Sector-33 | ✓

platinum and titanium

three days earlier

Dear _____ ,

If I walked up to someone on the street and told them I was gay, they probably wouldn't believe me.

They'd probably say something along the lines of 'you don't look gay enough to be gay.'

What is that supposed to mean?

I wasn't aware that my sexuality had a dress code, thanks for telling me that now.

I owe you an apology for not being around for so long. Mum wouldn't be happy to know that I've been neglecting my writing to you- but I can't help it. I've been caught up in far too much. I miss mum. And I miss dad, too. And my therapist. Isn't it strange, how people get attached the most to those they care about but leave behind?

Zuandro doesn't have people left to care about. I had learned of all his promiscuous adventures with women- and how he no longer frequents them or cares for them. And yet he cares for me.

Does that make me special? I'd like to think so.

Clyde would disagree.

But Zuandro's opened up to me so much, and it's beautiful that I can see the real him, the man behind his armour of dense egotism. I don't hate him as much as I did earlier.

In fact... I think I love him.

I know I love him.

I suppose I owe you an explanation, now. It all happened fast- too fast, too much like life ; but then again, isn't that was loving is supposed to be about? It certainly made me feel more alive.

We were sitting together at the table in our dormitory, dinner and a game of chess between us. Zuandro's fingers were clasped together beneath his chin in a steeple, his eyes closed as he murmured grace underneath through his breath. I sat there, watching him, admiring his loyalty to one thing and then the next. I felt a little less intimidated, by then, especially since I'd shown him how to pick apart a robot and then how to use its parts for useful things. Not that it was a skill that would probably become important for our Mission, but his whole, cold, angular features just softened, and that made my heart flutter, my cheeks turn pink, and my thin chest puff out a little more in pride.

Finally, I was doing something good.

So there we sat across one another, the religious and the geek, and I just waited for him to finish saying Grace.

The silver crucifix dropped from between his hands, coming to rest upon his breast. I waited.

"Amen," he breathed, and we began to eat. I think he's grateful that I respect his beliefs. Of course I'd respect them- why shouldn't I?

Though I'm not as selfless as my family, I do believe in a humanitarian cause. The Things are against everything I've ever stood for, so if I become a thorn, I will be able to properly fight back, and that makes me glad.

I wonder what Clyde would think of me now.

He'd probably still be silently judging me from inside his little hut I bought for him three months ago. He'd still question me with those giant black eyes and his fiery coat of armour glowing in the low yellow light of my bedroom.

The light underneath which we sat was white and faint and flickering. With steady hand he moved his white pawn forwards by two squares. I mirrored the act.

"You nervous?" He asked me, after an elongated silence. Chess pieces lay scattered about the table- a queen, a rook, seven pawns... We were still playing.

My fingers quaked as I moved my queen forwards. Their erratic, jerky movement reminded me of my lower lip when I'm trying not to cry- all quivery and uncontrollable.

"You're nervous," he remarked, although it sounded like a repeated question. Swallowing thickly, I allowed my hand come to a stop, the black queen coming to rest in front of one of Zuandro's alabaster Bishops.

"Aren't you?" I had replied. I saw his shrug in the corner of my eye. "There'll be things, out there, living things, that we'll have to kill-"

He interrupted me with his calm, smooth voice. "What's the matter, do you need help to feel less human?" He mused, and moved one of his pawns forwards, choosing to ignore the danger his bishop was in. He wanted his queen back.

"No- I think I need help feeling more human," I whispered.

Zuandro had given me a funny look, and he reminded me of Clyde for a moment, with that judgement in his dark eyes. "You're odd," he said.

My eyes slipped from the board. One more move, and I would have won, as per usual. There is no way Zuandro can beat me at a fair game of chess. I was beginning to understand why they'd put us together - because he was the north to my south, because we needed our differences to survive for what lay out there, waiting to be confronted.

Oh. I was odd, then. Oh. I took in a deep breath and looked back up at him, feeling miserable all over again. Had it not been for the events that happened next, I would be pouring out all my misery, all my lack of will out onto this sheet to you, my dear reader, all my lost motivation and all my tears, like a puppet with cut strings.

I said nothing, and I waited. He waited. We both just sat there in bitter, bitter silence, underneath the blue light, with a chessboard between us and half-eaten dinner beside us.

My platinum haired mission partner suddenly reached forwards and took my hand, twisting it upwards just slightly to let my knuckles rest in his palm. His fingers curled around my own, and he tugged me over to himself. In my startle I reached out to grip the side of the table, and upset the chessboard: my queen tumbled to the floor.

But I had no time to think about the game. His lips closed in on mine, and a hundred sentences of emotion could not do justice to the way I felt as he did so.

Zuandro had taken a hit from me yesterday (now that I look back at it, I think he might've let me win on purpose) and suffered a split lip from it, which was well on its way to healing, but not quite there yet.

I felt him smile, felt the light brush of chapped skin against my lips- and as he slid his tongue over my lower lip, I tasted blood. It was bittersweet.

I loved him, and I knew that he did, too, and it was the best feeling in the world.

I loved him immeasurably.

I didn't want it to end, but he pulled back, eventually, and picked up his napkin to press it against his lip. I saw the smirk in his eyes as he studied my face after casting the board a quick look, as he studied the rose blush that dusted my cheeks- all of it. "Checkmate, Felix."

The emotion of it all was indescribable.

My heart was a million shards of glass, and they were all red.

Yours truly,

Felix