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Alvin cannot bring himself to move even after Elize has long left, and so he remains seated on his swing in the playground, staring out across the city that he once called home.
Elize’s high-pitched voice still rings in his ears. The ghost of her kiss lingers on his cheek. He aches to touch the spot, to convince himself that her offer of friendship was real, but raising a hand to touch his face feels like too much effort. There’s an ever-familiar heaviness in his limbs that he cannot shake.
He digs his heels into the sand beneath the swing, slowly dragging tracks back and forth with his boots. The emotions swirling around in his head press heavily against his temples and the back of his eyes. Already he can feel a headache building, the tension in his shoulders deep and unshakable. He’s never been good with words, but the feelings inside him now are so out of control and unfamiliar that he wouldn’t even know where to start even if he’d been the most eloquent poet on this side of the schism.
Elize’s offer of friendship knocked loose a part of the wall Alvin had so carefully built around his heart so many years ago. Now it feels like that broken part is tumbling around in his chest like a sharp-edged stone, hitting all the fragile spots, battering against his ribs over and over.
It hurts.
It hurts a lot.
But then, Alvin has always known that loving people hurts. Ever since he lost his father, at barely six years old, he’s known. Loving his mother hurt, seeing her get used by Gilland, seeing her deteriorate and being unable to help her. Loving Gilbert hurt, betraying him—killing him—hurt. He remembers crying for hours and being unable to stop that day. The day he killed the one man who still cared for him, the day his mother didn’t recognise him anymore. He was fourteen and he had no one, and that hurt a thousand times worse than all his battle wounds combined.
That’s what love brought him.
After that day, Alvin vowed he would never cry again. He hardened his heart, drew up this wall to keep everyone and everything out, and focused only on his one goal: growing up and getting his mother back home to Elympios. It had driven him to become the man he is today.
But a lifetime of running from everything—from love and pain and friendship—has left him more tired than if he’d stood his ground at some point. If he’d let Gilbert love him instead of betraying him. If he’d let Zeljko be his friend the way the other boy so clearly wanted. If he’d not panicked and betrayed Presa when she told him she loved him.
The grief for all of them is still there. Dulled over by time for his father, Gilbert and Zeljko. Too fresh still for his mother, for Presa.
Would they be alive?
If he’d been a better person, if he’d asked for help. If he’d talked to someone, anyone, at any point.
When you get down to it, his life is one long string of what-ifs.
Listlessly, Alvin watches the city in front of him—the lights, the large bright moons, the tall buildings of Technology Drive. In the distance, there is the sound of a train pulling into the station. The cool night breeze brings with it the smell of late-night fast food and cigarette smoke.
He barely remembers any of this city.
He thought coming to Elympios—coming home—would make him feel better. Not that long ago, it was all he ever wanted, but being here now feels like wearing a coat two sizes too small, and there’s the bitter taste of dust and tobacco in his mouth. (It reminds him of his uncle.) He hasn’t cried even once in eleven years, but now he can’t seem to stop the hot prickling sensation behind his eyes. He bows his head, watching droplets fall onto his trousers before he presses his eyes shut.
Would things feel different if he’d been able to bring his mother home? Would she even still have recognised these sights, with her mind the way it was? Or would the city be as foreign and overwhelming to her as it is to Alvin now?
He won’t ever know.
He misses her. He misses his father. In a weird, twisted way, he even misses his uncle whom despite everything, was family. He tugs his coat closed and turns his head to smell it—as if it would still smell like his uncle after twelve years.
More tears come, and Alvin lets them fall.
His chest is a sea of guilt and hopelessness and shame and loneliness—and buried deep beneath all that, a desire to start anew but not knowing how. He’s twenty-six years old now. His parents are dead. His uncle is dead. Over the past twenty years, he has rejected every offer of friendship, and ruined his chances for any sort of meaningful relationship.
What if it’s too late to start anew?
What would Jude do?
It’s a question Alvin has been asking himself more and more lately. When he first met Jude, he had looked at the kid and felt a completely foreign sense of protectiveness. He’d wanted to take Jude under his wing, teach him what he knew, and the kid had made it so easy to be close to him. So easy to tease him and touch him and throw innocent flirtations his way just to see him flush. Alvin hadn’t expected to…
To what? Find a friend in him? Learn to look up to him? Lower his guard until he got lost in this overwhelming affection that he doesn’t know what to do with? Only a few short weeks ago, Alvin had been infuriated by Jude’s ability to pick himself up and move forward, despite everything that the world had thrown at him. Alvin had been jealous, bitter, and in so, so much pain.
Now, though, the frustration is gone. Alvin doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but he looks at Jude and he feels—Admiration. Wonder. Fondness. A desire to be honest with the kid.
He pictures Jude’s easy blush, his patient smile, his earnest words. “I’d like to think Alvin knows how I feel.” The fierce determination as they fought. “Come with us.”
How did Jude grow up so fast? How did this green kid that Alvin had randomly found at his side become the main reason he now wants to tear down this spirits-forsaken wall he’s built and allow himself to love again?
“I’m happy for you, Al. Open your eyes. Now, you’ve found your place, as well.”
Presa had been right.
Out of all his companions—if he can still call them that—Jude is the one he thinks of the most.
Elize is a marvel. She’s strong, and despite lacking a childhood as much as Alvin did, she powered on. Rowen overcame so many hardships, and he’s still going strong. He’s been a good friend, too, when Alvin let him. Milla is single-minded and determined like no one else Alvin knows, and her lingering awkwardness around humans makes her relatable. Alvin would like to befriend her for real.
Leia… There’s a pang of guilt and sadness whenever he thinks of Leia, and there probably will be for a long time. He will do whatever he can to make it up to her. She’s the brightest one in their group, and even after everything she keeps smiling.
But then there’s Jude.
He’s an enigma to Alvin. He’s smart, strong, kind, empathic, and endlessly curious. He loves and forgives so easily. He’s everything that Alvin is not, and yet he finds himself drawn to Jude inexplicably. He doesn’t want to lose the kid.
He hopes it’s not too late for that. He hopes that Jude doesn't hate him.
The choice Alvin has to make tonight is a choice between easy and painful. A choice between running and staying at Jude’s side. A choice between loneliness and bravery. Not long ago, he would not have hesitated to take the first road.
What would Jude do?
Alvin knows the answer to that question; Jude would do the opposite of what Alvin has been doing his entire life. And Alvin can’t go on living the way he has for the past twenty years. He hates being a mercenary, he hates being alone, he hates this wall that prevents him from feeling anything. He thought everything would be all right once he just made it to Elympios, but now that he’s here in a city that no longer has any meaning to him… It’s not all right. Not by a long shot.
Things have never been that easy for him.
Alvin is brought out of his reveries by the sound of slow, scuffling footsteps behind him, and he freezes—then gives a helpless smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I thought I told you to get some sleep, Elize.”
“It’s me.”
At the familiar voice, Alvin’s head shoots up so fast he feels a twinge in his neck. His first instinct is to turn around, but then he realises that his cheeks are wet and his eyes probably red-rimmed, and he doesn’t want Jude to see him like this. As discreetly as possible, he wipes at his face with his sleeve.
Jude sits on the swing next to him where Elize sat earlier, and Alvin can’t help himself; he’s the moth and Jude is the flame—he always has been. Alvin turns his head to watch the kid, only to discover that Jude isn’t looking at him, as if to give Alvin some space to compose himself. Instead, Jude’s gaze is turned towards the city view in front of them, his face unreadable.
“Do you remember anything of Elympios?” Jude asks.
Alvin looks away, gazing at the large moon in the sky. He doesn’t trust his voice, but he replies anyway. “Bits and pieces. Not much.”
“How old were you when…”
“Six.”
“I’m sorry,” Jude says. The silence between them stretches, just on the edge of uncomfortable. Alvin takes a shuddery breath and blinks away fresh tears.
The moon was never this big in Rieze Maxia. He vaguely remembers his childhood bedroom in Trigleph—he would climb onto a chair to look out of the window at the large moon. He’d forgotten how big it was.
Maybe he likes the Rieze Maxian moon better. It's not as overwhelming.
Jude finally turns his head to look at Alvin. “How are you holding up?”
Alvin can’t help himself, he lets out a choked laugh. It sounds broken and rough even to his own ears.
Jude raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “Why is that funny?”
Alvin shrugs. “I should be asking you that. After all that I…”
Jude’s face softens, and Alvin wants to look away, but like a train wreck waiting to happen, he can’t. “It’s okay, Alvin.”
Alvin shakes his head minutely. “How can you say that after everything?”
Jude’s smile comes easily, gently, his eyes lighting up in the darkness, and even from this distance Alvin can see the streetlights reflected in them. “I guess I’m not one to hold grudges for long. And you seem like you need a friend to talk to.”
“A friend, huh,” Alvins says quietly. He has to know if it's not too late, if there's anything worth saving. “I thought… Don't you hate me?”
That seems to give Jude pause, but then he smiles again. “I don't hate you, Alvin. I still think of you as my friend. Friends can fall out and make up. Goodness knows Leia and I fought every other day when we were kids, but we were always friends.”
“I don’t know anything about friendship,” Alvin admits.
He’s never had any friends. He’s never had someone to show him how to be one. He’s never let anyone stick around for long enough to give feelings like these a chance to grow. But now there’s Jude. This infuriating, wonderful, brilliant kid who somehow sees right through him; who has not given up on him, even now.
“I’d like to think we are friends,” Jude says, earnest as always.
He smiles at Alvin, soft and a little bashful, and Alvin’s heart does this funny little twisting thing. It doesn’t hurt though—it feels nice, and it makes him smile at Jude in return, genuine and without any hint of a smirk. Alvin knows it’s up to him now to reach out and bridge the remaining distance between them to begin making things right. For once, he feels vulnerable enough to try. He trusts Jude, with all his heart. That’s a strange feeling, but not an unwelcome one.
“I want to be your friend,” Jude adds softly.
Alvin doesn’t say please. He doesn’t say don’t leave me. He doesn’t say I don’t know what love is, but what I feel for you comes dangerously close.
“I’d like that,” Alvin says instead.
The silence between them stretches, but it's comfortable this time. Safe. Belatedly, Alvin realises that Jude is giving him an opening to talk more if he wants to.
“For years, this was all I wanted,” Alvin says, letting the swing slowly sway back and forth as he gestures towards the buildings around them. “Coming back to Elympios.”
Jude hums to indicate that he’s listening.
“I thought maybe if I could get my mother here, she’d… get better. Maybe she’d—remember me again.” It’s painful, dragging these words out in the open, but he powers through. “I know it was foolish to hope, but it was all I had left. And now she’s gone, and I have no clue what I’m doing. Everything I did, everything I thought I knew… Everything I thought I was…”
“I’m sorry, Alvin,” Jude says. “I knew, when you brought me and Milla to meet your mother, that things were difficult for you. I just never realised how difficult.”
“Back then, I didn’t wanna talk about it.”
“And now?”
“We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Jude says without hesitation. “We are.”
“It’s hard for me to talk about feelings. And like I said before, I don’t know much about friendship. But don’t friends open up to each other?”
“Yes. And they help each other,” Jude says. “There’s no weakness in asking for help. In fact, I think it’s one of the bravest things a person can do.”
Alvin clenched his hands into fists. He doesn’t deserve Jude. He doesn’t know what to do with so much kindness and empathy, but he craves it anyway. It soothes the hurt inside of him, it makes him feel… (Loved.)
It makes him feel.
He can’t lose this, not again.
“I’m sorry, Jude,” Alvin says before he can lose his nerve. “I have no excuse for what I did to you and Leia. To all of you.”
Alvin’s heart beats once, twice. His clenched fists begin to ache.
Jude smiles at him. “I forgive you.”
Alvin’s breath catches in his chest on a painful half-sob. Tears that he tries very hard to keep back well up in his eyes again. He’d never expected to hear anyone say those three words to him. It rattles him to his core, warmth and guilt coursing through him in equal amounts.
Slowly he bows his head, staring down at his lap for long moments. Jude remains quiet while Alvin tries in vain to stop his shoulders from shaking. Eventually, he swallows painfully through the lump at the back of his throat. When he looks up again, Jude meets his gaze again, those earnest amber eyes focused fully on Alvin.
“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Alvin whispers.
“It’s not about deserving,” Jude says, and his voice is as gentle as Alvin has ever heard it. “I’m giving it to you. Because I want to.”
“You’re really something, kid.” Alvin takes a deep breath. “I…”
I love you.
“I admire you.”
“Oh,” Jude says, bashfully. “I’m nothing special.”
You are, Alvin thinks. You really are. You never gave up on me, after everything I did to you.
Jude gets up from the swing and slowly, as if approaching a cornered animal, makes his way to stand in front of Alvin. Alvin looks up from where he’s still seated on the swing as Jude takes a final step forward, stepping between Alvin’s legs. He’s too close, and yet he’s not close enough. Alvin wants to run. He wants to hug Jude so badly. His fingers twitch against his thighs.
This close, Alvin can smell Jude, sugar and cinnamon-sweet. He smells like peach pie and home.
After the briefest hesitation, Jude lifts his arms and wraps them around Alvin’s shoulders. His hands are warm, even through his gloves, and Alvin is too tired to tense up, battered and bruised and raw with emotion. The wall inside him crumbles, and in its wake is so much anguish, so much pain, but so much love, too, that it altogether overwhelms him. He goes boneless, pressing his face tightly into Jude’s stomach, his arms coming up around Jude’s waist to hug him back. Jude holds his weight easily as he twines his fingers into Alvin’s hair at the nape of his neck. His other hand slips underneath the collar of Alvin’s shirt, warm, gentle fingers stroking the skin there.
Alvin shivers.
When was the last time anyone hugged him like this? When was the last time anyone even touched him with such kindness?
Alvin made his choice. He made it the moment Jude came to him at the top of the Nia Khera Hallowmont. Trust takes a long time to build—it will take a long time to regain Jude’s trust in him. For the first time, Alvin truly believes it will be worth it.
Maybe he doesn’t deserve Jude's forgiveness right now, but he’s going to fight for it until he does.
“I’m not sure if I can be better,” Alvin says, mumbling the words against Jude’s stomach and hoping that Jude will hear. “But I want to be, more than anything now.”
“I’ll help you,” Jude says, as he slowly curls his hand into Alvin’s hair, thumb stroking back and forth. The touch makes something warm and light swell in Alvin’s chest. It brings fresh tears to his eyes that soak into Jude’s coat. It feels like forgiveness. “Stay with me. Don’t go. Don’t leave anymore.”
Alvin shakes with a half-suppressed sob. His throat is painfully tight. “I’ll try.”
“Okay,” Jude says. “Okay. Trying is enough, Alvin.”
Jude hugs him tighter, and Alvin slumps against him. It feels so good to be held—Jude’s hand stroking gently through his hair, the other wrapped warm and secure around his shoulders.
Shame burns hotly in his stomach. He almost threw this away, and for what?
They stand there for a long time, in the playground in front of Balan’s apartment building, Alvin seated on the swing and Jude with his arms around him. Alvin’s breathing slows down. The grief that has haunted him for weeks and months and years lays down its ever-rearing ugly head. The battering against his ribs is finally gone, the sharp-edged stones—remains of the wall—have settled motionless in the pit of his stomach.
All throughout, Jude keeps stroking his hair, and Alvin never wants him to stop.
Eventually, though, Alvin takes a final shuddering breath and releases his tight hold on Jude’s waist. After a pause, Jude takes the smallest step backwards, his hands dropping back to his side. Alvin shivers again, this time from the lost warmth. Before he can say anything, Jude holds out a hand, palm up.
For once in his life, Alvin sees an honest offer without a hidden agenda. Jude is an open book, his smile is unguarded and true, and Alvin trusts him completely—loves him completely—in a way he can’t put into words.
“Come back upstairs with me,” Jude says softly. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
Alvin blinks against the gritty feeling in his eyes as he looks up at Jude. The soft, patient smile on Jude’s face almost makes him cry again, and so he drops his gaze to Jude’s outstretched hand instead.
He takes it.