Welcome to Gaia! ::

The joke fell like lead, but Syrus still found it in himself to snort some crooked, ugly bit of a laugh that ruined the smile he couldn’t manage to keep. Even in poor taste, he appreciated Matt’s attempt, thought that it was the sort of jab maybe Albite would enjoy hearing—- if they survived him.

That was the key wasn’t it? *Surviving.* Finding that narrow margin for error and skirting around it, coming out the other side with both their heads intact. Syrus quite liked his head, the thoughts in it, enough of the memories it contained that he wasn’t quite ready to see it all splashed out across the concrete. His miasmatic mood was short lived for the

Thinking that Albite was onto anything other than his next conquest? It was a heart stopping, brain baffling moment. Syrus could’ve gagged for the realization—Waru would be unbearable once he knew.

And he would know—

Some way, some how, *eventually*. It was all sorts of walls closing in slow as the teeth of a Venus fly trap round it’s prey. The more little hairs they stumbled over, the more feelers they set off—and Syrus knew he could’ve just been thinking of this as Matt’s problem to deal with! Except for how nothing at all worked that way and everything was seven degrees of separation — binding ties — the whole lot.

“Neither of us is safe, never were, and getting murdered by *something* was always written into thr fine print of joining. There’s nothing gained without a trade, no matter the side one chooses,” Syrus sighed some exhaustive note, sad over how it was him who’d had all the choice and Fulgurite who’d had so little in the way of that. Syrus who’d thought the grace of power in exchange for services he was willing to provide simply tantalizingly.

“And as for Albite? He’s going to be insufferable once he finds out—and eventually he will. His ego’s already the size of a barn door—Still! You just leave Albite to me. In fact? You let me hand them a figurehead instead of a physical one. We might be able to mitigate things long enough for—” the words bitten off in a humm as Syrus sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. Because that was another question he needed to ask, wasn’t it? For what purpose exactly would he be misleading them? To buy Matt time, to buy himself time? Time enough for Syrus to find someone else to paint arrows towards while Matt did what exactly? The Bank endeavor had been an absolute debacle (Blown up in their faces, quite literally) and the head of their feral hydra of a team was, and would forever more be, a General Soverign.

Where was there to run, to hide! What was there to do but find more bodies to pile on the bus—

*Bodies that had been at the vow ceremony, someone like Celadonite, or…..* — that part was easy enough wasn’t it? Syrus realized it was a simple thing for him to pick from those he liked less than Albite or Tama or — and really? The number of people he cared about versus the number of people he knew to have been there was so few and easy to thrift through, Syrus had not been lying to Faustite that night in his kitchen, when the man’s shown him the meaning of fire on his soul. He did so loathe the world and all it’s many flaws, cared only for his most inner of circles and little beyond that. He had certainly tried his hand with the team—shown up when he could—shown his support when he could.

That didn’t mean he was loyal to them specifically; to the mass full of more individuals than he could keep count of. He could hand Faustite someone else and it would be easy. Would it be clean, though? Would it make sense? How many had their General already weeded out that if he dropped the wrong name he’d make himself even more suspect in advance—

He’d have to put work into his asking, to do it subtly, carefully. Because as smart as Syrus liked to think himself even he could admit his own lacking in knowledge here, that there were some things he could not plan around—certain inevitabilities that needed answering to. He’d always had plans for his plans, but never had he once planned for something like this to happen! That he’d find someone he didn’t want to lose, someone worth connecting with on more than just a physical level.

“Long enough to get you more safe than you are right now. Whatever that looks like Matt, whatever that needs? You have to know I support you in it.” Syrus just wished he knew what ‘more safe’ looked like for the both of them. What coat they’d have to pay to achieve that when everything else was so clearly stacked against anything that felt like ‘in their favor’.

“Shhh…” it was easy enough to reach for Matt as if anything he could do would make it easier, as if it would soothe away the sharp edges that threaded the reality of the situation. He wanted it though, to run his dark nails over Matt’s scalp, through his thick hair. To drag him a little closer, till he could offer him something like a hug as everything sunk in, permeated; like a wine stain that would never come out of his bone white carpet.

Because Syrus was beginning to understand what Matt meant by ‘leaving’. Knew the man didn’t mean a trip overseas, or a short vacation to another state. He meant leaving, leaving! The kind that meant forever and a day.

“If that’s the only way you can get safe?” throat tight, because he hated saying the words; the unknown itch that’d threatened to overwhelm him before growing to a prickle behind the backs of his eyes. Hints of wetness threatening to spill over his dark lashes and become some messy falls that would ruin the strong front he was trying to uphold— “If this is what you need to do so you can finally *live*, then darling. It’s simply what you must do—I love you too, make no mistake, but even I’m not selfish enough to encourage this—tsk—this continued self-flagellation. If you want something better for yourself? You know I’m going to encourage you to take it.”

And even if it was without him! And even if he would be a lost part of that prior map forever erased? Syrus wondered, maybe, if that was for the best. Of course he also wondered at the chance to start anew, to hope for a chance that Matt would remember enough of him that they could do something utterly treasonous to everything save his own selfish, greedy heart.

“And you will have Nikki, fully. A bastion of protection, that one. She has a wealth of safe havens I’m sure...” a cliff of sighs, his hands anxious and reaching. Syrus didn’t want to think about how long it would take anyone to realize anything, he would, of course, he had to. Even knowing that whatever answer he guessed at would change little. Eventually Faustite would call Fulgurite— and find no one — and eventually Syrus would be spoken to, and he would have to have answers of some sort.

Catching Matt’s eyes again absolutely made it worse, it was what Syrus had wanted, wasn’t it? To look into verdant green and catch them misting over with sadness, with dismay, with the same hurt some small mean part of himself wanted to latch and pull on. To see that Matt really *felt*, to every spoken degree, exactly what was being proposed here in the hush of his apartment – suddenly – and with not nearly enough food or drink to drown the outpouring of emotions in between them. Syrus wondered, stupidly, if he’d not been hearing Matt before–

Not clearly, obviously.

Oh yes, the parts about betrayal, and ruin, and traitor’s being traitors—All well and good and he heard that clearly! Felt a sudden one eighty turn like whiplash as the concept he was encouraging sunk in fully beneath the skin, permeating his thick skull, his soft gray matter.

Matt wasn’t just leaving the Negaverse— not to join Nikki in all her blushy wholesomeness, not just to join the ‘side of order’ in order to ‘save his hide’, a thing Syrus very much wanted, right? His man alive and breathing. Yes, he wanted that. Needed that, no matter the cost – except? Thee cost also held taxes – fine lines in the disclaimer of the receipt. Because Matt was not just leaving all that was familiar and DC. No, no no, Matt was leaving *him* as well. May not remember him after, may not ever see him again in any shape or form, may end up lightyears away and untouchable and unkissable, and—--

This b*****d…

“You absolute….b*****d,” he must’ve looked owlish and stunned. His words were more wet than he meant for them to be, more soft, hissed, snake-like for all that Syrus knew now he was crying, and gods did he ever hate to cry!! “You’ve stayed this long, you could just…..keep staying, Matt.”

For Me!

“You can be here with me! Keep all your family, find some other way–forget every little scrap of what I mentioned and we ******** can use Nikki, can’t we? It doesn’t have to be you..you being not here with me…not ever?!”

How very noble of him to have pushed for his beaus happiness, to have pursued it so doggedly before and as he always had. With bolstering logic, with supportive stances stacked in the positive! At what expense though? His own, obviously. It was one thing to talk about it, oh yes, he’d be fine! He’d survive! To live it, though? To endure the distance and the absence he now realized was more than just city blocks away. Matt meant to say that he wouldn’t be seeing him at *all*--

All the thoughts of Nikki’s notes, plans that he was planning already around Matt's inevitable departure and bright happy new life. There were promises he wanted to make to Matt, but In the face of everything? The promises that he wanted to make, they ached terribly.

What was he even doing!? Encouraging Matt to leave in pursuit of his own happiness! What was wrong with him!?

What about my happiness?? My desires, my dreams! What about us?

“You think I care if it’s ever fully safe for either of us–Albite didn’t care! Doesn’t ever care. He can brazenly big-d**k around, but we can’t? Oh, and I know there’s no logic in it at all–to say any of these things–that he’s mystical and impervious to his own damn folly…..” the words untrue as they were uncaring, because unlike himself? He knew Albite would suffer whatever consequences he deemed himself worthy of suffering, would suffer them all boldly, even if that looked a lot like burning alive! But Syrus suddenly wasn’t in a mood to be either magnanimous or forgiving of anyone. No, instead he was all the brands of upset that could be muddled saltily together and poured into a glass over ice and garnished with the sting of loss.

He didn’t want to sacrifice or suffer, not to lose, not to have been brought into all of this and had one of the better things in it suddenly yanked out beneath his feet like a rug…

“This isn’t supposed to be you losing everything, about you losing me–this should be–if you don’t get some good out of this what’s the purpose? Living? How is that living—” He wanted to shake Matt furiously, but hugged him instead, let his gentle holds become clawing touches and clutched at the man the way he always wanted to at least some of the time. Till he was the water in his veins, a good seventy percent of himself.

“You b*****d—it’s not ******** fair. I’m going to miss you…” he was going to stain his couch, Matt's hair, and their clothing. Going to get his stupid, ugly tears all over everything, going to let the food go cold by the door until the morning—all for this—this man he loved who was trying so valiantly to tell him things he didn’t wish to hear. Painful things Syrus was ill equipped to handle…

You’re leaving! You made me love you enough that I’ll miss you!! And now you’re leaving!!

No matter what plan Syrus lobbed, or hatched, or helped to shove out the door. There was no denying that fact. No undoing it. He could’ve conceived of meeting places, could’ve encouraged Nikki to use her notes to let them rendezvous about. What good would any of that do if – if Matt didn’t remember him? If Fulgurite didn’t exist to remember him? If he wasn’t there to witness himself being witnessed even from afar—

He could cry, he was certainly doing that, messy heaved little things, chewed up and smothered when he bit his lip to try and smother their loudness as he hiccoughed his way through more useless words.

“Oh Matt–I’m so–I’m so sorry…..”

Nothing should’ve had to be like it was.

“Oh, ******** you!” the words were choked, Syrus had to catch a gasp of air before finding the will to lash out; however gently. As that comment did deserve the smack he aimed at Matt’s shoulder, close-fisted taps that became open palmed, butterfly soft, swatting things. He was going to wipe his face all over this man’s shirt, it was the least he deserved!

“As if I *want* to forget you—that’s—that’s just rude Matthew! It’s — ughhff— I’m going to tear my hair out over how I can’t even think of a word to describe such an ugly idea—“ the words rough, lacking, messily miserable. For all that he wanted nothing more than to disagree with Matt about every damn other thing, wanted to *scream*, to freeze over and encapsulate the moment so it would go on forever.

So that Matt wouldn’t ever have to leave. It wasn’t fair – how dare he be *right* – but worse than that? How dare he even consider being forgotten!

“Me, forgetting you? As if it would be some easy, desirable thing. No. I think not. I think? I’m going to remember you and weep for it, and that you’re going to fight to do the damn same if I have to find your side-shifting a** and remind you I existed to cry over!” the hurt easier to let sieve out his head through his own mouth, easier to drown the shared hurt with harsh sounds, and rough sniffles. He could make himself let go of Matt long enough to palm his wet lashes, smearing the tears into his own hairline.

“We are both very worth the tears we shed here…” just as Matt was worth apologizing to, just as he could admit that he deserved some admittance of apology himself. The same as he could admit Matt was right, about some things, about this especially!

For all that he didn’t want to believe it of anyone – of albite – of Faustite – that there must have been some weasley way out, a loophole, a bid for leniency. Except he couldn’t begin to untangle the how of it. He didn’t even know how much time he and Matt had! When this elusive and illustrious jail break would occur! How the ******** they’d even keep it quiet until the time came and it finally did happen…

He wanted to know, Matt would tell him, right? Send him a note, leave him a sign–

Leave me hanging…..

“I refuse to believe anything less.”

“Damn right you should’ve!!” As if his commitment was some fickle thing so easily thrown away— He was *that* ride or die b***h god damn it! It was in his ******** bio, it was how he lived his life; secure, stable, present and accounted for when the chips were down for the people who mattered to him most!

For those people alone.

Maybe Matt doesn’t know? Maybe that kind of knowing doesn’t matter in the face of everything that’s coming..

“Well, if I’d waited till the second date you’d have already been gone. I’m not taking it back you know, and unlike one of us? I won’t be letting it go so easily—“ the blows were low, but low was the mood, and why would he be dishonest with Matt now? Pulling punches was not either of their styles, the point of togetherness was that the mask came off and the ice melted and the springs flowed clear, fresh, warm! Ah, and how he blushed behind the swell of tears, a new mix of embarrassment and joy to know Waru wasn’t the most impulsive of them all, maybe it was his youth?

Maybe he was spouting bullshit—

No.

He’d said the words because he’d meant them. Meant them still now, wanted something permanent and real. Not ten lives from now that he’d have to live as someone else! But right here, right now, in this life! Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently so….

He had to consider Matt’s wants too, his desires, his needs—that Matt had spent so long suffering and deserved an out one way or another! That if the same was true for himself then it was also true for the man he was so deeply invested in.

He’s on my side, isn’t he? Just not theirs…

There was no fairness in keeping Matt longer, in asking his love to torture himself, for why? For a fling—a very serious not at all nearly marriage of a fling—-it was all so damn much! The very thought of letting go, of putting himself and Matt’s self *aside*, and to see the logic in it all long enough to let go!

It made his skin tight, it made his chest ache, he didn’t want to be ‘the lawyer-to-be’ right now. I’m fact? He didn’t want to be anyone important at all….

But Matt was talking sense and he found himself nodding along even as he was trying his best to shove the blushing red and wet of fresh tears off his cheeks in tandem. To get some sliver of a hold on himself, just for a moment.

“—I won’t be letting *you* go so easily, and you’ll not be letting *me* go so easily either—I can, I suppose, manage at least that much. Insofar as making you a decent bibliography,” the swallow that followed felt sour, same as the breath after that. A few more calmed him somewhat, enough to unclench and uncling and give Matt some space; space enough to breath his own air at least.

Seeing his lives features through less blurry eyes, with a little oxygen in his lungs, it did make it easier to curl up on his couch and imagine the next steps they were going to go through. Like any mission or project, save this one was self imposed.

“Actually? It might even be fun—the parts where I finally get to know everything I’ve always wanted to know about you.”

He was unsure of how they’d manage that damage control, but he believed in himself, and would source out where to begin on it as the days progressed, as time passed, whatever amount of that they decided they had left together? Whatever place Matt would find himself in before jumping the chasm of change so suddenly—they’d work it out then, knowing there were no guarantees. It was a bit like sitting in a tethered boat amongst quick moving rapids. At any moment the rope would give. They had time without having any real time at all…

He just had to not think on it—

Gods, but then why did he have to love him so damn much that doing anything else felt impossible?!

The knock on the door nearly sent Syrus off his own couch, had him clutching upholstery hard enough that he swore he’d chipped a nail — torn a thread — the loud incoming chime on his phone signaling an order echoed the knock and confirmed the drop delivery alongside a quick little text of a photo.

‘Ah, right, I’d ordered food—f u c k…at this rate I’ll give myself a heart attack before Matt ever gets to leave!’

‘I have both a rod and a staff—I fear no evil…’ he smirked for the quote, because unlike some people he knew? He did read things from time to time. Yet very ‘so’ much like some people he knew—he felt sure in his abilities. Though maybe that was just his own ego? The little pet of him that was so very ‘Senshi’ and however the ******** old and ‘sure’ of himself even if others weren’t.

Then again? He was also very squishy, malleable, human and in the flesh. He could die. It was a terrible conundrum. To feel large and loved yet also small and inadequate at the same time— to want to be simply held and kept and protected — while also wanting to offer the same sorts of benefits in turn with his slim frame and sharp mind. He felt appreciative of the consideration and yet at the same time? There was that twinge of hurt, the idea that he maybe seemed I’ll prepared to handle whatever would be thrown his way — scratch that — *their way* — except Matt would be out of dodge. No, Matt wouldn’t even be Matt anymore….

Was it better? Was it worse? Would they both be alone while also being surrounded by people they knew and loved and cared for? He didn’t know what would hurt more, what would be the worse fate, that glacial drag of time spent not knowing whether or not Matt was— how he was — or of knowing everything and finding the man dead in spite of all that knowledge.

It was infuriating, and the time it took for Matt to fetch the food—he took the seconds just to try and make himself slightly more presentable in his own home. To smooth his ruffled features, to smooth the couch that needed no care at all—How very aware he was of the fact that Nikki would’ve probably hated the stark whites and absence of personality. How he wouldn’t have minded a hug from her right now, or a letter, or even for her and Waru to be getting along so they could all talk. He could’ve choked on the irony, wanting his cake, to eat it, to have it paired with a dessert wine.

It wasn’t fair.

That quiet ‘I love you’ ruined him all over again, reopened the cracks he was trying to ice back over, left him looking glassy eyed up at Matt and ignoring all the rest. The fact that this, here, now! Was finally his chance to hear Matt out on everything, to place his own spin with words on his loves best features! He could forget the food—forget that if Matt had simply vanished with not a single word— oh — all the ways he would’ve had Albite jump the man for the betrayal he’d feel from that particular act!

Nothing else just then mattered more than him opening his mouth to say it back, to say the words twice over and with tenfold affection.

“I love you too,” and the food was there but he couldn’t stop staring at Matt, till all he could think to do was arrange himself better on the couch and beckon with open arms—

The food could wait. Hell, the whole of the world could wait, it wouldn’t end if he sat there and hugged the man till sunrise. It wouldn’t kill either of them to wait five minutes more to write down ‘everything’

“I won’t let you forget that. Now come here, please?” It wouldn’t become some past tense thing, he wouldn’t allow it. Not now, not ever.

“Later—“ uttered with finality, with gut deep sincerity, he practically growled the muffled word against Matt. Pulling him close while he shifted back to splay out with the man on his couch.

It was the absolute worst piece of furniture for two grown men to curl up on, it needed more throws, softer upholstery, less chic lines, but they made it work. Syrus did his best to become an enveloping force, to twine round Matt like a thin vine that wouldn’t let go.

The food could go cold, the sun could go cold with it, everything else would keep ten more minutes, for another day.

Because this? This moment. He needed it right now, needed to feel Matt warm and alive and breathing in his arms. To say all of his ‘I love you’s’ right now, in case they’d be forgotten later. They spilled out messy as the food would’ve been on his table, till his lips felt numb from reaffirming and repeating the three easy little words in hoarse little whispers.

Till his fingers ached from holding on.

He told himself later. That he could let go later——