between the shadow and the soul

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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From where he stood, Sabriel could see everything: the tree, the large crowd of people surrounding it, the skating rink adjacent to it. Behind him sat the snowball fight field, and he could hear the screaming laughter that accompanied that kind of freezing joy.

He'd taken pictures instead of joining in. He didn't know how to—even among people he knew, he felt as if he were outside, looking through a window, unable to access the joy surrounding him.

His camera was strung over his shoulder, and in his gloved hands, he held a cup of coffee to keep him awake and warm. The sun had set; above him, the sky was a swallowing dark, and the park was lit up by its own Christmas lights. Because of the dark, there was a slight tug inside his chest as his body begged please—but Sabriel wouldn't allow his bogeyman form to have him. Not in public. Not with so many people around and so much happiness abundant in the air.

Having made a couple ornaments for the tree, Sabriel walked forward, and hoped to find an isolated spot where he could hang the ornaments he made. When he bought them, they were plain silver balls, but he had painted designs on each, rendering them far more festive.

As he went around the tree he saw his photography professor. Sabriel blinked. He hadn't expected to see faculty, even though this event was open to everyone on the island.

"Hi, Professor Faye," he said. He was tall enough that Sabriel had to look up when he spoke to him. "How are you?"

He was trying, mostly, to be polite. Professor Faye never paid him much attention in class—which was fine, especially when Sabriel was late almost every day. Not being paid attention to meant these things weren't noticed. Or so he hoped.

@Kyros
 

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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This was the first time Professor Faye had ever looked at him.

Sabriel was not an active student; he did not raise his hand in his classes, he did not participate in discussions. He entered class late and sat in the back, hidden by the rows of students in front of him, and prayed not to be noticed. He was used to being glanced over, and in fact preferred it, most of the time—but the way Professor Faye looked at him now…

It was as if he was being seen for the first time, by anyone.

A smile spread across Professor Faye’s face. Sabriel smiled back, but it was small, polite, a small upturn of the corners of his mouth without any teeth. It was not a smile that brought light to his face—it was a smile that kept him looking small.

“I assume you’re one of my students?”

Sabriel’s smile grew just a little bit, but it was self-deprecating at best, and a small, wry laugh left his throat. Professor Faye didn’t even know who he was.

“Don’t worry. It’s my fault you don’t know me,” he said, even though Professor Faye didn’t seem particularly worried about not knowing who he was.

“Sabriel Phyero,” he said. “I sit in the back. You seem to like my work—I’ve done well in your class all semester.”

It occurred to him that even his name might not be enough.

“My last project was a black and white series,” he said. “The one that played with light? There was one photo that was a self-portrait but my face was obscured by a bunch of shadows.”
 

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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“Thank you,” he said, though a sudden heat came into his ears. He tried to tell himself it was just a response to the cold—really it was the fact that Professor Faye found his name interesting, when to Sabriel himself it had always been strange. It was the name of God’s messenger, but twisted, turned into something more sibilant.

Something more like a secret. Like a shadow.

He was, from the beginning, meant to blend in with the dark.

“You did,” he said. “Your class is keeping me afloat this semester.” Photography was easy because it interested him, and because it interested him he put more effort into it. Academically he’d been suffering, and it was his own fault for trying to resist what he was. But he couldn’t not resist it, especially now that he was older and understood it better.

He didn’t notice Professor Faye look him over; Sabriel was looking at the tree, scrutinizing it for empty branches where he could place the ornaments he’d painted.

What?” Sabriel’s head whirled back to look at Professor Faye, an incredulous smile on his face. He even laughed in quiet disbelief. “I look wretched,” he said. His hair was unkempt. Circles weighed under his eyes. His gloves were threadbare; he’d cut off the fingertips and, careless as ever, neglected to sew up the loose threads. His jacket was old, missing a button.

Maybe he looked messy in a pleasing way? Maybe the lights, dainty as they were, compensated for the flaws his mirror so readily pointed out?

“I mean—of course, if you want to take my picture, of course,” he said, “I just don’t want to ruin the shot with…” He gestured loosely to himself. “How do you want me to pose?”
 

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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You’re perfect the way you are.

No one had ever said that to him before.

“Oh,” he said. “All right.”

Sabriel tried not to take it too personally—this was, after all, a photograph, and therefore it was only about art. It wasn’t about who he was or what he looked like. It was about being perfect for the shot Professor Faye wanted.

He wasn’t used to being on the other side of the camera. He wasn’t sure what to do with his face—should he smile? Should he make his eyes a little wider? Should he tilt his head, or part his lips a little in some sultry, ethereal way?

In the end, he did none of those things. After the shutter clicked, Sabriel bowed his head and took a breath, relieved that he could move again freely without worrying about what his movements would look like if captured on film. Professor Faye said it was perfect, and without waiting for a response, came closer to show him.

Their shoulders bumped.

A jolt went through Sabriel’s entire body.

It started in his head and went down to his toes in no more than a second. He felt warm and cold at the same time; he felt pierced, split in half in one moment and welded back together the next. His golden eyes widened. He looked at Professor Faye, bewildered, unable to hide his bewilderment, and unable to put his bewilderment into words.

Something had—something had happened. Something that immediately made him curious and frightened, something that drew him in with such force that he felt the need to run away.

“I look—” Sabriel had been about to say awful, but his voice hitched. He felt out of breath. And besides, he didn’t look awful. “… Surprisingly decent,” he said. He still sounded breathless. He wanted to look at Professor Faye, but he couldn’t bear it. Instead he looked at the camera’s display screen.

“Usually I picture myself without a face,” he said. “That sounds weird—but my face looks good here. The whole shot, it—it looks good. Could I have a copy?”
 

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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Professor Faye pulled away, and he took a part of Sabriel with him. Sabriel felt cold in the place where they had been touching, the place where January was no longer. He wanted to brush shoulders again; he wanted to put his body against January’s in some way; he wanted some evidence, some physical proof, that Professor Faye had not disappeared.

He turned his head to make sure, and Professor Faye was still there. Sabriel looked up at him, and this time, he couldn’t look away.

He kept hearing, over and over again, what Professor Faye had said in a voice that was his but not his. Older. More affectionate. Desperate. Kind. Weaker than it was now. He’d called him Sabe.

Though Sabriel knew what he heard, he knew, also, that it couldn’t have been said. And yet…

“Yeah,” he said. He still sounded out of breath. “Yeah, hang on—”

He looked down as he ruffled through his pockets, searching for his phone, uncertain where he’d put it. The thing he’d heard-but-not-heard echoed in his head. His eyes began to water; his heart felt full of something he couldn’t yet name.

When he found his phone and pulled it out, he opened a new contact screen. His fingers were trembling. His coffee cup shook in one hand, while his phone trembled in the other. He looked up at his teacher.

“Could we sit down somewhere to do this? I’m feeling a little…” He shook his head. He didn’t know what he was feeling.
 

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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Even when he looked down, he could still feel Professor Faye’s eyes on him. Sabriel was burning under his eyes, and burning under the weight of what he’d heard.

Nothing like this had ever happened to him before.

When Professor Faye touched his hand, it happened again. The words were the same as before, but came stronger, louder, more certain of themselves. The sentence rang between his ears, but Professor Faye hadn’t opened his mouth—he was looking up at him, and he saw how it didn’t move. Sabriel didn’t understand what it meant; he understood only that whatever was happening, it was going to change everything.

This time, when Professor Faye spoke, Sabriel studied the shape of his lips as they moved to make sure what he heard and what was said aligned.

“I’m all right,” Sabriel said, though he didn’t sound convincing. His words were breathy. There was a catch in his words. “I’m—a little dizzy—”

The world was shaking, as if it were some grand mirage.

“I need help walking to the bench,” he said. “Please. I—actually feel like I might fall over.”
 

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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Professor Faye wrapped his arm around him, and Sabriel felt it happening again. The words just kept repeating in his head, over and over again, growing louder every time until it was all he could hear. There was nothing else. It drowned out the conversations of the people around them, it completely covered the laughter of the snowball fight happening nearby, and if any winter carols were being sung, Sabriel wouldn’t know.

And suddenly, it stopped.

They were still touching. Professor Faye helped Sabriel ease down into the bench. It was cold against his skin. Sabriel unbuttoned his jacket. His fingers were trembling and clumsy; it took him a couple tries with every button to get it right. At last he got it open and tried to fan himself with it to cool down.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m sorry. I must be—over tired, or dehydrated—thank you.”

Sabriel took the water and, popped open the cap. The world was still hazy; the lights of the park, once crisp and in focus, looked to him as if they had undergone some bokeh effect. He took a sip. The bottle was so full and his hands were so clumsy that some of the water dribbled down his chin. He caught it with his wrist.

“My phone,” he said. He reached back into his pocket; he’d slipped it back in, at some point, but now offered it to Professor Faye. “Here. You can go ahead and put your number in.”
 

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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Sabriel didn’t notice that January’s hands went to his camera. He didn’t notice how disappointed January was that he did not fully take off his coat, or how excited he was to have his phone in his hands. Sabriel was exhausted, and confused, and in a small way, terrified. His many thoughts jumbled together, and most of his questions were entirely unanswerable.

Why had he heard what he did?

What caused it?

Why had Professor Faye’s voice in his head sounded so full of love, so desperate—and why was it now that Sabriel kept looking at him out of the corner of his eye, as if he desired to protect him?

“Thank you,” he said as Professor Faye handed his phone back. Since the contact screen was up, Sabriel pressed New Message and sent a text—This is Gabriel. “Fuck,” Sabriel hissed under his breath. Scoffing at the embarrassment that was the combination of autocorrect and a shaking thumb, he sent a followup—With an S. Sorry.

“I sent you a text,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. Professor Faye would see what he meant when he checked his phone at some point and saw the glaring typo in his name.

He didn’t expect Professor Faye to care so much, or to be so kind. Sabriel looked up at him, his eyebrows lifted with a sort of curiosity. It was hard to tell, sometimes, if people were kind because they wanted to be or because they felt obligated. Professor Faye had helped him to the bench, given him water, and now offered him a ride home.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” he said. “I interrupted you taking photos, didn’t I? Before? And you’ve already—you’ve already been so generous.”

But maybe—just maybe—spending more time with Professor Faye was the key to figuring out what had happened.

“I walked here,” he said. “From my apartment. I could—I could at least replace your water? If you gave me a ride?”
 

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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The question persisted in Sabriel’s mind—was Professor Faye being polite, or genuine? Sabriel couldn’t tell if he had answered incorrectly. So many people offered kindness without expecting the kindness to be accepted, and so it became a burden, a regret.

“Only if you’re certain,” he said. There was a risk that came in too much floundering, in pushing people away. He didn’t want to push Professor Faye away. Not now. Not before he figured out how a single person could simultaneously anchor and disorient him.

Sabriel eyed the offered hand, reluctant, afraid that the voice in his head would begin again. When he took Professor Faye’s hand, it was an experiment in the unknown. There were no words in Sabriel’s head. The world sounded as it should—and yet, as their hands touched, Sabriel felt that he was agreeing to something to a deal more powerful than a simple exchange of water.

“I’ll make it,” he said. “I feel sort of—shaky. Hazy. Let's just go slow.”

He realized, then, that he hadn’t let go of Professor Faye’s hand.

As soon as he realized this, he pulled away, and cast his eyes elsewhere, feeling reprimanded without a word passing between them.

He tucked his phone back in his pocket. He screwed the cap back onto the water. He could carry the water and his coffee, which by now was mostly cold. He stood slowly, using the bench for leverage to make sure he didn’t fall over. When he stood, he felt lightheaded, but this was the least unusual thing to happen tonight.

“Lead the way?”
 

birdie

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Jul 9, 2005
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As they made their way to Professor Faye’s car, Sabriel tried to walk a couple paces behind. He was tired, it was true, and still felt tremulous inside; his heart fluttered with a nervous tingling, and his lungs, like the wings of an anxious bird, felt as if they were shifting back and forth.

But what he really wanted, in walking behind, was to be able to look at Professor Faye without being caught in his looking.

__________​

“A little better,” said Sabriel. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

The car slowed to a stop outside his apartment. Sabriel unbuckled his seatbelt, and, once free from it, placed his fingers on the door handle.

He hesitated, then looked back at Professor Faye.

“Do you have a couple minutes to come inside?” he asked. “I owe you water, and I think I have some cookies or something? It’s the least I can do. You were nicer to me tonight than you needed to be.”
 
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