"I SEE DARKNESS WHERE YOU SEE LIGHT"
In the depths of the Venezuelan jungle a teenage boy is found alone and terrified, clothed in nothing but a bathrobe, clutching a rusted kitchen knife in his left hand, the right one too ruined to move.
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DO YOU EVER LEAVE THE LIGHTS ON AT 7:30 WHEN I WOULD GO TO BED?
Felix hadn't finished a meal in years. It was common, in those that had been held hostage for a long time, he'd learnt. Their stomachs couldn't handle the increase in sustenance. That wasn't to say he didn't eat — he even enjoyed trying new foods. He just had a small appetite.
The restaurant barstool dug into his thighs a little as he scanned over the menu Chan had handed him. He wasn't at all sure why he read over the list of meals, since he already knew what he was going to order. Or, rather, what Chan was going to order him.
It had become somewhat of a tradition for them to visit the little Mexican joint on Tuesday nights. It started as a way for Chan to get to know him a little more, but now it had continued past that point. Chan knew practically everything there was to know about Felix.
He knew mundane things like his favourite food and favourite colour, but he also knew things that were harder to know. The expression he made when he was unsure about something, the way he always waited for Chan to order his meals, the fact that he loved to listen to audiobooks despite not being able to read anything over the first grade level.
Felix was aware that Chan knew him too well, but it didn't seem to worry him. With others, Felix would be jumpy. When people knew too much about him, that's when he felt he needed to run. That's what had landed him in this mess in the first place. He'd been watched, followed. By someone who knew him a little too well.
He didn't remember very much about the time before. He remembered having parents that loved him. He remembered being healthy and happy. He remembered going to school and making friends. But he didn't remember whether crowds made him nervous, whether he had a big appetite, whether he trusted people easily.
And now he had none of those things. Except for the loving parents, and a supportive ex-military soldier who dragged him out of a horrible ordeal. And really, it was true that he had Chan to thank for his recovery, even if he still had a ways to go. It was Chan that had sat with him for days, never speaking, just being the company that Felix didn't know he needed.
Felix hadn't spoken for an entire week when he was rescued. He communicated only in sign and gesture. He couldn't type anything out for them, but eventually they'd started using little picture cards that they told him were for disabled children. Because that's what he was. A disabled child. He'd overheard when doctors told Chan and his parents that he might never speak.
But he had. The first time Chan had heard Felix's voice, he'd cupped his cheeks and begged him to speak again. Don't shut down again, Felix. Don't do that to me. So he'd spoken some more. And some more. And by now, eighteen months after the whole ordeal, he spoke all his thoughts.
But that didn't mean he wasn't quiet. That didn't mean he didn't shut down sometimes, when everything became a little too much for him. In those moments he'd sign or gesture, or use one of those apps that Chan had installed on his phone so he didn't have to speak.
And Chan understood. He'd never pressured Felix to speak more in those moments. Felix owed everything to him. He removed Felix from the situation if he could, left him alone to process. Sometimes he would sit with him, silently, because he knew that was what Felix needed.
"One chicken enchilada with extra sour cream?" Chan questioned, even though he knew the answer. Noah banged on the table with a spoon, making Felix jump. Chan shushed him with a reminder not to play with his cutlery.
"Why do you always ask?" Felix mused quietly. Chan knew Felix's order at every restaurant, and always ordered for him. Yet, he always read it back to Felix, as if he'd change his mind. Chan looked down at him, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
"Because I need you to know that you have a choice. If you don't want to eat that, I'll order something you do want. I will never take away your autonomy like that, Felix, I need you to know that."
Felix swallowed heavily, nodding quickly before looking away, not wanting Chan to see his own eyes burning. He just needed to pull himself together. "Thanks," he mumbled. Chan ruffled his hair, slowly, gently. Felix was proud when he only flinched the tiniest bit.
"I'll go order now."
After watching Chan leave, he turned his attention to the toddler sitting in the high chair at the table. He was the spitting image of Chan, large eyes and a head full of dark curls. He clapped his hands, and Felix clapped back at him. He was cute, and Felix was fond of him.
He spent more time with Chan and Noah than he did at home with his own parents. It was harder being at home. He knew his parents, he remembered them, but it wasn't different. He wasn't the same kid they had raised. He was an adult now and he was different. Changed.
He'd been thinking about moving out. Getting his own place. He needed a space where he could be alone when things got too much. But then he thought about the way that he didn't like using the stove, had to cover all the mirrors and got sent into a spiralling panic attack whenever he heard anything slightly too loud and thought that maybe it was best to live with his parents still.
Chan came back a few moments later with a buzzer for their meals and strategically placed it in his lap instead of on the table. He knew Felix would freak out if he saw the buzzer go off.
Felix felt his heart squeeze as he thought about everything Chan had done for him.
