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Zandik was never fond of fire. The clones, of course, inherited this attribute. Feofan trained himself into avoiding lighting cigarettes around the younger segments. 18 would pretend things were fine if he did, but 8… the memory of torches and pitchforks is still fresh for the littlest. Still tangible.
Watching Dottore stare into the flames is almost uncanny. The heat is suffocating, the atmosphere is thick… And Dottore makes no comment on it. Feofan debates on how to start this conversation in his place. He’s gone over this in his head so, so many times, but his preparations pale in comparison to actuality. Most of the conversation passes in a blur. The rest of it passes in silence.
“You know you didn’t have to follow me here, Pantalone.” Feofan lets his eyes fall shut with a strained sigh. He walks up closer to Dottore’s side, unbothered by the heavy weight of the air. He’s used to smoke, much to Zandik’s dismay.
“I’m aware.”
“Yet you followed me anyway.”
“…I did.” Dottore doesn’t face him. Feofan stares at the man from the side, tracing the shapes making up his face which are illuminated by the orange glow of the blaze. He wishes the mask was gone. He wants to see him one more time. Zandik. His Zandik.
“You knew this was my intention from the day we met, Pantalone.” Dottore finally turns to face him, but the mask remains a horrible barrier between Feofan and the man he mourns more than anything.
“Tell me. Why did you stay, knowing it would end?”
“No one else would.” Feofan’s voice is soft. Weak.
“You’ve never cared what others thought.”
“…No. I never did. But I cared what you thought.”
Dottore chuckles at that. Feofan wishes he could bottle that sound, hold it. He wishes he could carry that sound around like Dottore carries around the elixir.
“You’ve always been a fool in that regard.” Feofan doesn’t feel hurt. He knows Dottore doesn’t mean it. He never could. A satisfied smile quirks Dottore’s lips under the short beak of his mask. Feofan knows their time is up.
…
“…What should I call you? Zandik,” his sentence catches for the smallest moment. It would be imperceptible to most… but Dottore has never been most. Not to Feofan. “…Or Dottore?”
The tiniest shrug. “Suit yourself.” Feofan has to turn his back to the man. The more he looks, the more he desires. It’s a dangerous thing, to desire.
“Goodbye, Feofan. This time, that’s what it truly is.” Feofan. Not Pantalone. It’s almost like he’s talking to his Zandik again. To the man who should have been his husband.
“And don’t I know it.” He feels more than sees Dottore’s form dissipate. He feels the sudden lack of presence, and the sudden lack of warmth despite the fire burning through Sumeru behind him. He knows it’s over. He knows it’s too late. It was always too late.
“…Goodbye, Zandik.” He doesn’t know if he’s bidding farewell to the final segment, or to the last remnant of the man he loved. Both, maybe.
…
— — —
…
Feofan returns later to their-… his home. He passes by the piano. The seats. The tables. The books. Everything that Zandik ever laid hands on. Everything, including him.
Zandik ordered for the lab to be entirely locked down, when this time came. Feofan knows this, and still tries to open the door anyway. Still jostles the handle in the slim hope that something gives way.
…
It does not.
…
He lights a cigarette. He needs one. His lungs have been replaced before, but he couldn’t care less about his body anymore. What’s the point in maintaining it?
There’s a box on the dining room table. Feofan doesn’t need to open it to know that it’s a supply of his elixirs. Ones that he won’t bother to take. Beside the box is a mask. The mask that he took from the remains of Zandik’s body before he was fully disected that day.
The elixir makes him immortal. And it’s worked so far. But one thing it can’t do is make him invincible. Age will not fall him, other things may. Zandik had tried to modify the elixir, to try to remedy that “problem,” but he was not willing to compromise the effectiveness of the elixir at its core.
…
…It wouldn’t be worth it to take the elixir. Not anymore. All that remains of Zandik is lost.
…
…Feofan always wished to get married. When Zandik gave him a ring, he knew it was the closest thing he’d get to it. That was okay.
…
…Is that okay? In Snezhnaya, spouses are buried together.
…
…But there’s nothing to bury of Zandik, anyway. There’s nowhere to bury Zandik. Snezhnaya doesn’t want him anymore. Sumeru never did. The only place that truly wanted Zandik was Feofan’s home. It’s not his home without Zandik. It’s just a house.
…
…Things could have ended so, so differently if Zandik was allowed to stay in Sumeru. But if he did, they never would have met. There’s always a caveat. There was never going to be a happy ending for them together. There was never going to be a happy ending for Zandik, alone.
…
…Sumeru may never be sorry for what they did. But Feofan always will be.
He will always wish they could have been more.
He will always mourn for Zandik. For what he could have been.
…
…
He loved you, Zandik.
It’s a shame no one else could.