The prize to pay for the lost souls

14

A year into their relationship, James and Peter figured maybe they should take things a step further and buy a home they could call theirs. It was, not really a surprise, harder than they thought.

"I can't move out of Queens. I have a duty to these people! Why would you want to go back to Brooklyn anyway? You haven't lived there in 70 years!" Peter was yelling and throwing his arms around him while he placed back and forth on the ceiling. He was so tired of this argument. His new company's base was in Manhattan, his superhero territory was in Queens, as well as his aunt, who he had no plans to move away from by the way. And he did not want to live in Brooklyn. He wanted the familiarity of his home, and not having to swing around in a completely new neighborhood.

"Because Brooklyn is MY home, Pete. And I wanna go home." James looked up at his boyfriend, with pleading eyes and used all his strength not to yell back or storm out of the apartment.

"You spent the majority of your life in Russia. You expect me to tag along over there too, if you suddenly find out that's your home instead?!" Peter jumped down and landed in front of his lover. Glaring with hard eyes. That was the last straw for James though. He never asked much, and let Peter take full control of most of their lives, being moral support and a grounding point. And he was perfectly fine with that, because he knew thought Peter would do the same for him when he needed him to. But he did not need to stand there and listen to his soulmate yell at him in Russian, being stubborn as hell just for the fuck of it.

The young man had learned the language so he could understand James when he ranted about whatever, or screamed in his sleep. He had spoken the language for the majority of his life after all, and sometimes he didn't even realize he wasn't making any sense until Peter pointed it out to him. So now, whenever James switched to Russian, Peter would switch too, and more often than not, they would talk in a foreign language to each other, without even knowing it.

"Wow, Pete. Really? That's low. Even for you..." And then he turned on his heel and left. Leaving a dumbfounded spider standing in the middle of the room, realizing what he just said and how badly he fucked up. He just stood there. He could've ran after the man. His love. But he was glued to the floor. The immediate guilt trapping him in place. He deserved to be left behind.

*

He sat on his couch, sulking in his own misery, flipping through the channels on the flat screen he barely used, when his eyes suddenly glossed over and he felt his mind drift away from his body. Floating in nothingness and the only emotion coating his conscience was overwhelming loneliness. No one to talk to, no one to see. No one to care for and give his love to. He felt as if he was the only one left in the little bubble he lived in. But it didn't feel like it was his own. He was an intruder in someone else's nightmare. And after a year alongside James, sharing his emotions, keeping their puzzle pieces together, it didn't take long to figure out he was imprisoned in his lovers head.

The tightening of his chest as the guilt came back and squeezed his heart, was strong enough he was sure he had a heart attack for a second. He gasped for air as he leaped for his phone, desperate to hear his soul mate's deep voice.

He didn't even get to his contact list before the device screamed at him, James smiling face covering the screen. He let out a sigh and pressed the green icon with a shaking thumb.

"I'm so so sorry. Please. I don't know what happened, are you okay?" His voice was shaky, and he had no clue how to fix what he did.