give me my heart back

Sasha was lost for the second time in his life, completely unsure of his place in existence, dying from the inside out. What was he, without Florentin, without his everything?

Florentin was very literally his whole world, his reason for being, his… did he have any right, even, to be so possessive? Flor wasn't his.

But Sasha wanted him to be, so, so very badly. So much it hurt and ate at his insides. Wanted, oh god, in ways that warmed all of him down to his core, and needed. Needed everything. It was all mixing into one and it was hard to see where selfish and selfless really began anymore, what was like breathing to him and what was supposedly an inessential pleasure.

He'd poured so much of himself into letters over the month, convinced, feverish, that he would never be able to see Flor again, that some cruel fate conspired to keep them apart. And there was so much he'd never said, never promised, never… never…

He was supposed to be the one that never left that boy, that beautiful, endlessly special young man. He was supposed to protect him forever.

Instead, all of Sasha's family was now gone, replaced with nothing but a shitty motel room and the feeling of lying in your own gross tears and crumpled up paper for days on end. This wasn't like before at all. The scars were all inside this time, the only voice in his mind was his beloved's, and he didn't want to move on.

He couldn't. Wasn't even able to process the idea, and it shook him up, bad.

Sometimes he just drifted along with his misery, let it carry him ahead, fearing apathy more. Others, he lay awake at night, thought about getting rid of everyone else just so he could be with Flor. He'd hurt anyone, do anything, be despicable and impure and greedy, if it meant getting to his love and then staying. Keeping his promises for good.

He could never bring himself to feel guilt over any of it. He didn't think he ever would.

If he'd been human, he would've had a heart attack when the call came in, around the very end of the month. He'd been losing himself in depression again, and when he moved to get up from from his bed, chest pounding and mind scattered, half written letters fell off of him. Sasha was normally a very neat person, with his job as a caretaker (his ex-job, was what hung over him like a heavy smog), but his 'room' right now was a fucking mess. He couldn't clean for just himself in this state, and the looks he offered through barely open doors to motel staff kept them away and uncomplaining. He tripped over his own feet, had to dig through trash on the ground, tearing up his space even further in the whole process. He found his phone just before the last ring finished, picking up instantly at the name.

It's not like it could've been anyone else. Sasha didn't have anything else.

"Julien," Sasha said, voice very small, as he sank down to the floor in his destroyed living space. The state of it all definitely reflected what was happening to him. His limbs were tense, but he was laying back down again, sadness an infection. He was so, so pathetic. "Mr. Octavius… I'm sorry," he corrected himself thickly. And that was about all he had in him in terms of conversation. After that, he just listened.

And when it came down to it, he really didn't have much to pack. Just a few reliable outfits, his silly books (which he hadn't been able to try to read without crying), his equipment, and the clothes and weapons on his person.

The time he took leaving his room, hopefully for good, and to get to the airport, went by in a blur. It was. So alarmingly different, in comparison to the awful drudge of the month.

The fact that none of his surroundings were important might have had something to do with the blur. He moved mechanically, did and said what was needed to get from point a to b, and nothing more. And then, and then.

And then.

Then Florentin was in front of him, looking worse for wear but still radiant, and Sasha's hands were trembling under his gloves and he couldn't move. The air was thin feeling, his head a haze, throat tight. This had truly been Sasha's lowest.

But he was… here.

They were here.

Sasha clutched onto Florentin the moment he was within reach, and it didn't take him very long to sob. He didn't know what to do, could hardly be poetic like in all of his letters, he just felt overwhelmed and desperate. His chest heaved and he blinked blearily. He buried his face in Flor's hair. "I love you," he whispered, again and again, just loud enough for his darling to hear.

God, fuck, he wanted to kiss him, be with him in their most vulnerable and honest states, but they were still being watched- and already pushing it, even as the best of friends finally reunited. He felt like he'd waited forever, so surely he could manage for just a little longer, no matter how much it hurt. Having Flor look up at him with those big eyes didn't help, though. Sasha cupped his face with one hand, caressing, as gentle and deliberate as ever.

"Didn't expect to be. I was alerted to what was happening just now, thanks to a last minute call from your father. There wasn't much said, but I am to accompany and watch over you again, yes." His words were clipped, his voice was far too heavy and thick.

He quieted.

"It's… over. We're really going, aren't we?" That was only just beginning to sink in. He didn't think he'd fully process it until they were on the plane, France fading away into nothing. Everything was still sore, and he felt so young, but it also seemed as though… that was all going to change in an instant. It was odd, in the very end, how easy it really was.

Sasha didn't want to let go of Flor. Not while they were still had their feet on this land, at least, and not in general. He swallowed, tipping his head up, making eye contact with the other guard. He didn't know him. Of course not, Sasha had been close friends with all of the regular staff, and still was. They were who delivered his letters. It was… fair, to not have one of them here, even if Flor's parents didn't know the full extent of his affections. If they did, he most certainly wouldn't be here now.

"He's exhausted and sickly, he needs help," Sasha called, as an explanation, then picking Florentin up and holding him, grip tight and protective. He took Flor's luggage as well, easily carrying both. His heart felt like it was stopped. His life was going to change again.

For the better. Florentin was with him.

He gave a nod, rather cold in demeanor, to his near replacement. Then, they entered the jet, together.

He was numb in a very relieving way.