Chapter Text
It is hot, it is loud, and Fluixon is more than overwhelmed.
If it were up to him, the break after winter exams would be spent indoors with a good video game and minimal social contact. The Conspiracy had plans this week to hike to a waterfall nearby, and even though he would have grouched the whole way, Flux is feeling majorly left out missing time with his friends.
Instead, he is lugging two rolling suitcases through an enclosed tunnel with no airflow after getting through the ship security and one million passport checks. The tunnel inclines and finally opens to the entrance into the ship, leading an irritated Flux who follows sullenly behind his family through a giant balloon arch. In front of him, Elanulo struts proudly in a suit Flux isn’t sure how he’s not boiling alive in. He had immediately handed his bag off to Flux after exiting the shuttle, and is now chatting up some cruise attendant in the entrance. Flux is more than mildly annoyed that he was made to handle the bag when his father’s status as someone attending the business conference aboard the cruise that week could have afforded him unlimited crew members to attend to every whim, but manages to quash the feeling to save face after Crow shoots him a look.
Loud music permeates the giant multi-level room they find themselves in after finally getting aboard. There are people everywhere, and the din of chatter makes Flux want to pull his hair out. Bougie shops pack the walls, and everything from the glass elevators to the patterned marble floor screams money. The Aculon family looks right at home- Crow and Elanulo in their suits, Cynikka in a put together and clearly expensive resort casual outfit, and Flux with his form fitting black short sleeve turtleneck and tailored shorts with a silver belt isn’t out of place either.
Someone takes his and Elanulos bags from Flux’s hands, so Flux is finally able to fold his arms and scowl effectively. He is still unbearably hot despite the air conditioning clearly working overtime, still sweaty from the walk from standing in lines and dragging bags in the relentless Mediterranean sun and ocean humidity. He sidles up to Cynikka and murmurs so no one else can hear.
“I can’t believe Crow’s making us come to this. It’s already miserable.”
“What?” Cynikka says loudly over the deafening sound of music and the crowd. Right. It’s hot, and it’s loud, bodies pressing too close for comfort.
“Nevermind,” Flux projects. He needs to get out of here.
Eventually they do escape, following another polite crew member to their emergency meeting point first then at last being led to their rooms in the section of the boat that Flux can tell is for housing the fancy people. Never one to be perceived as saving an expense, Flux and Cynikka have their own suites with massive fluffy beds and connecting balconies that look out onto the sparkling water. Flux closes the blackout curtains and cranks the AC before collapsing starfish on the bed. He adjusts one leg to be hanging off haphazardly and thinks about how he got into this situation.
In his endless responsibilities as the CEO of the Aculon business empire, Elanulo is often invited on luxury work trips for networking conferences and corporate negotiations. Most of the time he went alone, and Flux spent his childhood hearing that his father was in Australia, Costa Rica, or Portugal for a week when he got home from school. Occasionally, Crow went with him, and Flux and Cyn would terrorize a babysitter. On this unfortunate occasion, Elanulo was meeting with the owner of the cruise line herself and had been persuaded by Crow that bringing the children—Flux had been affronted by being referred to as, ‘the children’; he was a legal adult, thank you very much— along would be good bonding. Or something. That’s the reasoning both parents parroted when anyone asked, though the tone lacked any actual desire for emotional connection. So here Flux is, finally cooling down from the Italian heat, trapped on a giant cruise ship for eight days of hell full of being dragged around to obligatory dinners and cocktail parties. His face is already sore from all the fake smiling.
A knock echoes faintly from the door. Flux almost doesn’t get up, but he doesn’t want to deal with the awkwardness of a staff member walking in on him splayed out on the bed, so he drags himself to the door and opens it.
“Hey Flux! Do you know when the bags will be—“
Flux grabs the Do Not Disturb magnet and slaps it on the exterior of the door before closing it on Cynikka’s face. He returns to the bed and squashes his face into the mountain of pillows.
A sound from the balcony door less than a minute later makes him jolt upright.
“So you don’t know when the bags are getting delivered to the suites?” Cynikka says as she breaks into his room.
“What the hell?” Flux splutters. “Wha— get out of my room!”
“Nope. Knocking on your door was all the courtesy you get. Anyways, Dad wants us to go to the welcome banquet and the headliner show tonight. He says it’s mandatory.”
Flux groans. “Who are we gonna have to meet at this event?”
“No idea, but probably some important people. Look nice.”
Flux rolls his eyes. “I always look nice.” Cynikka snorts. “Where do we need to be and when?”
“Crow should be coming to get us at five, the show is at 8:30.”
“Delightful,” Flux grumbles, and rolls off the bed to check his phone. It’s 12 am at home, and he should be curled in bed staying up late playing Pokémon. Stupid fucking vacation.
~~~
The dinner, or banquet as everyone is insisting on calling it, is horrifically formal. Usually Flux appreciates the luxury he lives in because of Elanulo’s money, but sometimes it’s excessive even for him. They’re sat at a massive dining room table reminiscent of a palace great hall, and waiters move around balancing plates with scary synchronicity. There is more silverware by one table setting than he keeps in his apartment, and the cost of each tiny serving size would probably cover someone’s groceries for a month. One four course meal and 90 minutes of avoiding conversation later, the event transitions into being forced to stand between Crow and Cynikka with a bitter drink in his hand as Elanulo introduces them to other apparently important people. By the end of the three hours, Flux’s previously depleted social battery has been running on empty for five conversations, and he is surprised underneath the buzzing in his head that he has not lost the capacity to stand upright.
Finally, the welcome dinner concludes and the group of stuffy, rich adults are led to the main theater at the prow of the ship. It is also giant, and Flux notes the obscene lighting rig hanging above the stage that includes an insane number of top of the line movers and high quality floods. He knows from his techie phase in high school how expensive just one of these lights are, and on the first bar alone there are more than ten of them.
Intrigued and more aware of his surroundings, he notices for the first time that Cynikka is in the seat next to him. “What’s this show supposed to be?” he asks, leaning into her space.
“Some acrobat guy I think? Not that important, I’m planning on just zoning out.” She leans back and crosses her legs in the elegant pantsuit she had changed to for the banquet event.
“Yeah. Probably smart.” Flux goes back to analyzing the visible rigging, and waits for the dimming lights to quiet the crowd.
The entertainment host finishes their introduction, and the curtains open to an empty dark stage. Flux is barely able to make out a figure center stage before music cues, a spot shines diagonally onto the figure, and he is instantly captivated.
A beam of red from stage left illuminates a man completely in white, with gently curly white hair that glows under the stage lights. His back is to the audience, and he stands casually with a hand stretched to the side. He slowly raises it as he snaps languidly to the beat, rolling his wrist each time. Then the light shuts off. Flux realizes he had stopped breathing.
Light from the other side of the stage lights up the figure in a vivid blue. He snaps with the other hand, and the flowy white cotton of his overshirt opens as his arm raises. Flux feels his mouth go dry. Shit.
The next time the dark stage is illuminated, it is a pure white flood directly above the man. He is glowing, and Flux wonders if he will damage his retinas by looking at him. The acrobat slowly bends backward and plants his palms on the floor, then lifts his legs up into an effortless handstand. He lifts one arm and rolls the wrist with another set of snaps to the music. The overshirt falls around his shoulders, and Flux can see a sliver of skin where the white tank top he’s wearing underneath is ever so slightly cropped. Flux has never been more captivated by something in his life. Shit.
The man’s movements are effortless. He moves seamlessly through a series of poses requiring balance and astounding strength and not once does he lose his elegance and poise, the level of which Flux did not know a human being could possess. His eyes are glued to the fluid performance, feeling almost hypnotised. The man assumes his casual stance from the beginning, this time facing the audience. His face is angelic, glowing under the stage lights, white hair his halo. His lips are upturned in the confident smirk of someone who is good at what they do and knows it. He finishes with three more snaps, then the music ends as the stage is dark once again.
Wow. Holy shit.
Before Flux’s thoughts can catch up, the lights are back on, filtering through atmospheric fog that is drifting out from the wings. The music that begins is mystical and ethereal, discordant notes making the overall vibe slightly disconcerting. The acrobat fluidly takes off his overshirt and tosses it to the floor, revealing a form fitting white tank top and beautiful arms. The smirk widens, and fuck. Now he’s just showing off. He drags an open palm up his arm and across his collarbones, tilting his head for his hand to travel up his neck and into the air above his head, meeting the ring that has descended from the rigging. Flux thinks desperately that no one should be allowed to be this attractive. Then the acrobat takes swift steps to the side and lifts himself off the ground, starting the ring spinning. Again everything is elegant and effortless, even as he twists into poses on the spinning ring that surely take incredible amounts of strength, like holding himself in the air with his legs by the rope above the ring, arching his back through it, and serenely holding out his arms like he was flying. And he is— the weightless performance is only adding to Flux’s perception of the man as an angel. From looking at him, you would think hanging upside down in the air from a thin metal ring would be as easy as strolling on the beach, but Flux can only imagine the strength and skill it actually takes. And it’s so damn hot. Flux has never understood competency kinks until now.
When the music ends and the lights dim again, Flux has to remind himself to take a breath. The beauty of the acrobatic’s ethereal performance swirls in his mind, and he shakes his head to attempt to dislodge the thoughts. In the dark, he sees the silhouette of the ring float up out of sight, and a long piece of fabric is unfurled on the other side of the stage. This time when the warm lights come on, shining up from the edge of the stage, the man is not already there. The music cues, a slow and sultry bass line, and Flux cannot look away as the performer walks onto the stage, half lit and holding a glass with amber liquid in it. The smirk is now one of knowing that you’re fucking hot, and Flux wants so badly to hate it but is incapable because it’s true. He takes a slow sip of the liquid in the glass, sets it on a small table by the proscenium, and Flux swears he sees a wink before he turns to approach the silks. The stage is hazy from fog machines, and light like golden hour makes the acrobat shine more beautifully than the gold set diamonds in the most expensive jewelry shops on board as he trails his hands down the fabric. Almost slower than Flux can stand it, he separates the two strands and winds the ends around his hands and forearms. Then with a small hop he is holding himself aloft, his feet coming together in points. He lifts his legs and extends his arms to be fully horizontal. This is the most impressive thing Flux has ever seen. His mind is promptly blown again when his legs lift above his head and his whole body is flipping backwards but at the pace of complete control the whole time.
The acrobat continues to show off unimaginable feats of strength until the music returns to the lone bass line, and he stalks slowly back to the table with his glass. He drinks the rest, tipping his head back and revealing the white skin of his neck, before raising an eyebrow and licking the rim. The universe is trying to kill Flux specifically. Or perhaps not the universe, just this man. The lights cut out and Flux hopes Cynikka didn’t see his jaw drop.
Apparently this was the end of the show, and full stage lights come up to show the performer beaming as he takes a deep bow. The smile is brighter than all the stage lights combined, and Flux feels it be seared into his memory. He’s clapping even before the host comes back out and almost doesn’t catch what they say, gaze still locked on the radiant performer.
“Give it up everyone for acrobat extraordinaire, Saparata!”
A cheer sounds through the theater. Even the rich people look impressed.
Saparata.