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Fluixon wasn’t going to make it out alive.
That was a fact Flux made very clear from the beginning, the first thing he said to Thomas after settling in Cynnika’s castle.
Throughout all these months working together, Thomas liked to think he knew him by now, but Flux wouldn’t be Flux if he didn’t find a way to keep everyone around him on their toes at all times. It’s times like these Thomas is worried he never knew him at all.
He remembers the cold horror that washed over him like a cascade, quickly replaced by hot, burning anger. He wasn’t angry at Flux, doesn’t think he could ever be able to, and to this day he isn’t sure who his anger was directed to but he was angry.
He slammed doors, threw anything within reach in the general direction of Flux (but not at him, never at him), yelled and begged for him to change ideas, but he was frustratingly stubborn and terribly hard-headed. He hated it at that exact moment, but wouldn’t have it any other way otherwise.
“Why continue with the war, then?!” Was one of the things he yelled, punctuated by a punch to the wall. His hand trembled, both in pain and frustration, but he narrowed his eyes at Flux nonetheless.
He couldn’t remember the exact words he said, but he remembered the main jist of it, something about taking down as many people as he could with him. A final, perfect declaration of hatred to both Islands. A supernova finally exploding and taking everything near it down in the fire. He wonders when it happened, when did the Architect of Peace start to plan everyone’s demise?
They kept yelling at each other, both too stubborn to let it go, but eventually Thomas’ voice gave out before Flux’s. The former, in a moment of pure desperation and frustration, staggered forward and threw his arms around him, clinging onto him, sinking his fingers in the flesh of his back, pushing Fluixon’s face into the crook of Thomas’ neck, a hand cradling his head as he buried his nose in his hair. He took a deep breath and it felt like he was mourning him already.
In the days that followed, the moments in which they were preparing for the war all seemed to blend together, but there were moments that stood out. He remembers all the times Flux’s smile appeared when he cracked a joke, could sketch it from memory, and when the light of the flames below them hit his eyes just right for them to gleam, drowning Thomas in an endless galaxy of purples.
But then, as his smile fell from his face, he remembers that one time Thomas found Flux in his room.
He was alone, his back was turned to the door and his military jacket was draped over a nearby chair. He was watching various recordings of Saparata fighting, zooming into the point where Saparata’s sword met its victim. He went back 10 seconds, then watched it again, his hand tracing the same spot the sword hit.
It hit him right then and there; Fluixon was rehearsing his own death.
He planned every single detail of their plan, always with a plan B, C and D in mind, but he had thought his own death would be where the line was drawn.
He stood frozen by the door for a couple more minutes, watching helplessly as Flux switched videos, calculated the odds of Saparata’s attacks with slow, lazy strokes of his pen, traced different spots of his body, and repeated it all again. He heard Fluixon take a deep, shaky breath, and he finally snapped out of it and knocked on the door.
Flux quicky turned off his phone, shoving it face down on the bed, then tucked his pen in a pocket of his pants. He whipped around, shoulders tense, then visibly relaxed when he saw Thomas.
He smiled, and if Thomas was lesser man he wouldn’t suspect a thing.
He slowly made his way around the room, then abruptly sat on Flux’s bed, right next to him, and pulled him in yet another embrace. Fluixon stayed still, body limp and leaning partially on him.
“Please,” He muttered. “We can still leave, run away, hide in some parts of Island 1 and–“
“We?”
“Yes, we. I’ll keep you safe, you know I will– You know I can, why are you so adamant on–“
“You can leave, run away like you say.” Flux murmured back, as if Thomas ever could. “But I’m staying here.”
“Why?” He sounded pathetic to his own ears.
“This war is my causation; it’s only fair.”
He snorted. “As if you ever cared about fair.”
Flux stayed quiet for a moment more, then finally spoke up again. “We already had this conversation.”
“…I know.” He whispers, loud enough for him to hear. “I know.”
There are a billion of other questions he wishes he had asked; “Why do you want to die so badly?”, “Why can’t you be happy with me, alive?”, “What am I supposed to do once you die?”, “What am I after you die?”, “What am I supposed to do?”.
He never asked, never had the guts to, and he doubts that, if Flux was still alive, he’d ask him now.
He remembers sitting at the end of the escape tunnel and feeling so, so glad when he saw Flux run through. He had thought they made it, were actually going to live out the rest of their days in some remote location. He wanted to laugh, scream, as they fled Infernus only to stop in his tracks as he saw Flux freeze in place.
Then Saparata’s name fell from Flux’s lips and Thomas remembered his place; next to the supernova as it exploded, the closest to it. Helpless.
He watched as Saparata drove his sword through Flux’s chest, right over his heart, and as he cradled his body while he cried over it. He watched as the light fled Flux’s eyes. He watched as he died with the faintest, most genuine smile he had ever seen on him, then he couldn’t watch anymore.
Fluixon was dead, just like he wanted.
He died in Saparata’s arms, cradled and content, while Thomas watched from afar like an unwanted onlooker.
He knew, logically, that his place in Flux’s life could never compare to Saparata’s, but he could never wrap around his head as to why. What did Saparata have, that he didn’t?
Everything, apparently. Thomas couldn’t even keep Fluixon’s corpse. He couldn’t give him a proper burial, not like how he was prepared to.
Saparata did, though. A beautiful grave right in front of his house, decorated with stalagmites and always with fresh flowers next to it, all shades of purple. His grave was well kept, Saps always made sure it was taken care of before Thomas even had the chance to, and he felt equal parts anger and gladness.
Saparata would talk to Fluixon through the first hours of the morning, a fond smile on his face and tender words spilling from his mouth. Then he would get up, fix up the grave if need be, and go about his day.
Thomas would show up during the sunset, sit down and look in silence with soft, sad eyes as he caressed the sign on his tomb, imagining he was tucking a strand of hair behind his ear or caressing his cheek, pretending it was all just fine. Looking back, he thinks Saparata knew of his visits. He doesn’t know why he never told someone from the Cass Coalition, doesn’t think he cares.
The days after Fluixon’s death blended together. Before he knew it, a trial was being held for him.
He wanted to have his fire back, scream and yell at everyone “Yes! I was part of the Conspiracy! I stood by Flux’s side the whole time and I loved every single fucking second of it!” but he was so tired. Just so tired. He hardly talked, did not even try to defend himself properly, and sure enough he was declared guilty.
And as the lava bathed him in its flames, he couldn’t help but think, a bit deliriously, that not even death could keep him from following him.
It was a stupid thing to admit, but true nonetheless.
He died with a smile on his face.
He wondered if this was what Flux had felt when he died.
He hoped it hurt a bit less.