Chapter Text
The air is heavy with unspoken words, Fluixon’s purple eyes with dark circles looking right at Saparata’s deep grey eyes. Both men wait for the other to do something, and the white haired is the first one to act by getting up and patting the dust off his clothes in a careless manner. Not that he doesn’t care, but he is nervous as hell. Saparata doesn’t know what to say, what to do, how to help- especially with all this worry eating out his heart. He is biting down on his inner cheek, his gaze slightly looking up to meet a patient Fluixon. Fluixon is always patient when it comes to Saparata. Always has been. Even though he is the one in a quite literally bloody situation, Fluixon is the one to offer a somewhat comfortable silence for Saparata to do something.
“So,” Saparata mutters. His voice is low, almost shaky. He realizes the blood on Fluixon’s white hands, the red still dripping to the dark floor. After a couple of seconds he spends in hesitation, he decides to just be honest both to Fluixon and to himself. He takes a step in and closes the door after himself with Fluixon’s quiet gaze on him. It takes a second for him to look around and take everything in, the décor very familiar to him- Probably from the days they used to play together in his room as little children. He holds Fluixon by his shoulders and guides him to bed. Fluixon, despite his cold exterior, is like an obedient cat going with whatever Saparata wants. Fluixon’s bare feet drag on the floor, his unsynchronized steps being matched with Saparata’s. After Saparata successfully sits his kitty cat down on the bed, he settles right next to him.
The bed is soft, like Fluixon’s hands Saparata is holding right now.
The white haired boy quietly takes Fluixon’s hands that are full of red. His gaze is locked on the cuts, caused by Fluixon’s well-kept nails filled with a thick blood, even his breath gentle. Saparata tries his best to not make a big deal out of it. He is a warrior. He’s seen blood, seen scars worse than that, seen death and breathed in it. Thrived in Colosseums, ran away from thirsty bounty hunters, evaded the military forces. But they were never like this. Never made his stomach turn, his eyes tremble. They never made Saparata feel powerless.
“Those look bad,” He murmurs, finally looking up to match Fluixon’s eyes. The emotions on his dark purple irises are impossible to read, even for someone like Saparata who knows him. Maybe even better than Fluixon himself. “You did them to yourself?”
“No,” a quick answer from Fluixon follows Saparata’s question. “Well, yes but-” He tries to continue, but a gentle press from Saparata to Fluixon’s hands make the black haired boy quietly grunt in pain. “I was trying to make small talk so you can at least relax a bit,” Saparata chuckles with his sentence. “You are still the same, taking even rhetoric questions way too seriously.”
Without letting Fluixon answer, Saparata is up and going to find something to clean the wounds with. After many drawers and a lot of shushing a Fluixon trying to get up, a trip to the bathroom and many more hushes, Saparata is down next to Fluixon with a small container of water with him and many bandages.
Saparata takes Fluixon’s hands to put them into the cold water. He carefully watches Fluixon’s eyes close and breath tighten, his lips press into one another to hide the moan of pain trying to get out. It hurts Saparata as much as it hurts Fluixon, but they both decide to keep it quiet for the sake of the moment. He gently cleans the blood on Fluixon’s hand, making the clear water mudded with red.
Fluixon is breathing heavy with the scars running deep on his hand and on his heart. On one hand, he wants so badly to just apologize and get everything over with, and on the other- why should he apologize for saving the lives of everyone living on Pandora? His friend did not deserve to be framed, sure, but the corruption running deep inside Pandora’s once holy roots, poisoning and ruining the island were issues that needed to be taken care of. He was the one to take the step, that’s it. How would he know each person he hurt or saved on the job?
How would he know he would regret it so much?
After a couple seconds of Saparata gently rubbing Fluixon’s hand, he takes them out of the water. He pats them dry with a clean towel and starts bandaging like he has been doing this for a long time. To Fluixon’s surprise, it doesn’t hurt and to Saparata’s surprise, Fluixon’s weak hums and heavy breath seem to have calmed down. They both don’t know what to say, or even what to do. The only thought in Saparata’s mind is to quickly get over with this thing. So quick that he doesn’t have to think about how smooth Fluixon’s hands still are, like they were a year ago before everything happened, and how much it drives him crazy to see Fluixon hurt himself like this.
Fluixon is quiet, maybe a little too uncharacteristic. He knows if he starts thinking about everything, he will start spiraling again and a panic attack in front of Saparata is the last thing he’d want. But still, it is impossible not to think. Not when Saparata is this close, when their legs are touching each other, when he is so gently treating all his wounds like they were kids playing again, when it is all to familiar, all to real, but also feels like a reality too far away. He gazes up to see Saparata so focused on his hands, unable to take his eyes off him. Finally, the room feels warm enough for him to say something.
“Saparata-”
“I’m done-”
Both men speak over each other, and with a gaze shared, Saparata murmurs. “Oh, sorry, it’s just…” He tries to explain, “Yeah no, it’s my fault, you go first,” Fluixon insists.
“I’m done,” Saparata repeats, taking his hand off Fluixon’s. He wants to say something cheesy like ‘Don’t do this again,’ but feels awkward to do so. In reply, Fluixon hums with a nod, and here comes the silence. Saparata finds something to do to pass the time, taking the dirty water to the bathroom to flush it down in the toilet. He gets a splash of red water on his white shirt, the look kind of ironic to him. A small, dry chuckle escapes his lips as he remembers the blood of Pandora’s leaders all over his home, all over himself, unable to even process the happening. He decides not to spend too much time thinking about the stain on his stomach and walks back to Fluixon’s room to see if everything’s okay.
He walks in to find Fluxion lying down, his eyes wide open. Saparata is no fool- He knows what Fluixon is thinking, how he can’t sleep, how exhausted he must be. He also know he would be a fool to help an old friend who framed him for murder and made his life a living hell for a year.
Sometimes Saparata’s heart overweighs his brain.
It is not much. It is quiet, almost stupid, but he still walks to Fluixon. Their eyes meet as Fluixon opens his mouth to say something, but is quickly shut up by Saparata just… sitting. Saparata sits down on the bed Fluixon is lying without a word. They are not touching, not even that close, but Fluixon knows Saparata enough to recognize the slight change of smell in the room. It is less of Fluixon’s shitty cologne, and more of Saparata’s earthy body odor. More of just… him.
That night, as Saparata just quietly sits down on his bed, Fluixon falls to the best sleep he’s had in years. That night, as Fluixon quietly sleeps, Saparata realizes Fluixon is still pleasant to watch.