir was not reading this time. Instead, he stood before the window, one hand resting neatly across his back, the other hanging loosely at his side, as he looked out at the vast space of the universe drifting by slowly.
He spoke without turning. “... You have returned, my Lord.”
“You always know it’s me.”
“No one else would enter, after all.”
Only then did Ardashir turn. His smile, the one he always wore around the Endmin, was familiar now. Gentle, in the way his eyes softened. Restrained, as he seemed to hold himself back from reaching out. Yet, this time, it seemed almost… relieved. Like he was unsure whether or not the other man would come back at all.
“You have been well?”
“I should be asking you that, since you’re the prisoner.”
“I have little opportunity to become unwell.”
The Endministrator took that moment to look around the room. It was still immaculately clean, the little plant by the window looking healthier, gently nursed to flourishing. The books had multiplied, now containing historical topics of Talos-II. Someone had delivered fresh tea not too long ago, steam gently curling into the air from the small tea kettle on the tray.
“You’ve made yourself at home.”, he simply pointed out. He did not move to sit, nor occupy another space, other than the entrance of the room, the door closed shut behind him.
“I was told this would be my residence.”
“You make it sound permanent.”
Ardashir’s shoulders rose almost imperceptibly. “If that is your decision.”
Again. Always that. Always ‘Your decision’. Like his every word was a law, his wish a demand. Never carrying resentment, never pleading, just always that same patience and devotion that the Endministrator couldn’t quite figure out.
He remained standing, this time, as he spoke, breaching the topic that had carried him here. His hands were folded together behind his back, posture straight, as he regarded Ardashir from beneath his mask. “I’ve been thinking.”
A soft hum left the white-haired man at that. “I suspected as much.”
“Don’t.”
“My apologies.” The apology sounded so infuriatingly sincere, it made the Endministrator sigh out loud.
“... You really loved me.”
Ardashir’s expression did not change at that. Still the same softness in his gaze. The same, small smile on his lips. “I do.”
The correction landed like a boulder between them - at least for the Endmin, it did.
Not did.
Do.
The Endministrator looked away. “... You know that’s… difficult to hear.”
“I know, yes.”, yet the man did not sound apologetic at all.
“You don’t expect anything?”
“No.”
“You don’t expect me to remember?”
“No.”
“You don’t expect me to love you?”
At that… Ardashir hesitated. Only for a heartbeat, but it spoke volumes between them, in that brief moment. At last, he responded, though his voice sounded quieter now than it had before. “...No.”
It was truthful.
The Endministrator could tell that it was. But, as it was so often with the Phidia, there was something carefully omitted. It wasn’t a lie, not quite. Yet, there was something else swimming beneath those words, something that was slowly rising up to the surface, more and more, now.
Hope.
Tiny. Almost invisible.
The Endministrator let it pass.
Instead, another question surfaced in his mind. “... That means we had been on the same side, once. And yet, we stand at opposing sides. Was it worth it? Loving me, back then, only to find yourself in the position you do now.”
For the first time, Ardashir laughed. A soft sound, not his usual smug response, or biting sarcasm, or that condescending tone he so often wore around others. It was… fondness.
“My Lord.”
“... Yes?”
“You always asked impossible questions. That has not seemed to change.”
“I just asked if it was worth it.”
Ardashir’s gaze drifted out toward the stars again, yet his smile did not falter, did not change. “I have still not finished measuring.”
Silence fell between them, then. There was still a tenseness that seemed to linger in the room, a byproduct of their positions they had found themselves in, now, and all the events that had led up to this moment, but it was also… comfortable. Like two weary souls finally slowing down in each other’s company.
“May I ask something, my Lord?”
The words made the Endmin raise a question, hidden beneath the carbon fiber of his mask. “You usually do.”
“A rather… selfish question.”
Now that was new. “... Go ahead.”
Ardashir’s fingers tightened slightly behind his back, before releasing the tension again. “Have you searched?”
The Endministrator’s head tilted, just slightly, arms crossing over one another. “Searched?”
“The archives.”
“... No.”
“I see.”
In truth, the Endmin hadn’t even thought of that. Hadn’t thought to verify the information from their previous conversation, because he had simply believed them to be true. How foolish he had become. “You thought I would.”
“I thought you might wish to know.”
“... Would I find answers?”
At that, the white-haired man turned around once more. He looked at the raven-haired man for a long while, then, he smiled. “The Dijiang, and Endfield, keep excellent records.”
“You know what’s in them.”
“I know what I once wrote.”
That caught him off guard more than he’d like to admit.
“... You wrote reports?”
“Naturally, as all operators do.”
The words were spoken with neither pride nor shame, and yet, they felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over the Endministrator’s head. Ardashir simply continued.
“I served beneath your command.”
Endmin continued to stare, trying to grasp the words. “... Nobody told me that.”
“I did not expect they would.”
“... Why?”
“Because most that once were are no longer. Those that still are simply honor your last command.”
“My… last command…?”
Ardashir inclined his head. “You instructed those who remained not to burden the man who awakened.”
The room seemed suddenly smaller. A headache was forming at the Endmin’s temples, slowly spreading in his skull. There was a heaviness in his chest he couldn’t quite figure out, like something was trying to reach him, yet he couldn’t quite grasp it.
“You believed memories reclaimed by necessity were preferable to memories imposed by grief.”
The Endministrator’s pulse quickened at the words. Not too long ago, he had said similar to Perlica, when she had asked if he was alright, when Fangyi had asked him how he managed without his previous memories.
“You keep talking like you know exactly what I would think.”, the commander bit out.
“I knew.”, the correction was quiet. “I knew exactly what you thought.” There was no arrogance in Ardashir’s voice, just the certainty of someone remembering conversations the other participant had forgotten.
“... If I searched…”
“You would find reports.”
“... About you?”
“Among other things.”
“... Would they tell me everything?”
Ardashir looked almost wistful, as he answered the question with nothing but truth in his voice. “No.”
“Why… Why not?”
“Because reports describe actions,”, a gentle smile followed. “They do not describe the spaces between them. The conversations after midnight, arguments between two, laughter from mundane happenings, promises made with whispers….” His voice softened further. “Nor does it mention the ring I hid inside my desk until I found the courage to ask.”
The Endministrator froze.
Ardashir did too.
For the first time for as long as the Endministrator had known him, the immortal looked as though he had spoken before thinking and was now regretting everything that had led to this moment.
Gray-blue eyes lowered, snow-white strands of hair falling down as if to cover them, to hide them. “... Forgive me.”
“You weren’t going to tell me that.”
The Endministrator crossed the room in quick strides, sitting heavily in the chair that Ardashir had occupied at their last meeting. He felt as if he’d stay standing any longer, the floor of the room would give out beneath his legs and bring him to his knees, if the weight of the words he had heard today didn’t already do so before that.
“I was not, no.”
“... Why did you?”
A long silence followed it. Ardashir seemed to wrangle with himself how to respond, no quick answer on his tongue this time. His brow furrowed, instead, as he seemed to mull the question over for several moments.
“Because I… remembered it.” The answer sounded almost apologetic, the way it left his lips. “For a moment…”, he looked down at his hand, the glove and the rings that adorned it. “I forgot that only one of us remembered.”
The words hung heavy in the room, as had the many before done already.
The Endministrator didn’t know what to say, what to think. He couldn’t picture it. Couldn’t picture himself accepting such a proposal, couldn’t picture himself wearing a ring. Much more than that, he couldn’t picture himself looking at Ardashir with anything other than confusion and disdain.
And yet…
Nothing in Ardashir’s face suggested fantasy. Nothing in the way he had spoken the words, like they were the fondest memory he had in his long life, suggested a lie. There was no desperate wish for what might have been, either, but rather there was mourning for what had once been.
“... I’m sorry.”, the Endministrator said quietly.
Now, that made Ardashir look up, eyes wider than usual, perhaps even confused. “... For what?”
“That I don’t remember.”
Regardless whether they were on opposing sides or not, it seemed like a cruel fate to be subjected to, to the Endministrator. Having to face someone you once knew as your ally was one thing in itself. But the person you devoted yourself to not remembering you? After they had accepted to share a life with you? That was a cruelty he did not wish upon anyone. Not ever.
Ardashir simply smiled, not in a pleased way, but rather because it was the gentlest apology he could have received. “You have apologised for that, before.”
A frown made its way onto the Endmin’s face. “I have?”
“Many times. I never accepted those apologies then, either.”
“... Why not?”
“Because there was never anything to forgive.”
The words were spoken in a way that made the Endministrator’s stomach churn. It sounded like Ardashir had already resigned himself to that cruel fate, had accepted it willingly. It truly made him wonder, then, what kind of person he had been before to warrant such loyalty, such devotion in those eyes, even now, when he did not remember. When they stood on opposite sides and the universe seemed insistent on keeping them that way.
The Endministrator had left, shortly after that. Ardashir simply smiled, like he understood, reminding the raven-haired man not to strain himself too much, to take breaks and not to force what had once been to return to his mind.
Endmin had tried, truly. Yet, the next day, the words continued haunting him, that expression Ardashir had worn as he told him, the way he accidentally let such vital information slip, so unlike his usual composed poise he presented.
The Phidia did not lie when he mentioned that he had written reports, once, for Endfield.
Deft fingers moved over the terminal on his desk, verifying his access and accessing the Endfield Operator database. In another locked folder, after verifying his access once more, he found a list of redacted and expired contracts. He couldn’t help the cold feeling that slowly made its way up his spine, as he navigated the interface.
Operator Contracts
.
.
.
Operator Intel
At first, his own file had looked back at him, his own title. He already knew of that, of course. He hadn’t read it, never bothering with opening it previously. Accessing it now showed exactly as much as he had assumed. Only the Faction he was aligned with was displayed - Endfield Industries. Everything else was either Undisclosed or redacted. He briefly wondered who had written his entry, if not himself, yet there were more pressing matters at hand.
Going back to the Intel files, true to Ardashir’s words, the man’s name stared back at him.
BASIC INFO -
CODENAME: ARDASHIR [REDACTED]
GENDER: MALE
AUTHENTICATION: ENDFIELD INDUSTRIES
DOB: [REDACTED]
RACE: PHIDIA
[ORIPATHY INFECTIN STATUS]
Oripathy negative, based on examination reports.
[INTEGRATED PHYSICAL EXAMINATION]
PHYSIOLOGICAL STRENGTH: EXCELLENT
COMBAT SKILL: OUTSTANDING
TACTICAL ACUMEN: EXCELLENT
ORIGINIUM ARTS ASSIMILATION: [CLASSIFIED]
Records kept in the Dijiang’s database were rarely ever wrong, at most they were simply outdated. It was clear, that this had been outdated, assumedly due to the fact that only the Endministrator could access it, and yet… It gave him pause. It proved to him, which hadn’t been necessary in the first place, that what Ardashir had said to him was true. He had been an official Operator under Endfield, before. There were reports linked to his profile that the Phidia had written, one more meticulously and detailed than the other, yet comprehensible and professional.
He skimmed through the files attached to Ardashir’s file, like the Human Resources and other data Endfield gathered on its Operators, vital information, and yet, everything had been meticulously wiped or redacted previously.
Everything except…
FILE 5
Ardashir has agreed to my demands of him. I do not wish to burden him, like this, and yet his unwavering loyalty and affections have proven him to be more than capable of the task I bestowed upon him. It pains me, to leave him like this, to know we will inevitably be unable to outrun the fate we’ve doomed ourselves to, yet a part of me remains selfish. Selfish to keep him close to me, bound to me like this. It is a cruelty of my own making, and yet he accepts it with a smile. Perhaps that is the reason why I didn’t find myself hesitating, when he proposed. Or perhaps I am simply a fool bigger than him. Regardless, I hope I will be kind to him, in the future, and that he may find his own happiness. He denies it, claims he doesn’t want it if it does not involve his Lord - of course he does - but it is a wish of mine that I will take with me, when I enter my next slumber.
May you be well, Ardashir. May I treat you well in the next life, too.
The Endministrator leaned back heavily in his chair, stuttering out an uneven breath. There was a wetness on his cheeks he couldn’t explain, yet didn’t bother to get rid of. He simply sat there, weeping in silence for a Lover he had forgotten - had chosen to forget. Thoughts ran in his head, one faster than the other. Ardashir had known. Had willingly accepted this fate.
A fate so cruel it would’ve killed a man lesser than him, yet the one holding the guillotine’s rope was none other than the Endmin, himself.
What a cruel joke life was.
He still didn’t know why he hadn’t left more to himself, in the past, before he went back into hibernation. Why he hadn’t…
Hadn’t what?
What could he have done?
If all signs pointed into the direction he had been suspecting since his awakening, whatever was happening now had been some form of a puzzle piece for his plan, before. That everything had been within his calculations already.
Nevertheless, it felt… cruel.
Cruel to not choose to remember his Lover. To not leave something behind for himself to remember.
But even then, would it be the same?
In a way, he was a different person now, wasn’t he?
Ardashir kept speaking of similarities, of how he was still the same and still behaved the same. And yet… If he had truly worked with the man before, how did Endfield end up on a different path? Or was it Ardashir that ended up on a different path?
The only one I serve is you, my Lord.
Ah. All these vague answers of his… And yet, he understood, to an extent. Ardashir had mentioned, more than once, that he could not tell the Endministrator just what exactly his plan had been before, and he understood. Perhaps it worked like fate. If you altered the course of one small detail, the future you had envisioned would not come to pass. Like a butterfly effect, almost.
He had no choice but to accept things as they were now, it seemed like.
Not like he could just regain his memories.
The knowledge continued to sit heavy in the Endministrator’s mind. It didn’t distract him - not quite. His mind continued to stay on his tasks with a clear focus, precise and never hesitating. Yet, in the quiet that followed the usual busy day in his life, the Endmin found himself spacing out more often.
Even on breaks, or between meetings, the knowledge resting in his mind had become… heavy.
He had considered speaking to someone about it, before. Questions continued to linger in his mind, a constant in this newly awakened life of his, but answers seemed to be sparse to come by.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Perlica, or Chen, or the rest of Endfield Industries. Not quite.
And yet… Why had no one told him before? That he didn’t just have a Lover, but a Partner? Someone he was engaged to?
Hell, what if they had gotten married before?!
What if only Ardashir knew, and he forgot? What then?
From his office chair, he watched the pictures on the projector slide by. Memories of him in Valley IV, in Wuling, pictures taken on the Dijiang. Familiar faces that had shown him nothing but kindness and warmth, yet he paused briefly. Had they always been honest with him?
Ardashir had mentioned that he stopped people from reminding him, before he went into hibernation. He, himself, had issued the command, it seemed like. It would make sense, of course. And Endfield was nothing, if not loyal to the Endministrator commanding it, leading it.
How very conflicting.
Footsteps pulled him out of his thoughts, Perlica appearing in the doorway shortly after. “Endmin? The- uh… Ardashir is requesting your presence.” She seemed entirely uncomfortable even voicing his name, displeasure written all over her face and in the way her ears flattened.
It seemed he did not respond fast enough for her, for she already started rambling before he even had a chance to reply. “You don’t have to follow up on the call. I can simply tell him that you were… busy. Or otherwise occupied.”
He knew she meant well, of course she did. Perlica always looked out for him, always made sure he was well, after all. “It’s alright, I will go see him, thank you.”, he smiled softly at her, the woman nodding once, hesitating briefly in the doorway, before she left again.
Earlier that day, she had asked him more than once already if he was alright. On one occasion, she even asked if Ardashir had done or said anything that upset him. It seemed he was quite easy to read around the people he trusted most, after all. He reassured her that he was fine and that everything had simply been a lot to take in, what happened in Wuling, and how to proceed. Endfield was busier than ever now, as well, aiding in the reconstruction process of the Northern Exclusion Zone. He could tell his supervisor didn’t quite buy his reasoning, yet she let him be regardless.
The walk to the secured corridor felt longer than usual, or perhaps it was because the Endmin’s feet seemed to almost drag, his steps slower than usual. He wasn’t sure how to face the man sitting behind the door only he could open, unsure on how to behave, now that he had learned the truth of things, of their… relationship.
What a strange word.
A week ago, he would’ve declared any person insane for even suggesting his involvement with Ardashir.
Now he couldn’t outrun the truth, even if he tried to.
A part of it, just thinking about having been proposed to, made his ears warm in a way he refused to contemplate, let alone acknowledge. Much less the traitorous flutter of his heart.
He had read the files three times that evening alone. Then a fourth time, after Perlica had let him know his presence was requested. File 5 had read… like a farewell. He knew it was himself that had written it. And yet, it was not. Not quite.
A farewell it had been, nonetheless.
The guards outside Ardashir’s quarters straightened as soon as they saw him. “Endministrator.”, the two by the door greeted him.
He acknowledged them with a nod. “Has anything happened?”
One of them exchanged a glance with another. “Nothing… alarming, sir.”
The other continued. “He requested your presence about twenty minutes ago.”
The Endmin nodded. “Supervisor Perlica informed me. Did he say why?”
“No, Sir.”
Of course he hadn’t. The Endministrator rested a hand against the sealed doors, the fragment of Si’s power responding immediately. Locks disengaged, one by one, the surface rippling like wet ink.
If the guards noticed how he waited for a moment before stepping inside, they didn’t mention it, didn’t question it. A part of him was grateful they did not.
“... Endministrator.”
Ardashir was standing when he arrived, close to the desk this time. He had clearly expected him to heed his call. The tea set rested upon the desk, this time cleared of any books. Two cups held freshly poured liquid, judging by the steam lazily curling upwards. The books were neatly stacked on the windowsill this time, right next to the green plant.
“You anticipated I’d come.”
“I had… hoped.”
“You requested me.”
“That I did.”
The Endministrator let the door close behind him. For a moment, neither of them dared to break the silence.
He found himself studying Ardashir a little differently now. Not just the elegant clothes or the immaculate posture, the way his tail always remained curled around his leg.
Instead, he found himself wondering what this man had looked like standing beside him, instead of opposite him. What expression he’d worn before every conversation became measured and a game of wit, almost. Whether he’d always smiled this gently, when it came to the Endministrator.
“You’re staring.”
The Endministrator blinked. “Ah. Sorry.”
A tilt of a head, white hair dropping slightly to the side. “There is nothing to apologise for.”
“You need to stop saying that.”
“Pardon?”
“You keep telling me that there is nothing to apologise for. Stop that. You’re making everything sound… easy.”
Ardashir regarded the man for a moment, and then, that same soft smile returned to his lips that the Endministrator had gotten so used to. “It was never easy. I merely decided long ago that forgiving you required less effort than blaming you for something ultimately out of your power.”
Silence settled between the two of them.
Ardashir gestured to the chair that someone seemed to have brought in previously, now two of the same kind sitting at the table of the already somewhat-cramped room.
The Endmin glanced at the man, the outstretched hand and then at the tea he had prepared. Well, had someone prepare. For a prisoner, Ardashir still made sure he was comfortable. How could he say no to the man?
So, he sat.
In his usual fashion, and just how the Endministrator had imagined him to, Ardashir had pulled the chair out for him and then slid it closer to the table, once the other man sat. Only then did the Phidia take his own seat.
“I accessed the archives.”
“I see.” The response was… simple. Quiet. A lack of surprise or alarm in the words.
“You knew I would eventually, didn’t you?”
“I had mentioned it for your own sake. If you chose to follow up on that information had always been up to you.” Ardashir simply responded, sliding the cup of tea closer to the Endmin.
“Why didn’t you stop me? And why did you mention it, in the first place?”
Ardashir looked like he had expected the question to come out eventually, in the way he leaned back, one leg crossed over the other and holding his teacup with the same patience he always displayed. “I did not stop you simply because I wished for you to choose.”
Ah.
There it was, again.
Choice.
Always choice.
Never coercion, never expectation.
“I read one of the files.”
“I assumed you might, if you decided to look for yourself.”
“File five.”
For the first time since the conversation began- Ardashir froze. He nearly dropped his teacup, in his wake. The small pause in his breathing, the slightest tightening of his shoulders, the way his fingers trembled. “I… see.”
Resignation, again. Yet, he seemed surprised. Why?
“It confirmed your words from before.”
“... Truthfully, I had thought that my Lord would’ve gotten rid of it, before your sleep. Redacted, at a bare minimum. It seemed I had been proven wrong once again.”
The Endministrator’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. Ardashir had told him before, what much of a difference would it have made? “Why are you so surprised?”
“... I had hoped you would discover that after everything else. So that it would not… burden you. My words may be one thing, a farce if you will it to be so, but your own writings prove deceit from truth.”
Ah, so that’s how it was after all.
The Endmin laughed once - an ugly, hollow sound. “A little late for that.”
“No.” Ardashir looked back up, as he spoke. “It is never too late to spare you pain.”
The words landed with a gentleness that the Endministrator felt he didn’t deserve. Not anymore, not after what he knew now. “Why…”, his voice failed him, hoarse as he choked on his words. Ardashir seemed shocked, almost, to see him lose his composure so. “Why would you… accept that?”
It was the first time the Endmin had raised his voice like that, something hot and ugly curling inside his veins.
“Why would you agree to stay behind while I forgot you?!”
The man across from him simply smiled, and it made his fury boil even hotter.
“Because you asked me to.”
“That’s not-”
“It is my answer.”, Ardashir interrupted gently, but firmly.
“... It’s not enough. You knew what would happen.”
“I did.”
“You knew I’d wake up and not remember your face.”
“... Yes.”
“You knew I’d probably treat you like the enemy.”
“That, as well.”
“You knew I’d… never even know what we had been.”
“... I did know, my Lord.”
Every answer, every agreement, came softer than the last.
“And you still said yes?”
This time, Ardashir paused. A long silence stretched between them. The Endmin panted, angry and frustrated and mad - at himself. At his older self and every cruel thing he had done to the man he had once loved. To the man who still loves him.
“You asked me whether I trusted you.”
“I…”, the Endmin searched his memory, the sudden words dulling his anger in an instant. “... Did I?”
Ardashir’s smile returned. He took a sip of his tea, something the Endmin had totally forgotten about in the midst of their conversation, before he continued speaking.
“You did. You were frightened, and you believed I deserved to know exactly what you were asking of me.” His voice seemed to carry him back to a conversation only one of them remembered, a fondness in his eyes that seemed to cross his features more often lately, yet also something painfully melancholic underneath. “‘If you say no,’ you told me… ‘Then I shall find another way.’.”
The Endministrator couldn’t speak. Would there have been another way, even?
“And then I asked you one question in return.”, Ardashir continued.
“What was it?”
“‘Will this save them?’” Ardashir closed his eyes briefly. “My Lord then answered, ‘I believe it will.’...”, then he opened his eyes again. His smile looked sadder, smaller. “So I accepted.”
“... Just like that?”
“You were never asking me to choose between you and myself.”
“I…”
“You were asking whether I believed in you. And that, my Lord, I had answered already long before you even asked me.”
The Endministrator looked at him, then. Really looked at him. This wasn’t the blind devotion he had thought it was before. It wasn’t obedience born from fear or worship stripped of agency - Ardashir had known exactly what he was sacrificing and he had chosen it anyway. Not out of command or blind loyalty, simply because he trusted the man asking.
“... You loved me that much.”
“I love you that much.”
The correction came instinctively, once again. No hesitation. No embarrassment.
The Endministrator looked away, this time, unable to hold eye contact, even from behind his mask. “... You shouldn’t.”
“Perhaps.”
“I don’t remember you.”
“I know.”
“I can’t…”
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I ever-”
“My Lord.” Each answer carried no disappointment, no resentment, no hatred at all. Only understanding. That, somehow in itself, hurt even more. “I know.”
The Endministrator glanced down at his hands, still wrapped around his teacup. He hadn’t lifted it yet, hadn’t moved. But there was a faint tremor in them now, so unlike him. “Doesn’t it make you angry?”
The white-haired Phidia seemed genuinely puzzled by the question. “At whom?”
“At me.”
“No.” The answer came without hesitation.
“Why not…?”
“You have done exactly as you promised, my Lord.”
The Endministrator frowned. “... Promised?”
Ardashir nodded in response and confusion gave way to fondness once more. “You promised to awaken. To keep moving forward. You promised to choose as the man you would become.” A quiet, soft smile. “You have fulfilled every promise.” His silver-blue eyes met the mask once more. “The only one who failed to keep his wish…”, he laughed softly, sadly. “Was me.”
The Endministrator felt his chest tighten. How could this man be so… so…
“My wish was that this would hurt you less.”
A silence followed that neither seemed willing to break.
There was a heaviness once more that seemed to press down on both their shoulders. For one it was the revelation of truth and cruelty inflicted upon another. For the other it was the remembrance of what had been lost.
Finally, almost without realising it, the Endministrator reached out.
His hand stopped halfway.
He hadn’t meant to.
Or perhaps, he had. He wasn’t sure anymore.
Ardashir looked at the unfinished gesture with a sad, small smile.
Then, with the same care he seemed to apply to everything involving the Endministrator, he made no move to close the distance.
He simply waited. As he always had.
Leaving the choice, once again, entirely in the hands of the man he had loved across centuries already.
The distance between them remained, only a hand’s breadth from physical contact.
And yet, to the Endministrator, it felt immeasurable.
His arm refused to move.
Not out of fear, as a person’s reaction so often was. He did not fear Ardashir. He simply feared what the gesture would mean. He knew… essentially, nothing. Nothing except what the man before him had told him and what the Dijiang’s archives had confirmed.
He could not pretend that touching him now would be the same as it once had been. That he was the same as the man that he was, once upon a time.
His fingers slowly, cowardly, curled back into his palm.
“... I’m sorry.”
Ardashir’s smile remained. “I know.”
The Endministrator retracted his hand, letting it fall below the table like a thought thrown away. “I wanted to.”
“I know.”
“But it wouldn’t be…,”, he searched for the right word. “... fair.”
“No. It would not.”
The agreement surprised him. Ardashir wasn’t trying to convince him otherwise, wasn’t trying to soften the harsh reality of what existed in the space between them. Of what that exact space meant, for both of them.
“I would never wish for your kindness to become obligation, my Lord.”
The Endministrator let out a slow breath. Perhaps it had been better, that he did not confide in anyone regarding… this. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”, he admitted, to Ardashir as much as to himself.
“I would be concerned if you did.”
“... You’re making this incredibly difficult.”
“I am trying not to.”
“... I know.”
Silence settled again. This time, Ardashir broke it.
“Would you like some tea?”
The Endministrator blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by the strange request, or rather offer.
“What?”
“I prepared enough for two. Or rather, requested, I suppose. It seemed impolite to assume you would stay.”
“But you requested two cups anyway.”
“I had… hoped.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of the Endministrator’s mouth. “... You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Finally, the Endministrator lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip. The tea had gone almost cold by now, yet it was still pleasant. One of his favourite flavours, as he had found out through the late evenings in his office.
Judging by the pleased hum that escaped Ardashir and the self-satisfied expression, the Endmin must’ve looked quite pleased at the flavour of tea.
“It used to be your favourite. I am glad some things remain the same.”
Another silence settled between them, as they both sipped on their tea. This one, however, wasn’t uncomfortable. It reminded him, oddly enough, of the note he’d read, in the files.
‘Perhaps I am simply a fool bigger than him.’
It sounded like he had been… amused with himself, in the past. With his own fondness and feelings.
“... What was I like?”
Ardashir paused, before taking another sip of his tea, then settled the teacup gently down on the table with a soft clink. “There are many answers.”
“I’ll take one.”
The Phidia considered it for a brief moment, seemingly deciding on which to settle on. “You listened.”
“I still do.”
Silver-blue eyes softened. “You listen now because it is your responsibility. Before…”, a soft smile. “You listened because you wished to understand.”
The Endministrator rested his elbows lightly against the table, his posture growing increasingly more relaxed, more comfortable. “... Is there a difference to now?”
“A profound one.”
“Do explain.”
“You asked questions not because you… lacked knowledge.” Ardashir looked at him. “You asked because understanding another person mattered to you.”
The Endministrator thought about that, about how he had been once he awoke, and how he evaluated himself now. “That sounds…”
“Familiar?”
“... Maybe.”
He couldn’t deny it. He did enjoy listening, now. At first, it had been too much. Too heavy on his mind, still grasping everything that had been important, upon awaking. Now, he found himself wanting to understand the people around himself more and more.
“... You were curious.” Ardashir continued. “Hopelessly so.” Mischief glinted in his eyes, as he smiled.
“I resent the implication.”
“You once spent four hours listening to an engineer explain why a cooling valve kept failing.”
“... Four…?”
“You asked seventeen questions.”
The Endministrator groaned quietly at that. “That sounds like something I’d do.”
“It does.”
“And you just… stayed?”
“I brought lunch.”
“... Lunch.”
“You had forgotten to eat as you satisfied your never-ending curiosity.”
A strange warmth settled somewhere in the Endministrator’s chest. The words from Ardashir’s lips formed an image, naturally. Ordinary. Domestic. He found himself wanting to know more.
“What else?”
Ardashir chuckled softly, perhaps amused at the curiosity they had spoken about just a minute ago surfacing once more.
“You disliked paperwork.”
“I still dislike paperwork.”
Ardashir thought for another moment, clearly enjoying sharing the bits and pieces he had kept to himself.
“You had a habit of working through the night.”
Perlica’s face flashed through the Endmin’s mind. Have you taken a break today? He looked up again, a small hint of a smile on his own lips. “... She still nags me.”
The white-haired man smiled knowingly. “I suspected she would.”
“You knew Perlica?”
“I knew of her. Some others, I did know.”
“... Were they…”, the Endministrator hesitated. He had been asking himself the question, but as it was with so many lately, he was unsure if he even wanted the answer anymore. He asked, regardless. “Did they… know about us?”
Another pause, before the other man answered.
“Some.”
“Si?”
“Yes.”
The Endministrator thought of whom else had mentioned Ardashir to him, before.
“M3?”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly. He had assumed as much, though it did give him clarity on a few things, healing words he knew now always rang true when asked by him.
A thought occurred, then. One that had been lingering since he found the files. “... Did anyone object?”
Ardashir looked… amused. Like an unapologetic child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “To our engagement?”
“... Yes.”
The Phidia’s smile widened just enough to become fond and mischievous all at once. “Several.”
The Endministrator couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him at the response. “Really?” He felt like what he’d assumed would be a teenager gossiping.
“You were the Endministrator, while I was but one of your Operators. Our relationship was considered… complicated.”
The ‘scandalous’ went by unsaid.
“Sounds about right…”
“You attempted to resign your authority over me.”
The Endministrator, in the middle of taking a sip of his tea, coughed violently, eyes widening. “I- I what?”
“You said ‘so there would be no conflict of interest’.”
He stared at the white-haired man as if he had grown a second head, before he sighed deeply.
“That… does kind of sound like something I would say.”
“But the Board refused.”
He had actually-
“They cited operational necessity and urged you to rethink. It brought more paperwork than you wished to handle.”
Despite everything- the Endministrator laughed. A real laugh, this time. Small, disbelieving, but genuinely amused, as the sound bubbled out of him before he could stop it. “... Of course they did.”
“They were quite stubborn at the time.”
“Oh they still are I think.”
The laughter faded out into another comfortable quiet. Ardashir watched him over the rim of his teacup, content, satisfied, and with endless fondness. As though seeing him smile again, hearing him laugh again, however briefly, was enough.
The Endministrator noticed. “... What?”
“You smiled.”, the other man pointed out.
“... Is that unusual?” The Endministrator believed himself, despite everything, to be a rather… cheerful person.
“Not anymore.” The answer was immediate. “But…” Ardashir looked down into his tea, wistfully, then. “It has been a very long time since I was the reason.”
The room fell silent once more. This time, it carried the weight of years.
In that moment, for the first time since reading the archived files, the Endministrator realised something that made his chest ache in an entirely different way.
Ardashir had told him almost nothing about how deeply he had been loved - and loved in return.
Instead, he chose to tell him about forgotten lunches, engineering lectures, arguments with the Board and habits of those around him. He wasn’t trying to make the Endministrator fall in love with him again. Rather, he was trying to give him back pieces of the man he used to be, to help him form a picture, without changing him. More than that - it seemed he was the first person to finally satisfy the curiosity of the raven-haired man in a way that would not harm him, bittersweet as some memories were. They were… happy. Fond memories, rather than sad ones.
And not once had he expressed resentment or any of the sort.
Only unadulterated affection wrapped in fond memories and patience.
Always patience.