Smoke Signals • EarthMix AU

CHAPTER 7. Smoke (Pt. 2)

"I didn't want to hate him,"

Earth waited for Mix to finish his story.

"I really thought I didn't. Until this morning." An agonizing pause follows Mix's last line and Earth took it as his cue to ask.

"What happened?"

"I saw him. He's happy now. He's... proud." Earth hears Mix take a sharp intake of breath before continuing, "He's no longer hiding." He says the word 'hiding' like it's filled with venom that he wanted to eject from his system.

Mix remembered their moments with piercing clarity, events that are now adulterated by his own biases. He knows that each time he remembers, when he does allow himself to make that vicious trip down memory lane, he foregoes a certain chunk of the whole experience and breaks it down to fit his narrative.

A narrative that leaves him unflawed, the victim, the 'true survivor' from the wreckage that was him and Nammon.

But if there's anything to be said about what he feels tonight—the spite and anger—it's this: he's not as flawless as he wanted himself to be. He's spiteful, selfish, mad—so fucking mad—and it shows.

"And I know it sounds awful, but I hate it." He's chuckling but Earth could sense his infuriation.

"He looks lighter. So sure and so free to love. I couldn't force him to come out then; I didn't want to. And it's not right. It wasn't my place to decide that for him," Mix rolls over the thoughts overlapping in his mind before continuing, "But it just... feels unfair. Insulting. Why now? Why couldn't he do it when we were together?"

The questions that soon followed are questions he can't answer. Questions he evaded for the longest time.

"What's with me? What wasn't?"

He feels foolish, saying those words out loud. But he knew this is part of the healing process—the ugly, uncomfortable part. The part where he embraces his hurts and sees them for what they are. Long overdue, but here now.

"I'm pretty sure the 15 minutes is over," Mix smiles and lifts his chin. "Floor is yours. Go ahead. Judge me now."

He swiftly wipes a tear that managed to fall from the corner of his eye as he waits for Earth with bated breath.

A few minutes passed but Earth hasn't said a word and Mix begins to wonder if he has overshared again and made the other uncomfortable. Earth finally breaks the silence just as Mix contemplates telling him that he'd just go home.

"It wasn't you, you know." Earth begins, "He just wasn't ready then. It was his journey to make and nobody could've done it for him."

Earth knew that he isn't the best man for moments like this; hell, he isn't the best talker. In their friend group, there's the soft-spoken Podd for that. And even the brutally honest and bold Jennie could possibly be more helpful.

But Earth? Earth likes to keep quiet about these things. It sounds petty, but he thinks he does his best talking only when he flirts—when he's trying to get someone to sleep with him. There, he recklessly lets out sweet nothings. Empty words that don't really linger.

Just there, staying safe and innocuous at that moment. Never to be wielded against him later on.

But tonight, he wants to try and see if his words could ease the other's burden, if only a little.

So Earth continues talking, words slow but deliberate, "That journey to self-acceptance? That was all on him."

Earth worded everything in a way that doesn't feel like he's judging Mix for whatever he feels that it almost feels lenient. Forgiving.