Wanted

I know.

Sabriel shuddered, on the verge of a cruel laugh, but his voice didn’t catch in his throat to bring the sound to fruition. He shook his head just barely from side to side; the movement unfocused his eyes and his stomach made an unpleasant noise. If Professor Faye knew any of it, he wouldn’t help him. If Professor Faye knew anything, he would have marched out of the apartment and pretended this night never happened.

Sabriel wouldn’t have blamed him.

“I like your voice,” he said. “Sometimes when you talk I feel it in my chest. And other times I feel it in my whole body. And I like that.” He looked straight ahead as he offered the compliment, his voice faraway and objective, as if this were fact. January’s fingers smoothed through his messy hair; Sabriel expected to feel the tug of a knuckle on a knot but nothing came.

Professor Faye was very gentle.

Despite the continued contact, the unspoken-statement did not repeat. There was silence in Sabriel’s head. Flexing his fingers, and then lowering his gaze to watch his fingers move, he opened his mouth and then hesitated and then finally asked:

“Can I hug you?”

The question hung in the air for a moment before Sabriel scrambled for followup.

“I haven’t fucking touched anyone in—I try not to and—I just haven’t touched anyone.” His voice caught on a growing lump in his throat and he coughed to clear it. He stole a quick glance at Professor Faye, then looked back at the floor. “It’s just really lonely and I like your hand in my hair.”

He licked his lips.

“Sorry.”

Sabriel’s hands began to shake.

Professor Faye sounded so calm. His voice flooded him—it started in his chest and spread, warm and full, raising gooseflesh along the back of his neck. It’s okay, he said. Come here. The inside of his mouth tasted awful, bitter, and his throat was dry, and January’s arms were open.

He came closer.

He put himself in Professor Faye’s arms.

He laid his forehead on Professor Faye’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He wound his arms slowly around Professor Faye’s middle, and let his palms spread out along his back, feeling the nodules of his spine and the indents of his shoulder blades. He was solid and physical and real, tangible, unlike what he heard in his head. With his fingers splayed out wide, he could feel more of him at once.

For some reason he really wanted that. To feel as much of him at once as he could.

“You smell really good,” Sabriel said. His voice was only a little muffled against his professor’s shirt.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone held him.

Professor Faye’s arms settled around his waist, but Sabriel felt his touch everywhere. Professor Faye was everywhere. His voice was in Sabriel’s chest, his chin was above Sabriel’s head, his arms cradled Sabriel’s body. Sabriel felt completely enveloped in a way he’d never been before, and though he felt small, he felt protected.

Like nothing could hurt him as long as he stayed here, right here, in Professor Faye’s arms. Closing his eyes, he listened to him breathe and breathed along with him.

“I’ve never felt anyone breathe before,” he said. “Like I can feel in your back how your ribs move when you inhale. It’s like I can feel you… living.”

Sabriel smiled, but it was hidden with his head down. A moment later he laughed quietly, feeling stupid and pathetic and strange. How amazing it was that Professor Faye had a body, a solid body. The kind of body that didn’t disappear when the lights went off.

“Did you know I disappear when the lights go off?”

He was so in awe of the bones that made January a person. A person.

Sabriel narrowed his eyes against the light. It burned. His eyes grew paler in the glow, the deep honey gold becoming a washed out yellow. Some primal, ancient part of him—the part built on shadows instead of bone, the part stitched together by dreams instead of flesh—alarmed at the sudden light, but Sabriel’s heart flooded with ineffable relief.

His body felt weightless. His mind raced.

And that was before Professor Faye kissed him.

Tenderly. Softly. His lips against Sabriel’s head. Quickly it was gone but the imprint of his mouth remained. Professor Faye apologized.

Sabriel stared at him.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone kissed him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone showed him an ounce of tenderness. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had wanted to care for him.

And the feeling that accompanied the sudden realization that someone in this world was anchoring him emerged in the following words:

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who can make me human.”

A moment passed—a moment no longer than any other moment, though it stretched impossibly wide for Sabriel. Inside his chest was trembling and he wasn’t sure what he was doing until he was doing it.

He cupped Professor Faye’s cheeks in his palms and leaned in and closed his eyes and kissed him on his sweet, tender mouth.

January cupped his face. January kissed him back. Sabriel’s entire body lit up as if light were running through him, electric and tingling, from the tips of his ears straight down the center of his thighs. There was the sound in the back of Sabriel’s throat—half shock, half moan—and he pressed himself closer, all desire and no thought.

January broke the kiss.

Sabriel stared at him dumbly.

His lips were still parted, wet from kissing. His eyes were heavy-lidded: drunk, tired. His heart pounded in his chest. The thrill that soared through his body moments ago turned quickly into something dark and rotten as he latched onto January’s question. Professor Faye’s question. Professor.

The reality of what he’d done began to dawn on him like a machete cutting through thickly overgrown jungle. With each swipe of the blade, what had felt right and pure was slashed into pieces until it felt wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Wherever he went, he cut down what was natural and left ruin in his wake.

Is this okay?

There were several things Sabriel wanted to say. There were several answers he wanted to give. Some of the answers conflicted. But for one brief, shining moment, he felt he could say everything, and be free of the burden.

Then the brief, shining moment turned dull, covered in rust, became too dangerous to touch.

He felt like he was going to throw up again.

This time, the clenching in his belly resulted in a loud, unexpected sob that echoed through the apartment. His breath caught at the end of the howl, and he choked on the sudden thickness in his throat as his eyes began to burn with heavy tears. His shoulders shook; his chest burned; everywhere he was trembling.

Still cupping Professor Faye’s face in his hands, Sabriel bowed his head and began to weep loudly, messily, and he could not stop.