"What does that mean for us?" Carter finally asked.
"I don't know," Zyan answered honestly.
Carter nodded again. "Okay. I'll…I'll go get the girls now. They'll be waiting for me."
Zyan clenched his jaw. "Yeah. You go and do that."
There was another nod before Carter slowly started to head for the door. With his hand already on the handle, he paused but didn't turn around. "It was good to see you again."
Zyan didn't breathe until he heard the door fall shut. He closed his eyes and took a moment to collect himself before he headed back to his office.
Two hours passed, filled with nothing but failure at focusing on his work. He went back and forth between typing out an idea, deleting it again, switching back and forth between tabs, all until he snapped and got up to pace.
No matter what he did, he couldn't stop his thoughts from racing. He replayed every moment in his head, imagined what could've happened if he'd been honest, or Carter had called him out on his obvious lie. None of it came to a clear outcome. Too much time had passed, too much could've changed. He could no longer predict Carter's reactions, and that hurt more than he could've ever assumed.
Eventually, he prepared himself a snack for the sake of doing something, but after the first bite, he realized he couldn't stomach anything and left it mostly untouched.
He still stared unseeingly at the blinking cursor on screen when someone banged on his door.
It startled him, but the surprise quickly turned to annoyance. The last thing he wanted was to talk to someone.
The banging went on.
He ignored it.
"Zyan, please! Open up!"
Ava.
He sighed and got up to hear her out. Ava stood with her hand still balled in a fist. Her eyes were wide, the corners of her mouth tugged down, and her shoulders slouched. She looked defeated.
"Zyan, I—" she started but cut herself off when he stepped aside in silent invitation.
Ava ducked her head and brushed past him. She lowered herself to sit on the edge of the sofa. Her gaze was fixed on her feet, her shoulders slouched. "I'm really sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have—"
Zyan sat close to her and stopped her from going on with the raise of a hand. "It's okay. It was inevitable."
Ava nodded but still avoided his gaze. "Still. It wasn't my place to interfere." She was clearly hesitant to look up at him, but when their eyes met, the tension in her shoulders visibly eased. "So…how are you?"
Zyan shook his head and sunk further into the cushions. His mind traveled back to the conversation. He thought about all the what ifs and what could have beens, but in the end, what'd happened was what needed to happen to finally let them move on. They'd both need that last push to get them to accept that this—whatever they had—was over. But why did it have to hurt so bad and feel so wrong? Why did it feel like tearing open old wounds instead of starting to heal? "I'm not mad at you. Surprisingly. I mean…I would have expected to be, but…I'm just…not."
Ava fidgeted, wringing her hands. "I should probably be grateful for that, but right now, I just feel like crap, and I'd prefer you yelling at me over…this."
Zyan huffed a laugh. "Me too." He let out a deep breath and felt all remaining energy drain from his body. There was no more fight left in him. He didn't want to pretend anymore. He didn't want to argue or find someone to blame or cover up his hurt with apathy. For now, he just needed to let himself be. "But I can't seem to find the energy to be angry. I'm just tired. Really tired."
There wasn't a time he could recall where he'd felt the years crash down on him like that. He could remember the grief and mourning, the anger and frustration, but never this soul-crushing heaviness of sheer exhaustion. This was him, collapsing under the weight of his past. And this time, there was no one to share the burden.
"I would have never expected him to still hold so much control over me," Zyan said quietly.
He hadn't planned to let the words slip, didn't feel it was Ava's place to know, but right now, he couldn't help but voice his thoughts. And Ava would listen, he knew that. He trusted her. As his mind got lost in the memories, his vision went blurry and his breathing slowed.
One moment, he was there in the room with her, and the next, the world around him disappeared. He found himself back in another time, long before Ava was even born.
"It was stupid of me to assume that," Zyan continued his last thought. "He was the first person I saw after I came back from the dead. He was the one who saved me. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him." He felt the remnants of past emotions wash over him. "I never quite forgave him for that."
He was glad Ava didn't comment. He didn't know if he would've been able to go on if she had.
"I had to leave my family because of him. My mother kicked us out—not that I blame her for it. In her eyes, I was no longer human, no longer her son. I'd died and left her to take care of my little sister by herself. My father had been killed by Kamehameha's people when I was a toddler, so when I got older, I took on his duties. I wanted to take some of the weight off my mother's shoulders. And then I went and died of a simple disease. My body wasn't strong enough to fight it.
"I wanted to go back so many times, wanted to know what had become of them. But I could never bring up the courage. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing the looks on their faces when they realized I hadn't aged a day. It still kills me inside. Every time I see a family. A brother and a sister. The way they all care for each other, how they grow old together. All I have of my own sister is a faint memory that pales more and more with every passing day.
"I blamed Carter for the longest time. Every time I missed my mother's breathing at night, or my sister's big, dark eyes looking up at me, I felt this, this rage boiling under my skin. Even now, I still have days where I can't help but think 'if it weren't for him…'" He trailed off. "But I know he's not the one to blame. It was the disease. If I hadn't fallen sick, I wouldn't have died, and Carter wouldn't have seen himself confronted with this impossible situation, where the only options are two extremes. I asked him many times over the years why he didn't just let me die. After almost three years of secret meetings and countless discussions about the future, he must've made peace with the thought of watching me age and die someday…Why did he choose to bring me back? Why didn't he let life take its course?"
He fell silent, trapped in that room he'd woken up in. He recalled the feeling of dying, of Carter's hand in his. There'd been a voice in a language he could barely understand at the time. It'd pleaded with him, had begged him to stay, to not leave, not yet, not ever. The exact wording would forever be lost to him, but he knew enough for it to hurt like a knife in his gut.
He sat motionless for almost a full minute as he tried to overcome the turmoil of the memory so brutally dragged back to the forefront of his mind.
"What did he say?"
The soft voice pulled him from his thoughts, but his eyes remained unseeing. The world blurred. "He told me he couldn't take it. He said I didn't deserve to die so young, that he'd been following his instincts, unaware of the consequences. He said he'd thought he was only bringing me back to life, not making me immortal.
"I always told him he was lying, but the truth is, I believe him. What he did was something that had never been done before. The Diwata who brought his mother back to life left traces of magic inside her that were passed on to Carter. But since neither of their powers come even remotely close to what the spirit could do, how was he supposed to know it would have such a large impact on me?
"I told myself that over and over again, but still…knowing that the only reason I'm still here is an accident is not really pleasant. We're talking about the last two-hundred-and-two years of my life…Is all of that just the result of an accident? Nothing more? Not fate or destiny, but the consequence of a decision made by a man with a crush? Am I only sitting here because he couldn't handle the thought of not knowing where the relationship was headi
ng?" Zyan fell silent again as he tried to push his emotions down. He could question his existence later, when he lay alone in the dark and stare up at the ceiling—right now, there was already enough on his plate as it was.
"It doesn't matter why you're here," Ava said quietly. "It only matters what you made of it. It's time to leave the past behind and look into the future. After all, there's a lot of it ahead of you."
Ava's joke fell flat. Zyan didn't feel like laughing. He didn't even spare her a glance.
"I know your immortality must feel like a burden sometimes," Ava said. "I can't imagine going through what you've been through, but…people make rash decisions when they're heartbroken. Three years is a long time for feelings to grow, and even knowing how it'll end won't stop hearts from getting attached—you said that yourself." When Zyan didn't reply right away, Ava went on. "I'm sorry if I went too far. But I don't think holding on to centuries-old hurt is a healthy way to live your life."
Zyan shook his head. "Doesn't matter. This isn't the part I want to talk about right now." He took a deep breath and reorganized his thoughts.
This wasn't a story he usually told anyone. This wasn't even something he and Carter talked about. He glanced over at Ava, to see her big eyes unguarded and curious. "In Wales, back in the sixties," he started. "After Carter and I had gotten divorced for maybe the tenth or eleventh time, Carter settled down with a mortal."
He heard Ava suck in a breath, but he didn't look at her. She could probably already tell where this was going.
"They never got married or anything," Zyan went on. "But Carter cared for him. Back when they first got together, me and Carter were still in frequent contact, so when he went up to me and told me about his blooming relationship, I saw myself faced with two options: tell him I was happy for him or be brutally honest. You should know what I went with." Zyan didn't wait for her to speak. "I told him it was a bad idea to settle down with a mortal, especially for him. He's always been the kind of person who wears their heart on their sleeve, who falls too fast and too hard, and doesn't see reason through the daze of being in love." He paused. "Much like you. So, you can understand why I was worried about him. But no matter what I said, or how much sense I made, he wouldn't listen, and I didn't feel it was my place to interfere any further. So I didn't.
*~*~*
Six years had passed since Carter had left to follow his heart, yet it was still strange to wake up to an empty bed every morning. Zyan had since moved from their home, but Carter's presence lingered. It always did, and it always would.
Leaving his apartment was a painfully difficult process these days. He seemed to have no energy to move, much less get showered and dressed, yet groceries needed to be bought if he didn't want to starve to death. It was one of those instances that Zyan found himself confronted with his past, in the fruit aisle, of all places.
"Hey."
Zyan stared. He couldn't bring himself to reply.
"So…how are you? You look well."
Zyan shook his head and brushed past Carter.
"I told Aaron."
Zyan froze and inclined his head, yet he couldn't bear to turn and look at Carter.
"He didn't take it well. He kicked me out."
Zyan pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. "Are you asking me for a place to stay?"
"No! No. I just…I thought you might want to know. That you were right."
Zyan finally turned around. "Why? Do you think it brings me satisfaction? That I draw joy from your pain? I don't, Carter. I don't like to see you get hurt." He shook his head and turned to leave again.
"Zyan, I didn't—"
"Hwyl fawr, Carter. Until next time." Zyan kept his shoulders hunched until he'd fled the store. There always seems to be a next time.
*~*~*
Fifteen years later, Zyan picked up the phone and was met with silence. He frowned and was about to hang up when a heartbreakingly familiar voice spoke up.
"It's cancer, Zyan." Carter's voice was rough, like he'd been screaming for a long time.
"What?"
"Aaron, he—he was diagnosed with cancer."
Zyan clenched his jaw and swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure what to say.
"They can't operate it. It's outside his stomach. They say it's overgrown his aorta."
The waver in Carter's voice felt like a knife in Zyan's heart. "Carter, I…"
"I can't do it, Zyan, you were right. I can't handle it. I can't watch him die."
Zyan could hear the tears in Carter's voice and felt his own heart clench. "You can't leave. Not now. He needs you." It hurt to say, but he kept his tone gentle, at least for now. He never thought he'd be pushing the love of his life to go be with someone else. "He's never needed you more than he does now."
The words broke Carter. He was sobbing, choking on his pain. It didn't sound like it was the first time that day.
Zyan's throat was tight. Part of him wished he were there with Carter, to hold and comfort him, to wipe his tears and lie about how everything was going to be okay. Another part of him knew he could never say what Carter needed to hear if he saw Carter look as defeated as he sounded. "I know it hurts, Carter, but you'll get through it."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. And you will. Aaron is out there, probably terrified, and falling apart at the seams, while you're sitting here, more concerned about your own feelings. He's just been told he's going to die! He needs you to be strong for him."
"Zyan—"
"No!" Being so harsh ate at him. He felt cruel, heartless, but it was necessary, he knew that, because he knew Carter better than he knew himself. "If you don't go back and be there for Aaron during the worst and most vulnerable time of his life, then I don't ever want to see your face again. I mean it."
"What am I supposed to do? How can I face him after I already bolted?"
"By being honest. You tell him the truth. And then you stay. No matter what he tells you in his grief, you stay, and you make his final days or weeks or months or even years the best time of his entire goddamn life." Zyan nearly choked on the words. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be part of any of this. Carter's heart would be ripped to shreds, and it would be Zyan's doing, but there was no other option. Carter would never forgive himself if he didn't go back.
Carter was still sniffing, still audibly struggling to breathe. "Okay."
Zyan squeezed his eyes shut. "Good."
"I'm sorry."
"No, Carter, don't tell me that. Tell him."
"Okay."
"And when you need me, come find me. I'll be there."
"Hwyl fawr, Zyan."
Zyan held his breath and waited for the line to go dead before he hung up.
*~*~*
Months passed before the fateful knock carried Zyan to his door, where he found Carter, armed with nothing but a duffel bag. He looked worn out, like he hadn't slept, showered, or eaten in days.
"Carter…"
He wouldn't meet Zyan's eyes, so Zyan stepped aside and gently tugged him inside by his arm. Zyan made him shower, made him eat, but there was still no life in Carter's eyes. It felt like he'd died and left his physical form behind.
After two more months, Carter still wouldn't talk or even acknowledge Zyan's presence beyond brief eye contact when Zyan handed him food or came back from the store. Conversation prompts were ignored, questions left unanswered, and Zyan's fear grew. What if Carter never came back from this? What if this was all there was left of him? Zyan was the one who'd pushed him to go back, and even if it was the right thing to do, this was never what he'd wanted for Carter.
Zyan hit his breaking point at dinner one evening.
"I thought we could go out tomorrow. It looks like it'll be sunny for once. The fresh air might do you some good." Zyan looked up from his emptied plate to find Carter picking at his bread. "You could at least nod or shake your head, you know? If you don't want to talk, that's fine, but don't outright ignore me."
Cart
er still wouldn't look up.
Zyan clenched his jaw, even as his eyes stung. "If you're blaming me for your pain because I pushed you to go back, say so. Yell at me, punch me, kick me—I don't care, but this has got to stop. You can't keep going like this! You're not even living anymore. You're just existing!"
Carter had stopped picking at his food.
Zyan jumped up and rubbed at his face. He paced along the table, threw Carter frequent glances, but there were no signs of him reacting to Zyan's distress beyond the occasional twitch of a finger. After a minute, Zyan stopped right by Carter. He looked down at him, at the shell of his former husband, and found nothing but pain and frustration in his own heart at the sight.
"I'm done looking out for you!" Zyan's own voice sounded foreign to him. His eyes burned. "And I'm done treating you like you're made of glass! I'm sorry about what happened, I truly am. I never wanted you to get hurt, but I knew you'd always regret it if you bailed. I did what you would've wanted me to do, and I don't regret it. But this has got to stop!"
Carter's shoulders tensed.
Zyan gritted his teeth and wiped a stray tear from his cheek. "Do you think this is what Aaron would have wanted for you? Do you think he would have wanted you to turn into—into this? Because I think he wouldn't even recognize you anymore. God knows I don't! The Carter I know would never treat me like this! He wouldn't allow himself to get lost. He would have talked to me. And he would have dealt with his grief."
When Carter still didn't speak or even look up, Zyan snapped.
"You want to keep going like this? Fine! Be that way!" Zyan wiped the tears from his face. "But do it in your own home, where I don't have to see it every single goddamn day! I'm tired of seeing you walk around the place like a ghost. I'm tired of spending every second worrying and feeling guilty. When I told you to come find me, I meant to help you get back on your feet, not to be your servant."
"You're right."
Zyan froze. His vision was still blurry with tears. He didn't even know whether they were from frustration or sadness.
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