Dust Fountain

For @miss-macabre-grey

Raiting: General Audiences

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Relationships: Lance/Lotor

Characters: Lance, Lotor

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alien/Human Relationships

Summary: Lotor planned to continue his research in the lounge room. He didn't expect it to be already occupied.

Read it in AO3

The emperor sat across Lance, unable to contain a faint smile. Lance's clicking distracted Lotor, so much so he focused on it like a ticking timer. The cord stuck to Lance's sweaty fingers, ruinning the weaving, and Lance grumbled as he unraveled it. Still, the paladin kept casting curious glances at Lotor, as if he was the distracting one.

Lance hunched over the blanket, his feet propped up in the sofa and his curls ruffled. Lotor's nails clickcing against the tablet didn't seem to bother him; no more than his presence already did. What bothered Lance, to the point his face turned a frustrated red, was that the emperor gazed back.

Lance returned to his business, only to find he'd made a mistake, which led to more grumbling and unraveling. Lotor stared a while longer, until the clicking of his nails joined Lance's and his smile widened. It was interesting to see the paladin struggle under simple observation.

The boy shifted in the sofa, propped himself up a bit, crossed his other leg, ruffled his feet against the cushions or buried himself deeper in the blanket. Still, his attention always went back to Lotor, his gaze not particularly intense, but unmistakable and unavoidable. 

None of them said a word. Then Lotor peeped at Lance, and Lance rewarped the cord in his fingers. The clicking resumed.

At some point Lotor started the gazing on his own, curiosity getting the best of him. His research was crucial, and shouldn't be so heinously ignored. Yet, the movements from Lance's hands were intriguing and new; not more interesting than infinite quintessence beyond the barrier of understanding, but they had the plus of human behavior first hand.

Lance stopped a moment to dry his hands on his clothes, actively ignoring Lotor. The grumbling continued.

"You don't need to be so nervous, paladin. I can hardly judge your actions since I had never observed such practice."

Lance froze a moment, frown deepening. "Then why are you here?"

Lotor sighed —something most species had in common. "Unfortunately, as comfortable as my quarters may be, they are far away from the princess, should I need her for consultation. This is an appropriate location to continue my research."

The paladin gave him a venomous look, his lips tight. Lotor made a dry sound at that.

Turning back to the tablet, Lotor was determined to make some progress. He managed to go through a few more calculations, feeling himself getting absorbed, until he realized he'd made a mistake and his eyes wandered back to Lance and his dancing fingers in an instant.

Even with clear signs of self-consciousness in his face, Lance tried to keep his cool. He dried his hands again and again, but soon sweat was rolling down his forearms. The emperor frowned. Most mammal species sweated, including some Galra races, but he'd never witnessed such amounts of perspiration from mere stress —aside from anxious-enhanced cases of the slipperies. Was that common in humans?

"Yes?! Can I help you with something?!" Lance shrieked, startling Lotor. "You of all people should know that staring is rude, Mr. Emperor!"

"I was just wondering if you could do that without looking." His voice was tighter than he would have liked. Lance didn't seem to notice. Lotor finally looked away, cleared his throat. "I admit, paladin, I did have an ulterior motive for staying here."

The boy snorted. "Oh, so you could see me knit?!"

Insolence was something no emperor would accept from his own people. On the other hand, it was something that thrilled Lotor about working with Voltron as comrades. He did not expect any more than mutual respect from them during his stay at the castle, and the team provided that, albeit a few exceptions. Banter was a habit for them, one Lotor had trouble acquiring, but that he could enjoy engaging into. Lance's voice had no friendly undertones, however.

Lotor set the tablet aside, maintaining his voice leveled. "Other cultures' customs are a... fascination of mine, you could say."

Lance raised an eyebrow. Ever so eloquent.

"Could I bother you by asking to show me?"

Lance raised his other eyebrow. "You want to learn to knit?"

He shouldn't, really. His research was priority and his entire plan depended on it. He was so close. Every waking moment should be spent working.

But then Lance put his feet down and patted the seat next to him. "Don't be mistaken," he said, looking elsewhere, "I still don't trust you. But if this will make you stop staring at me like a dumbfounded puppy, I'll teach you."

"I assure you, I'm not going to harm you," said Lotor as he sat beside the paladin, his knee pressing against Lance's, from which the boy recoiled. He couldn't resist a little jabbing; Lance's reactions where all too fascinating. "If I wished to do so, I'd have taken one of the million opportunities I've had in the past hour,"

Lance clicked his tongue. "Do you want me to teach you or not?"

The boy handed him sticks and spare cord. Lotor inspected them, small in his hands.

"Watch out for splinters," said Lance, as he grabbed another set. "I sanded them the best I could, but you never know."

"Is it custom to make your tools yourself?"

Lance shook his head. "I had to, since there aren't human yarn shops in outer space. Those ones," and he pointed at the blanket left aside, "were a present from Hunk and Pidge. Metal is much more pleasant to work with, but wood serves just as well. Now, start with a slip knot."

The process was simple enough, and Lance explained it well, giving time for Lotor to make mistakes and start over. It was harder than it looked. Lotor's fingers trembled, clumsy to carry the yarn around.

"And you can make anything with this?"

"If it comes to fabric, sure. But not everything would look good. Turn the work like this."

Lotor's stitches were very even and very tight, Lance said. How wouldn't they be when Lotor's nails got caught in the yarn?

"Chill, man. It will look better if you loosen up. You'll go faster."

"Like this?"

"Looser. Try moving your other hand too."

The paladin reached for Lotor's hands and was touching him before any could process it. Lance's hands were clammy but soft, more so than the softest spots on Lotor's skin. Lotor blinked at them. Warm, with slender fingers—

Lance removed them hurriedly. "Sorry," he muttered. "Uhm, watch me." He made a few stitches in his own work. "See how both hands move?"

Lotor didn't know what to make of Lance at the moment. He acted defensively whenever Lotor was in the room, specially when it came to the princess. His current behavior didn't make sense. He'd accepted to teach Lotor, his posture was relaxed for a trained paladin of Voltron sitting by a so-called enemy, he'd broken personal boundaries and was clearly ashamed of it. Asking was out of the question.

"You make it look so easy." Lotor offered as he imitated the movement. "How long have you been doing this?"

"I don't know. Years. My mom taught me before I went to the Garrison. It was useful to have a quiet hobby, you know? Do you have any hobbies? Aside from conquering the galaxy?"

The emperor added that one to Lance's incomprehenssible tally.

"My objective is not conquering any galaxy, Lance. I merely seek to reunite my kingdom and give them the home we lost." Lotor let his hands fall on his lap. "As for your question, I like exploring. I used to travel a lot in my youth, learning all about new cultures and places I'd never imagined. But for now, I have to focus on ending this war."

The room went silent. Lance's expression was something entirely new for Lotor, something he didn't have a name for. His eyes seemed bright and lost for a moment.

"Look" said Lance, almost in a whisper. "I don't like you much personally, but right now the best way we have to end this is by working together. That's why we're here, right? Knitting may not have been part of the plan, but you're supposed to take time to yourself too."

Lotor looked at Lance in utter astonishment. The red paladin, of them all, trying to comfort him. He didn't need to be comforted. Lotor had lived the war. He grew up beside it; it grew with him as Zarkon's Empire held itself on crumbled sand, usurping quintessence like parasites. No. Lotor didn't need consolation but to take action; not to be sitting making fabric while the Galra destroyed each other, deepening the crevasse through which they'd slip towards extinction.

"I'm the emperor, Lance. My people need me. I'm not supposed to take time off."

"You are taking time off right now, no?" Lance jabbed his elbow gently on Lotor's side. "Plus, you're not telling me all that beauty maintains itself."

The paladins would never understand, of course. Their vision was broader, more superficial than Lotor's could be after ten thousand years. But, as little sense as it made to Lotor, Lance's remarks where genuine. All it took for him to warm up to Lotor had been simple conversation. Not even a particularly good one, either.

So Lotor laughed, deep an honest, at the ridiculousness of the situation, at the naivety of Lance and his own, at how they sat side by side, amicably conversing while the quintessence awaited, nearly at his hand's grasp and at how it all depended on the princess now. But Lance though he celebrated his joke, and his cheeks reddened yet again. Of course, Lotor noticed.

"Are you flustered, Lance?"

"Me? Psh, of course not. I don't get flustered. Let me see how you're doing?"

It was a disaster compared with Lance's neat stitches. "Don't sweat it. Just give it a wash and it will loosen up a bit."

"What do you mean? I can keep it?"

Lights Entirely Extinguished by stickman

LÉELO EN ESPAÑOL

Last chapter, lads.

Chapter 22:

Eric inhaled the warmth of the morning entering through the window, seeking peace as flashes of the previous night penetrated his senses. A vague ache underneath his skin, a feeble heave puncturing his stomach, the sting of the glass sinking in his knees. All but echoes dwelling in the air he breathed absently as he looked at the ceiling. He exhaled the exasperation in his lungs and noted the dense mass in his chest give in a little. Staring at his hand gave him something to distract himself from the cool rage licking like fire the ends of his nerves.

The weight on the mattress shifted beside him and he heard Dante's frustrated sigh along with the rustle of the sheets unwrapping from his arms.

Once Eric dared to move and turned around so he lay on his back, Dante's intent gaze fixed on him made him jump a little. He didn't seem to be looking at him, however.

"Dante?" he croaked. The boy blinked, focusing on him but still saying nothing. Eric noted his eyes looked slightly bigger without the glasses. Rather charming, he thought. "Is everything okay?"

"Sorry. I couldn't sleep at all," he murmured. "I had too much in my mind."

Eric sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Same."

In truth, Eric had been so exhausted after all the fuss he'd made, he had practically passed out as soon as he touched the pillow. Nonetheless, he was restless from uncertain, murky dreams. Once awake, he lay still, as deep in thought as Dante himself had been.

"I want to apologize about last night," said Dante suddenly, making Eric jolt a second time.

"Why?" He asked, looking back at him.

The boy barely blinked. "All those things I said... Even though I meant them, I think I didn't consider your feelings very much. Sorry about that."

A very scarce quiver brushed Eric's heart. A product of the bond, most certainly.

"No, that's... fine," he said, his voice almost shaking. "I just don't understand why you are so kind to me."

Dante kept silent for a while but sure enough, went on.

"I truly want to make this work, but if you honestly feel we should break up, I will understand. If this relationship hurts you I'd rather we part ways," he said, matter-of-factly. "Also, whether I forgive you or not is not your responsibility and I feel what I told you last night might have made you feel that way, so I'm sorry."

That hadn't occurred to Eric. He had been too busy musing on how crazy it was he could —to some extent— feel Dante's pain to further analyze what he had been told in his suicidal state. Not like much of the words had registered really.

Eric puzzled over the expression on Dante's face, for it was like stone at the very moment.

"Are you really willing to break up for my sake?" he asked, just to fill in the silence.

"Yes. If it does you good, then yes."

"Why?"

"Would you do the same for me?" asked Dante, softening his brows a little. "Would you give up on me if I told you it was hurting me?"

Unable to stop himself, Eric huffed. He felt almost insulted. "Of course!" He grumbled, "I've hurt you enough as it is! Forcing you would only make it worse... Still... I don't want to lose you. So it's up to you."

Dante simply nodded and placed his arm bellow his head. His coolness was starting to get on Eric's nerves.

"As I told you, I want to try it out. Make it work, if possible, of course. But again, if you decide to stop this, that's fine too. The point here is that we're both as comfortable as possible."

Eric looked at him carefully, partly to calm himself down, since no one would want him angry at the moment, and partly because the boy in front of him seemed so serious, so heedful of him.

"Is it selfish if I suggest we start again?"

The boy frowned, looking at the mattress and considering.

"Yes," he said at last. "I'd rather not keep ignoring the matter."

Eric bit his lip. Fool. Of course it was selfish. Dante said he wanted to forget, and Eric was trying to seek comfort in avoiding the consequences once again. He bit a little harder.

Dante closed his eyes for the briefest moment and sighed.

"Listen, we cannot change what happened and I'm not sure if I'll forget it, but every moment I spend with you, it seems more distant. You've changed," he said, finally banishing his frown. "You don't look at me with hate anymore and, as stupid as I might sound, I can't help but soften myself. I don't know if it's an effect of the bond or what but really, it doesn't matter now."

The boy smiled and Eric's chest fluttered with remorse.

"Dante, I..."

But Dante shook his head. "I know you are sorry, and I think it's time we get past this. It's not like it never happened, but I don't want to be stuck on it forever."

Eric moved on instinct, wrapping his arms around Dante in his awkward position. He ignored the tingling of his skin as he brought Dante closer. The boy relaxed, letting himself be pulled in.

Looking back, Eric amazed at how much he had wanted to bury himself in Dante's hair, to nuzzle him close and drown in his smell. He felt his heart quick up.

"How did you feel?" Said Eric, voice muffled against Dante's forehead. He had to front this for once and all. "Did I make you cry? Did I break your heart?"

Dante lay still, pondering it for a moment.

"Partly. I did cry and tried not to show it at home. I was good at that," he said sadly, pushing back to look at Eric directly in the eyes. Dante often had trouble making eye contact, but this time he held his gaze. "Maybe a little too good."

Eric wanted to look away but settled to brush Dante's cheek instead.

"I can't even imagine what I must have put you through."

"But my heart..." Dante continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "I wasn't alright all the time, but it never really got to break. I'm a strong guy."

"The strongest I know."

"No. Sam is the strongest you know." said Dante, huffing a little laugh.

Eric caressed Dante's nape, tugging lightly at his hair. "If you say so..."

To Eric's surprise, Dante moved further away.

"What were you thinking, though?" He demanded, raising his voice the slightest bit. "I know for a fact you can be very smart, but you couldn't have done anything more stupid. You don't go beat someone you like! Quite the opposite! Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I- don't know," said Eric.

"You don't know," said Dante, sitting up and crossing his arms.

Eric felt his heart sink. He sat up as well, but kept quiet, for he wasn't quite sure what to say. That only seemed to upset Dante even further.

"Gosh!" He grunted as he threw his head back into the pillow. "You're impossibly thick!"

Eric gulped. "I... I guess I was afraid? I... thought it was wrong and that you'd reject me," he said rubbing his knuckles.

"Idiot!" Dante snapped. "I would have considered it if you hadn't bullied me. You better thank the incandescence saved your sorry ass!"

Eric was baffled. He had never heard Dante raise his voice like that, much less been insulted by him, but frankly, he deserved it.

"You are in all your right to be mad at me."

Displeased wasn't the right word to describe the way Dante clenched his jaw. Frustrated? Disappointed? Bitter? He could not find the right adjective. Dante said nothing, which reaffirmed Eric's insecurities. His heart was uneasy and his scar itched.

"Are you truly willing to forgive me?" he asked, hobbling on his words.

"Eric," said Dante with scorn like venom dripping from the tip of his tongue. Eric shivered. "I came running last night thinking you could have died! I literally picked your lock to see you were alright! I know you feel bad —and you should." Dante came over to him and stabbed an accusing finger in his chest. "You hurt me deeply and I should hate you and I know you think so too! But why can't you see I'm trying to let it go?! Don't you trust my word?!"

Eric's mind took a leap, a split second lost in terror and discombobulated bewilderment. He felt hot shudders swirling under his scalp and prickles around his chest from Dante's anger.

"But why?" he asked stupidly, regretting it the moment it left his mouth.

"Why? Why?! It's because I care about you, you cussed fool!" By now Dante was shouting in his face. "I finally came to see the good person you really are and that I like you! Do I need another reason?!"

Eric didn't dare move a muscle. His hair could have been losing its reddish color just as easily as he felt his face paling.

Dante saw this and backed away, sitting right against the headboard of the bed. He breathed slowly until he calmed down enough to say: "Did I make myself clear?"

Eric, as startled as he was, felt the prickles give in and his thoughts settle back. But still found himself unable to speak.

"Don't look so scared. I'm sorry."

"I... I see," said Eric several moments later. "Thank you."

It was Dante's turn to be confused. "You thank me for yelling at you?"

"No. For caring so much about me. But-"

"I swear to god, if you ask again why I'm gonna throw a bucket of weed killer at your head."

Eric closed his mouth at once.

"I'm really sorry, okay? Are you feeling alright? You're still a little pale."

"I'm- surprised."

"Hm. How's your head? Does it hurt? Your knees?"

"Are you hurting anywhere?"

"No. Just checking."

"I'm fine," said Eric in feeble voice. "Is... Is every morning going to be like this with you?"

"I hope not," said Dante. "It takes a lot to make me explode like that. You better not have a knack for it."

Eric hummed in agreement.

"That was the last one!"

The door creaked as it closed roughly under his kick, followed by a crash and, a moment later, a multitude of books, CDs and pictures spread onto the floor.

Dante cursed as he let the box fall to his feet.

"You okay there?" Said Eric from the main room, giggling like a toddler.

"The bottom of the box decided to give in!" answered Dante.

"At least it wasn't in the middle of the stairway!"

Dante huffed and proceeded to place the box upside down, then toss the lost contents inside.

He had been quite excited for the move. They found a nice place near Eric's university so he didn't have to waste forty minutes of sleep to get home every night and forty more in the morning to get to his classes.

Their parents agreed to pay for it until they were able to sustain it themselves, which would have to wait for a while, since Dante wasn't likely to be payed much as an editor once he graduated and Eric still had a long way to go with med school.

But the freedom was worth it... to some extend. None of them liked cleaning very much nor were they exactly skilled in the kitchen, plus, most of the house work would be relegated to Dante, being that busy med student was barely home at all.

Dante didn't understand how his boyfriend managed, going to sleep and waking at ungodly hours of the morning. And he thought his classes were fastidious...

Luckily they still had about a month of summer left and the place would be all theirs to enjoy.

Laura, Eric's little sister, had promised to visit them from time to time and by that they knew she meant all the time since her school was only two blocks away. Dante was already dusting his old 7th grade math skills and Margaret had gifted them a cooking book, which he was putting away in the bilged box when he noticed a portrait frame laying on the floor. He picked it up.

It was simple, made of wood, painted white. The glass had cracked with the impact.

"Eric, what the fuck."

"What is it?!" Shouted the other, still busy with whatever he was unpacking.

In a gentle manner Dante traced his fingers along the cracked glass, which covered a wrinkled piece of paper with blue penmanship in it. "I can't believe you kept this."

"What thing?"

"And you framed it! That's the most romantic shit you've ever done!"

Eric peeked his head into the hallway. "More than two Christmases ago?"

"Absolutely."

"I must be great, then," he said as he came over, holding a pair of shoes in one hand and a towel in the other. "Oh, that. Well, I wasn't going to throw it away."

"But you framed it."

"You broke it."

Dan's jaw stiffened. "Sorry. I'll replace it later."

"Don't. It looks better now. Means it was in your hands."

"Hey, that's actually pretty mean. Why am I kind of flattered?" Dante cocked his head slightly. He knew Eric found it adorable for some reason. "Anyway, why would you frame this?"

"What's the big deal with you? And why not? It was the first nice thing I got from you. How was I not going to frame it?"

"Excuse you, it was the second nice thing."

"Nah. Our first kiss was really confusing."

"You think?" Eric just nodded. "Hm, yeah, I guess. But how about our second?" Dante said, coming close to him, the note in between them.

"How about our next?"

Eric kissed his grin with great care, as if he was afraid of breaking it. Dante loved that. Then he pecked the line of his jaw.

Something fell to the floor, and before he knew it, Eric had lifted him in the air. "Let me help you with that."

Eric deposited him on the bed as he giggled.

"You already made the bed? Impressive."

"It's a shame I'll have to do it again later," said Eric, placing himself on top of Dante.

"Oh," he said simply and couldn't hold the erupt of laughter rolling up his chest. Eric's face went bright red.

"W-what?" He babbled.

"Nothing. Is just..." Dante tried to stop in a futile effort to get a hold of himself, breathe some air. "The last time you tried to use that phrase Sam caught us and... And..." A new fit of laughter invaded him. "Your face! I had never seen you pale like that!"

Eric stood up. Dante just curled to his side, clutching his stomach. Eric closed the door.

"Happy?"

"Very much," said Dante, panting.

Eric sat back on top of him.

"Please, stop. That was a torturous moment for me."

"I know, it's just... You fell down the bed. And... And Sam! I could hear Sam losing it down the hallway!"

Eric took his glasses off and pinned his shoulders to the bed.

"Stop already. I want to kiss you."

But he couldn't stop, so Eric went to kiss his tears instead, then all of his face. Starting with his eyebrows and finishing at the birthmark right under his chin.

When Dante eventually pulled himself together he kissed Eric dearly on the lips, carding his hair.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mock you. I'm just really happy, knowing we've been together through all kinds of things."

Eric blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "That's bullshit."

Dante smirked. "Yeah, okay, maybe. I was mocking you a little. But I do it only because I love you."

"I don't believe a thing from a liar like you."

"Then your mom taught you well."

Dante kissed him deeper this time, rubbing little circles in Eric's nape and feeling him shudder under his touch.

When Eric went to slide a hand under his shirt, Dante stopped him.

"We still have to unpack. Everything has to be ready for tomorrow's party."

"What party?"

"Celebration for the move, of course. I told you last week, remember?"

"You did?"

Eyebrow twitching, Dante switched himself on top of him. It only worked because Eric wasn't expecting it. "So you haven't bought anything I asked you to get." he sighed. "We'll have to-"

"Later." Eric pulled him in, kissing his face, his neck.

Dante didn't protest.

.•:*¨♡ ♡¨*:•.

It was well past midnight when they emptied the last box and by the time they had showered and were tuck in bed it was almost two in the morning.

"Can you believe it?" Said Eric sleepily.

"That the rent is more expensive than your school fees? Certainly not. You work so hard for it."

"That we're living together."

"Let’s remember that when we’re fighting over toilet paper,” said Dante, just as sleepily. “If you had told sixteen-year-old me I was going to share a bed with you and kiss you goodnight I would have laughed in your face and say it would only happen over my frozen corpse."

"You forgot the part where you'd say you'd kill me before I even set foot into the room."

Dante chuckled, glad Eric had overcome his guilt enough to joke with him about it. Luckily they had the same awful sense of humor.

Well, maybe it was not luck after all.

"Should we get a kitten?" Dante mumbled.

"A puppy."

"Dogs are noisy and smell."

"Cats are coldhearted and destructive."

"Then a ferret."

"...Yeah, okay," Eric murmured.

He hummed something about the name they would give it, but Dante didn't catch it as he fell asleep in Eric's arms.

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READ IT IN ENGLISH

El último, muchachos.

Capítulo 22:

Eric inhaló el calor de la mañana entrando por la ventana, buscando paz mientras destellos de la noche anterior penetraban sus sentidos. Un vago dolor bajo su piel, una débil arcada perforando su estómago, el ardor del vidrio enterrándose en sus rodillas. Todos ecos en el aire que respiraba distraídamente al mirar el techo. Exhaló la exasperación en sus pulmones y notó la masa densa en su pecho ceder levemente. Mirarse las manos era una buena distracción de la rabia fría que lamía como fuego sus nervios.

El colchón se hundió a su lado y pudo oír el frustrado suspiro de Dante junto con el frufrú de las sábanas al liberar sus brazos.

—¿Dante? —dijo con voz ronca. El chico parpadeó, enfocándose en él pero sin decir nada. Eric notó que sus ojos parecían ligeramente más grandes sin las gafas. Bastante encantador, pensó—. ¿Está todo bien?

—Lo siento, no pude dormir —murmuró—. Tenía demasiado en qué pensar.

Eric suspiró y miró el techo— Yo igual.

En realidad, Eric estaba tan agotado después de todo el alboroto que había armado, que prácticamente se había desmayado en cuanto tocó la almohada. Sin embargo, no descansó entre sueños turbios, urgentes. Una vez despierto, se quedó quieto, tan profundo en sus pensamientos como el propio Dante.

—Quiero disculparme por lo de anoche —dijo Dante repentinamente, sobresaltándolo por segunda vez.

—¿Por qué? —preguntó, mirándolo.

El chico apenas parpadeó—. Todas esas cosas que dije... Aunque lo dije en serio, creo que no consideré tus sentimientos. Perdona.

Su corazón apenas se estremeció. Producto del vínculo entre ellos, sin duda.

—No, es... está bien —dijo Eric, su voz casi temblando—. Sólo que no entiendo por qué eres tan amable conmigo.

Dante guardó silencio durante un rato, pero con toda seguridad, continuó.

—De verdad quiero hacer que esto funcione, pero si honestamente sientes que debemos romper, lo entenderé. Si esta relación te hace daño, preferiría que nos separáramos —dijo con total naturalidad—. Además, si te perdono o no, no es responsabilidad tuya, y siento que lo que dije anoche pudo darte esa impresión, así que lo siento.

Eso no le había ocurrido a Eric. Había estado demasiado ocupado pensando en lo loco que era que pudiera, hasta cierto punto, sentir el dolor de Dante como para analizar lo que le habían dicho en su estado suicida. Igual, no recordaba casi nada de las palabras.

Eric se quedó perplejo ante la indiscernible expresión en el rostro de Dante, que en ese momento era como piedra.

—¿De verdad estás dispuesto a terminar por mi bien? —preguntó, sólo por llenar el silencio.

—Sí. Si te hace bien, sí.

—¿Por qué?

—¿Harías lo mismo por mí? —preguntó Dante, suavizando el ceño—. ¿Me dejarías si te dijera que me duele?

Incapaz de contenerse, Eric soltó un resoplido. Se sentía casi insultado—. ¡Por supuesto! —gruñó—. ¡Ya te lastimé suficiente! Forzarte sólo lo haría peor... Pero... no quiero perderte, así que depende de ti.

Dante simplemente asintió y acomodó el brazo bajo su cabeza. Su frialdad estaba empezando a poner a Eric de los nervios.

—Como dije, quiero intentarlo, hacer que funcione si es posible, pero de nuevo, si decides detener esto, está bien también. El punto aquí es que ambos estamos lo más cómodos posible.

Eric lo miró con atención, en parte para calmarse, ya que nadie lo quería enojado en ese momento, y en parte porque el chico frente a él parecía tan serio, tan atento.

—¿Es egoísta si sugiero que volvamos a empezar?

El muchacho frunció el ceño, fijo en el colchón, considerando.

—Eso creo—dijo al fin—. Prefiero no seguir ignorando el asunto.

Eric se mordió el labio. Tonto. Por supuesto que era egoísta. Dante dijo que quería olvidar, y Eric estaba tratando de buscar consuelo en evitar las consecuencias una vez más. Mordió un poco más fuerte.

Dante cerró los ojos por un breve instante y suspiró.

—Escucha, no podemos cambiar lo que pasó y no estoy seguro si lo olvidaré, pero a cada momento que paso contigo, parece más distante. Has cambiado —dijo, finalmente relajando el ceño—. Ya no me ves con odio y, por estúpido que suene, no puedo evitar ablandarme. No sé si es un efecto del vínculo o qué, pero en realidad ya no importa.

El chico sonrió y el pecho de Eric se agitó de remordimiento.

—Dante, yo...

Pero Dante negó con la cabeza—. Sé que lo sientes, y creo que es hora de superar esto, no es como si nunca hubiera sucedido, pero no quiero estar atascado por siempre.

Eric se movió por instinto, envolviendo sus brazos alrededor de Dante en su incómoda posición. Ignoró el hormigueo en su piel mientras lo atraía hacia sí. El chico se relajó, dejándose arrastrar.

Mirando atrás, Eric se sorprendió de lo mucho que había querido sumergirse en el cabello de Dante, acariciarle y ahogarse en su aroma. Sintió que su corazón se aceleraba.

—¿Cómo te sentiste? —dijo, su voz amortiguada contra la frente de Dante. Tenía que afrentarlo de una vez por todas—. ¿Te hice llorar, rompí tu corazón?

Dante se quedó quieto, reflexionando un instante.

—En parte. Lloré, y traté de no mostrarlo en casa. Era bueno en eso—dijo tristemente, apartándose para mirar a Eric directamente a los ojos. Dante solía tener problemas para hacer contacto visual, pero esta vez sostuvo su mirada—. Tal vez demasiado bueno.

Eric quiso apartar la vista pero decidió acariciar su mejilla en su lugar.

—Ni siquiera puedo imaginar lo que debo haberte hecho pasar.

—Pero mi corazón... —Dante continuó como si no lo hubieran interrumpido— No estaba bien todo el tiempo, pero no llegó a romperse. Soy un chico fuerte.

—El más fuerte que conozco.

—No. Sam es el más fuerte que conoces —replicó Dante, soltando una risita.

Eric acarició su nuca, tirando su cabello con dulzura—. Si tú lo dices...

Para sorpresa de Eric, Dante se alejó.

—Pero, ¿en qué pensabas? —preguntó, alzando la voz un poco—. Sé que puedes ser muy inteligente, pero no podrías haber hecho algo más estúpido. ¡Uno no golpea a alguien que le gusta! ¡Por el contrario! ¿Por qué no me lo dijiste?

—No… lo sé —dijo Eric.

—No lo sabes —dijo Dante, sentándose y cruzándose de brazos.

Eric sintió su corazón hundirse. Se sentó también, pero calló, pues no estaba seguro de qué decir. Eso sólo pareció molestar aún más a Dante.

—¡Ugh! —gruñó, dejándose caer en la almohada—. ¡Eres imposible!

Eric tragó saliva—. Yo... ¿supongo que tenía miedo? Pensé... que estaba mal y que me rechazarías —dijo frotándose los nudillos.

—¡Idiota! —exclamó Dante—. ¡Lo habría considerado si no me hubieras golpeado! ¡Agradece que la incandescencia salvara tu trasero!

Eric estaba desconcertado. Nunca había oído a Dante alzar la voz de esa manera, mucho menos que lo insultara, pero francamente, lo merecía.

—Estás en todo tu derecho de estar enojado.

Disgustado no era la palabra correcta para describir cómo Dante apretó la mandíbula. ¿Frustrado? ¿Decepcionado? ¿Dolido? No pudo encontrar el adjetivo correcto. Dante no le dijo nada, lo que reafirmó sus inseguridades. Tenía el corazón intranquilo y la cicatriz le picaba.

—¿De verdad estás dispuesto a perdonarme? —preguntó, tropezando en sus palabras.

—Eric —dijo Dante con desdén, como veneno goteando de la punta de su lengua. Eric se estremeció—. ¡Vine corriendo anoche pensando que podrías haber muerto! ¡Literalmente forcé la cerradura para ver si estabas bien! Sé que te sientes mal y deberías —Dante se le acercó y enterró un dedo acusador en su pecho—. Me lastimaste profundamente y debería odiarte, ¡y sé que tú también lo crees! ¡¿Pero por qué no ves que estoy tratando de dejarlo ir?! ¡¿No confías en mi palabra?!

La mente de Eric dio un salto, una fracción de segundo suspendido en terror y desconcierto. Sintió un hormigueo cálido arremolinándose bajo su cuero cabelludo y la ira de Dante formando cardos en su pecho.

—¿Pero por qué? — preguntó estúpidamente, lamentándolo al momento en que salió de su boca.

—¡¿Por qué?! ¡Es porque me preocupo por ti, necio! —A estas alturas Dante gritaba en su rostro—. ¡Finalmente vi la buena persona que eres y que me gustas! ¡¿Es que necesito otra razón?!

Eric no se atrevía a mover un músculo. Su cabello podría haber estado perdiendo su color rojizo con la misma facilidad con que sentía palidecer su rostro.

Dante lo notó y retrocedió, sentándose contra la cabecera de la cama. Respiró lentamente hasta que se calmó lo suficiente como para decir: —¿Fui suficientemente claro?

Eric, sobresaltado como estaba, sintió que las espinas cedían y sus pensamientos se aclaraban. Pero todavía se encontró incapaz de hablar.

—No te asustes. Lo siento.

—Yo... ya veo —dijo Eric varios momentos después—. Gracias.

Era turno de Dante de estar confundido—. ¿Me das gracias por gritarte?

—No, por preocuparte tanto por mí. Pero...

—Juro que si me preguntas por qué otra vez lanzaré un balde de herbicida a tu cabeza.

Eric cerró la boca de inmediato.

—De verdad lo siento, ¿okay? Sigues algo pálido.

—Estoy… sorprendido.

—Hm. ¿Cómo está tu cabeza? ¿Te duele? ¿Tus rodillas?

—¿Te duele algo?

—No, sólo por saber.

—Estoy bien — dijo Eric con voz débil—. ¿Serán todas las mañanas así contigo?

—Espero que no —comentó Dante—. Se necesita mucho para hacerme explotar de esa manera. Mejor que no se te de bien.

Eric estuvo de acuerdo.

—¡Esa fue la última!

La puerta crujió al cerrarse bruscamente bajo su pie, seguido de un estrépito y, un momento después, una multitud de libros, CDs y fotos se esparcieron por el suelo.

Dante maldijo, dejando caer la caja.

—¿Estás bien? —dijo Eric desde la habitación principal, riendo como un niño pequeño.

—El fondo de la caja decidió ceder! —respondió Dante.

—¡Al menos no fue en medio de la escalera!

Dante bufó y procedió a voltear la caja, luego lanzar las cosas dentro.

Estaba muy emocionado por la mudanza. Encontraron un buen lugar cerca de la universidad de Eric, de modo que no desperdiciara cuarenta minutos de sueño para llegar a casa cada noche y cuarenta más por la mañana para ir a sus clases.

Sus padres aceptaron pagar por él hasta que pudieran sostenerlo ellos mismos, lo que tendría que esperar un tiempo, ya que a Dante no le pagarían mucho como editor una vez se graduara y Eric aún tenía un largo camino por recorrer en la escuela de medicina.

Pero la libertad valía la pena... hasta cierto punto. A ninguno de ellos le gustaba mucho la limpieza ni tampoco eran muy hábiles en la cocina, además, la mayor parte de las labores hogareñas recaerían en Dante, ya que el aspirante a cirujano apenas si estaba en casa.

Dante no entendía cómo su novio se las arreglaba, yendo a dormir y despertando a intempestivas horas de la mañana. Y pensaba que sus clases eran fastidiosas...

Afortunadamente aún tenían alrededor de un mes de verano y el lugar sería todo suyo para disfrutar.

Laura, la hermana pequeña de Eric, había prometido visitarlos de vez en cuando, y sabían que eso quería decir todo el tiempo, ya que su escuela estaba a sólo un par de cuadras. Dante ya estaba desempolvando sus viejas habilidades de aritmética y Margaret les había regalado un libro de cocina, que estaba guardando en la caja desfondada cuando notó un portarretrato que yacía en el suelo. Lo recogió.

Era simple, de madera, pintado de blanco. El cristal se había agrietado con el impacto.

—Eric, qué carajo.

—¿Qué pasa? —gritó el otro, todavía ocupado con lo que fuera que estaba desempacando.

Gentilmente, Dante trazó con el dedo el cristal agrietado, que cubría un papel arrugado con caligrafía azul—. No puedo creer que hayas guardado esto.

—¿Qué cosa?

—¡Y lo enmarcaste! ¡Esa es la cosa más romántica que has hecho!

Eric asomó la cabeza por el pasillo—. ¿Más que hace dos navidades?

—Absolutamente.

—Debo de ser genial, entonces —dijo, mientras se acercaba, sosteniendo un par de zapatos en una mano y una toalla en la otra—. Oh, eso. Bueno, no iba a tirarlo.

—Pero lo enmarcaste.

—Lo rompiste.

La mandíbula de Dan se puso rígida—. Lo siento, lo reemplazaré luego.

—No. Se ve mejor así. Significa que estuvo en tus manos.

—Eso fue muy grosero. ¿Por qué me siento halagado? —Dante inclinó ligeramente la cabeza. Sabía que Eric lo encontraba adorable por alguna razón—. De todos modos, ¿por qué enmarcarías esto?

—¿Por qué el alboroto? ¿Y por qué no? Fue la primera cosa agradable que me diste. ¿Cómo no iba a enmarcarlo?

—Disculpa, fue la segunda cosa buena.

—Nah. Nuestro primer beso fue muy confuso.

—¿Tú crees? —Eric asintió—. Hm, sí, supongo, pero ¿qué me dices del segundo? —dijo Dante, acercándose a él, el marco entre ellos.

—¿Qué me dices del siguiente?

Eric besó su sonrisa con gran cuidado, como si tuviera miedo de romperla. A Dante le gustaba eso. Luego le besó la línea de la mandíbula.

Algo cayó al suelo, y antes de que se diera cuenta, Eric lo había levantado en el aire—. Déjame ayudarte con eso.

Eric lo posó en la cama mientras reían.

—¿Ya hiciste la cama? Impresionante.

—Es una lástima que tenga que volver a hacerla más tarde —dijo Eric, colocándose sobre él.

—Oh —dijo Dante simplemente y no pudo contener la erupción de risa en su pecho. El rostro de Eric se puso rojo.

—¿Qué- qué pasa? —balbuceó, avergonzado.

—Nada, es sólo que... —Dante hizo un inútil esfuerzo por controlarse, respirar un poco de aire—. La última vez que intentaste usar esa frase… Sam nos vio y... y... —Un nuevo ataque de risa lo invadió—. ¡Tu cara! ¡Nunca te había visto tan pálido!

Eric se puso de pie. Dante colapsó hacia un lado, sujetándose el estómago. Eric cerró la puerta.

—¿Contento?

—Mucho —dijo Dante, jadeando.

Eric se sentó encima de él.

—Ya basta, por favor, fue un momento tortuoso para mí.

—Lo sé, es sólo que... Te caíste de la cama... y... ¡pude oír a Sam riendo en el pasillo!

Eric le quitó las gafas y le sujetó los hombros contra la cama.

—Para ya, quiero besarte.

Pero no podía parar, así que Eric besó sus lágrimas en su lugar, luego toda su cara. Comenzando por las cejas y terminando en la marca de nacimiento justo debajo de su barbilla.

Cuando Dante finalmente se sobrepuso, besó a Eric tiernamente en los labios, acariciando su pelo.

—Lo siento, no quise burlarme de ti. Estoy feliz, sabiendo que hemos pasado por todo tipo de cosas.

Eric parpadeó, luego entrecerró los ojos—. Estás lleno de mierda.

Dante sonrió—. Sí, está bien, tal vez me estaba burlando un poco, pero sólo lo hago porque te amo.

—No me creo nada de un mentiroso como tú.

—Tu madre te educó bien.

Dante lo besó más profundo esta vez, trazando pequeños círculos en su nuca y sintiéndolo estremecerse.

Cuando Eric fue a deslizar una mano bajo de su camisa, Dante lo detuvo.

—Todavía tenemos que desempacar. Todo tiene que estar listo para la fiesta de mañana.

—¿Qué fiesta?

—Celebración de la mudanza, obvio. Te lo dije la semana pasada, ¿recuerdas?

—¿Ah, sí?

Molesto, Dante se colocó encima de él. Sólo funcionó porque Eric no lo esperaba—. Así que no has comprado nada de lo que te pedí — suspiró—. Tendremos que...

—Luego —Eric lo abrazó, besándole la cara, el cuello.

Dante no protestó.

.•:*¨♡ ♡¨*:•.

Era bien pasada la medianoche cuando vaciaron la última caja y para cuando que se hubieran duchado y metido en la cama, eran casi las dos de la mañana.

—¿Puedes creerlo? —comentó Eric, soñoliento.

—¿Que el alquiler es más caro que tu universidad? Para nada. Trabajas muy duro por ello.

—Que estamos viviendo juntos.

—Recordémoslo cuando estamos discutiendo sobre papel higiénico —dijo Dante, igual de soñoliento—. Si me hubieras dicho a los dieciséis que compartiría la cama contigo y que te daría un beso de buenas noches, me habría reído en tu cara y habría dicho que sólo sobre mi frío cadáver.

—Olvidaste la parte en la que dices que me matarías antes de que poner un pie en la habitación.

Dante se rió entre dientes, contento de que Eric hubiera superado su culpa lo suficiente como para bromear con él al respecto. Por suerte tenían el mismo horrible sentido del humor.

Bueno, tal vez no fuera suerte después de todo.

—¿Deberíamos adoptar un gatito? —susurró Dante.

—Un cachorro.

—Los perros son ruidosos y el huelen.

—Los gatos son fríos y destructivos.

—Entonces un hurón.

—...Vale, está bien —murmuró Eric.

Cuchicheó algo sobre el nombre que le pondrían, pero Dante no lo captó, pues se quedó dormido en los brazos de Eric.

<<Anterior 

The man clutched the edges of the sink in steel-like grip.

“Did you just…”

“Nope.”

“…talk?”

The cat sat down, liking his paw and scratching his ear.

“Antonio, answer me, because I’m pretty spooked right now.”

“Can you stay quiet for  a minute, Antonio?”

“Like, no?”

The man’s first reaction was to open his mouth in disbelief. The second was to scream and guard himself on the security of the kitchen’s sink.

Ocean-Blue Eyes by foralois

“Sherlock admitted he was in love with John. Never to John, himself, but to the bedpost and the window and every object in his room, planned what he'd say, what he'd do. John had pulled him from depression and in their Sherlock-John bubble Sherlock knew nothing could go wrong and he was content.

LÉELO EN ESPAÑOL 

Chapter 21:

The ring of the metal strings resonated deeply into his ears and down his spine. He watched carefully as Russell’s hands carried his fingers all over the guitar, making sounds here and there on the strings and the wood. Some strong, some soft or dry. The song wasn’t hectic as anything you heard those days, yet not less complex.

There was no voice accompanying the tunes. Russell had earnestly refused to sing along his song as the shyness dusted his cheek bones with pink. “I sing terribly,” he had argued. This surprised Sam ―though not immensely― since he barely got to see his outgoing and apparently overconfident boyfriend acting bashfully. But he knew better. By now, even if their time together was still to be considered brief, he had seen through some of Russell’s facets and discovered insecurities below the sparkle.

Russell always ran his hand through his hair when he was anxious, which was often, for he felt self―conscious and abashed easily. Sam found surprising that Russell was worried constantly when he looked so held together, but then again he remembered he himself appeared to joyful all the time.

‘It’s easy to hide behind a smile.’

However, the little boy, whose head rested on Sam’s crossed leg, had no problem humming to the melody rather energetically. Despite his brother, the child was yet to be ripped of the characteristic innocence of the first years of life; and he well demonstrated so with pure cheerfulness emitting out of his pores at the tiniest and most insignificant thing.

‘Was I ever like this?’

Sam now knew that the chills running down his spine at that moment where due to his brain sending hormones throughout his systems. He detested not remembering the last time he felt happiness out of just being himself, but loathed more that his brain had to cheer itself up in order to not being shut down. He pushed the thought aside, forcing the ring of the metal strings through his ears, into his mind.

The music drew a faint picture around him which he constructed piece by piece. Warmth, meadows tall enough to cover to his hips, gray clouds cleared up by the sun above and no other sound but the wind howling in his ears.

The child hummed again, and laughed once the song met its end.

“That was great, brother!”

“You liked it?” Russell said, grinning nonchalantly at the boy, ever trying to look cool in front of him. The kid new better too.

“Yes, very much.” He also knew Russell liked being complimented.

“Connor’s right. That was impressive.”

“Of course it was.” Russell joked.

The boy jumped from Sam’s lap and started bouncing on the bed, stopping at the teenagers’ protests, but not less excitedly he said, “You know what would be awesome?! You know?! You could teach me to play too!”

“Oh, you wanna learn?”

“Yeah! And then we could play together and sing horribly together and! And! Guess what?!”

“What?” They both said in unison.

“Get some girls! I mean boys for you, but I could get a pretty girl! Or a pretty boy too!”

Sam was amazed of how much kids knew these days, and how tolerant they could be, unlike most adults.

“Woah, buddy, slow down. I’m not looking for boys. I already have one.” Russ chuckled a bit as he rounded Sam’s shoulders.

“Really? So you two are dating? Do you, like… kiss and hold hands?”

“That’s right,” Sam declared.

The 7 year-old narrowed his eyes a bit. “And does it make you happy?”

“Yes. We’re soulmates.”

“Like mom and dad?!” His face went immediately brighter.

Russell seemed to tense a bit, as if being suddenly cornered. “No, Connor,” he offered. “Mom and dad were lovers, but they weren’t soulmates.”

“So is that why she left?”

Sam could feel Russell panicking at once. The child, covering his mouth, blurted a quick apology and ran out of the room. They could hear the banging next door a moment after.

Sam turned to the boy beside him, catching the hand that wasn’t holding the guitar in his.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t planning to tell you that way…” Russell sighed.

“You don’t have to if you’re not ready. It’s okay.”

“No, I want to.” Russell put his guitar ―Janine― aside. “My mom, she left us four months ago. She didn’t die. She just left. She said she couldn’t bear having a homosexual son.”

Sam was completely shocked. The mother of his boyfriend have left her two children and husband because Russell was gay. Just because her firstborn was gay.

“I don’t mind myself,” Russell continued, “it does not change who I am. I had long ago come to terms with my homosexuality to deny it. But it breaks my heart how much it affects Connor. He’s so young. He doesn’t understand why she’s not here anymore or why our parents fought constantly.

“My mother said horrible things the day she left. Thankfully, dad had taken Connor out of the house. I didn’t know such rage could build up in such petite woman. I didn’t care one bit what she said to me. We never were very close. But Connor… she was a good mother to him.

“Dad has been amazingly supportive to both of us. I help with as much as I can, but it’s rough. He lost his wife because of me and―” At this point his voice cracked, but he continued immediately, “and Connor has no longer a mother.”

Sam held him tight, until their bodies where so pressed together it almost ached. He waited for Russell’s breath to steady, but not even then did he have the heart to let go of him. He talked in his ear instead, softly, yet not a whisper. “It’s not your fault. You know it.”

“But if… if I had…”

“…turned straight?” Sam conceded, “That would have caused far more damage, because it wouldn’t have worked.”

“I know.” Russell clung to him even harder, burying deeper in his shoulder. “Damn it, I know, I know,” he hissed. “It wouldn’t be true…”

“Look, Russ. I don’t know your mother, but I know that you can’t please everyone and some of those people may go away, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. There are plenty of people by your side that love you.”

Russell breathed a couple of times. “You’re right.”

“And that’s what we must help Connor understand. No matter what, we’re by his side.”

A short silence set between them. One that was covered by the buzz of their heartbeats in their ears.

“Can you promise me something?” Russell whispered to his chest. “Can you promise me you will always be sincere with me? That no matter what, you’ll tell me anything?”

Sam’s went pale at once. He could feel the red heat under his skin being drained down. He bit his lip, caressed Russell’s nape, squeezed him softly. “Even if I consider that not to be the right choice? Even if I were to lie and hide things in order to protect you?”

“Yeah. Can you promise that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then yes.”

“Then let’s start now. Do you think I’m weak?”

“What? No. Idiot.”

“Sam?”

“Hm?”

“I think I might love you.”

He couldn’t hold back anymore. This is not how he had planned this to go, and he felt utterly horrendous for having planned it in the first place. But he knew from the start that if this day ever came such pressure would be laid on his breast; that his air would be scarce, that his eyes would overflow in tears and he wouldn’t know whether they were caused by the pulsing pain in his chest or the void in his head or the smile on his lips. Maybe them all or maybe because his brain malfunctioned that way. But the feeling was there and he could no longer contain it.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, so he just let the tears flow in Russell’s shoulder as he already had until he could speak again, just what came out his throat was barely a breath so only Russell and Russell alone could hear it.

Russell held him now, prevented and encouraged him to pass out from the overwhelming feelings dueling inside of him at the same time. ‘I do not deserve you.’

Can you shut up for once? Enjoy it. At least a bit. He’s been the first one. He knows you and still chose to love me. ‘Can I trust him?’ Don’t you see he’s the only one I trust?

 Sam found the kid sitting at the foot of his bed, dragging distractedly a blue car toy on the floor. The rain of slick black hair covered his eyes, but a whimper betrayed the fact he had been crying.

“Hey,” Sam prompted, not yet daring to step closer to the boy, not wanting to scare him. However, Connor put aside the few Legos around him, and made him space in the tiny, rainbow patterned rug. Sam sat down, staring at the wall.

“I heard what my brother said,” Connor mumbled. “It’s true that mom left because she doesn’t love him?”

“I… I don’t know. I haven’t met her.”

“Maybe…” he sobbed, “she doesn’t love me.”

“I don’t think that’s the case. Russell told me she loved you very much. There’s no reason for her not to love you now.”

“She hasn’t called me. Doesn’t she miss me?”

Sam unvoiced the fact he did not know what to say. That she’d call? That she’d come back for him? He couldn’t have known, therefore it would have been utterly irresponsible of his part to make such promises to this kid, who was so fragile and exposed at the moment.

“I don’t know,” he said in all honesty, “but I can assure you something: no matter what happens, your father, your brother and me will always be by your side. For anything you might ever need.”

“Really? Anything?”

“Yes. We’re here for you.”

Connor, then, let out all the anguish that have been building up in his chest the whole time in a shaky, desperate whimper, which he attempted to suppress immediately, flying his hands to his eyes to wipe out the abundant tears. Sam, at last rendered to the impulse to pass his hand through the child’s hair, comforting him. “It’s okay, Connor. Cry all you need to.”

“But… boys don’t— cry.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Even you?”

“Oh, yes. I cry all the time.”

Connor sniffled his little nose, taking the fringe out of his moist eyes. “Why?” He asked.

Sam’s heart shook a bit; nothing he hadn’t learnt to control along these years. “Lots of things I’d prefer not to talk about right now. Maybe I’ll tell you some other day.”

“Promise?” Sam wasn’t keen of discussing his depression with a 7 year old child, but he couldn’t back off now, and who knew, maybe Connor would be able to learn that one lesson Sam still couldn’t quite grasp at such a young stage. It could be profitable if he handled it in the right direction.

“Promise,” Sam bowed.

Connor hugged him, or better, clung to him for few minutes, in which he carded the child’s soft hair just as Sam’s mother used to do with him at the same age.

Once Connor had calmed enough to breath normally they came down the stairs to find Russell nuzzling in the couch, lost in his thoughts. Connor sat beside him.

“Brother?”

“Hm? Yes?”

“Can we watch a movie?”

Sam smiled to himself.

“But of course. Which one?”

“Finding Nemo.”

“Again?”

“Yeah!” Their laugh was not crystal clear, not light as it should be, yet it eased the tension a little, which was always comforting.

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READ IT IN ENGLISH

Capítulo 21:

El tintineo de las cuerdas metálicas repiqueteaba profundamente dentro de sus oídos y bajaba por su columna. Observó detenidamente como las manos de Russell llevaban sus dedos a todas partes de la guitarra, produciendo sonidos aquí y allá en las cuerdas y la madera. Algunos fuertes, otros suaves o secos. La canción no era frenética como todas las cosas que se escuchaban por esos días, pero no menos compleja.

Ninguna voz acompañaba la melodía. Russell se había negado fervientemente a cantar al son de la guitarra como la timidez espolvoreaba sus pómulos con un color rosa. —Canto terrible — arguyó. Aquello sorprendió a Sam —mas no demasiado— pues rara vez podía ver a su extrovertido y aparentemente confiado-en-exceso novio cortándose de esa manera. Pero lo conocía mejor. Para ese momento, incluso si su tiempo juntos era todavía a ser considerado breve, había visto ya a través de algunas de las facetas de Russell y descubrió inseguridades bajo los destellos.

Russell siempre se pasaba la mano por el pelo cuando estaba ansioso, que era a menudo, pues se sentía cohibido y avergonzado fácilmente. Sam encontró sorprendente que Russell estuviera preocupado constantemente cuando lucía tan calmado, pero recordó que él mismo parecía alegre todo el tiempo.

«Es sencillo esconderse tras una sonrisa».

Sin embargo, el pequeño niño, cuya cabeza descansaba en las piernas cruzadas de Sam, no tenía ningún problema en tararear con la melodía con más bien demasiada energía. A diferencia de su hermano el niño aún no había sido despojado de aquella inocencia propia de los primeros años de vida; y lo demostraba con pura alegría emanando por sus poros ante la más insignificante de las cosas.

«¿Alguna vez fui así?».

Sam sabía ahora que los escalofríos recorriendo su espalda en aquel momento se debían a su cerebro enviando hormonas a través de sus sistemas. Detestaba no poder recordar la última vez que había sido feliz por el simple hecho de ser quién era, pero odiaba más que su cerebro tuviera que animarse a sí mismo a fin de no apagarse. Hizo el pensamiento  a un lado, forzando el sonido de las cuerdas metálicas a través de sus oídos, dentro de su mente.

La música dibujó una tenue escena a su alrededor que se construyó pieza por pieza. Calor, prados de altura suficiente para cubrir sus caderas, nubes grises aclaradas por el sol encima y ningún otro sonido que el aullido del viento en sus oídos.

El niño volvió a tararear y rio cuando la canción llegó a su fin.

—¡Eso fue genial, hermano!

—¿Te gustó? —dijo Russell, sonriéndole despreocupadamente al chico, siempre tratando de lucir guay frente a él. El niño también lo conocía mejor.

—Sí, mucho —. También sabía que Russell adoraba los cumplidos.

—Connor tiene razón. Fue impresionante.

—Por supuesto que lo fue —bromeó Russell.

El niño saltó del regazo se Sam y comenzó a dar botes en la cama, parando ante las protestas de los adolescentes, pero no menos emocionado dijo— ¿Sabes qué sería genial? ¡¿Sabes?! Podrías enseñarme.

—¿Oh? ¿Quieres aprender?

—¡Sí! ¡Y podríamos tocar juntos y cantar horrible! ¡Y! ¡¿Adivina qué?!

—¿Qué? —dijeron ambos al unísono.

—¡Conseguir algunas chicas! Digo, chicos para ti, ¡pero puedo conseguir una chica bonita! ¡O un chico también!

Sam se sorprendió de todo lo que los niños sabían estos días, y el grado de tolerancia que tenían, a diferencia de la mayoría de los adultos.

—Woah, amigo, espera un poco. No estoy buscando chicos. Ya tengo uno —Russ rio un poco mientras rodeaba los hombros de Sam.

—¿De Verdad? ¿Así que ustedes están saliendo? ¿Y… se besan y se dan la mano?

—Eso es correcto —declaró Sam.

El niño, entrecerró los ojos un poco—. ¿Y  son felices?

—Sí. Somos almas gemelas.

—¡¿Cómo mamá y papá ?! —Su cara se iluminó al instante.

Russell pareció tensarse un poco, como si de repente hubiese sido arrinconado—. No, Connor —ofreció—. Mamá y papá eran esposos, pero no eran almas gemelas.

—¿Por eso mamá se fue?

Sam pudo sentir el pánico dentro de Russell. El niño, cubriéndose la boca, soltó una rápida disculpa y salió corriendo de la habitación. Pudieron oír el estruendo de la puerta de al lado un momento después.

Sam se volvió hacia el chico junto a él, cogiendo la mano que no estaba sosteniendo la guitarra en las suyas.

—Lo lamento. No pensaba decírtelo de esa manera... —suspiró Russell.

—No tienes que si no estás listo. Está bien.

—No, quiero hacerlo —. Russell puso su guitarra, Janine, a un lado—. Mi madre nos dejó hace cuatro meses. No murió. Sólo se fue. Dijo que no podía soportar tener un hijo homosexual.

Sam estaba completamente sorprendido. La madre de su novio había abandonado a sus dos hijos y a su esposo porque Russell era gay. Sólo por el hecho de que su primogénito era gay.

—A mí no me importa —Russell continuó— no cambia lo que soy. Hace mucho tiempo que había aceptado mi homosexualidad para negarlo. Pero me rompe el corazón lo mucho que afecta a Connor. Es tan joven. No entiende por qué ella no está aquí o por qué nuestros padres peleaban constantemente.

»Mi madre dijo cosas horribles el día que se fue. Afortunadamente, papá había sacado a Connor de la casa. No sabía que tanta rabia podría acumularse en una mujer tan pequeña. No me importaba lo más mínimo lo que me dijo. Nunca fuimos muy cercanos. Pero Connor... era una buena madre para él.

»Papá nos ha apoyado mucho a ambos. Ayudo con todo lo que puedo, pero es difícil. Él perdió a su esposa por mí y… —. En este punto su voz se quebró, pero continuó de inmediato—, y Connor ya no tiene una madre.

Sam lo abrazó fuerte, hasta que sus cuerpos estaban tan cerca que casi le dolía. Esperó a que la respiración de Russell se normalizase, pero ni siquiera entonces tuvo el corazón para dejarlo ir. Le habló al oído en su lugar, en voz baja, sin embargo, no un susurro—. No es tu culpa. Lo sabes.

—Pero si... si hubiera...

—¿…sido hetero? —Sam concedió—. Eso habría causado mucho más daño, porque no habría funcionado.

—Lo sé —Russell se aferró a él con más fuerza, enterrándose profundamente en su hombro. —Maldita sea, lo sé, lo sé —dijo entre dientes—. No sería verdad.

—Mira, Russ. No conozco a tu madre, pero sé que no se puede complacer a todo el mundo y algunas de esas personas pueden alejarse, pero eso no quiere decir que estés solo. Hay un montón de gente a tu lado que te quiere.

Russell respiró un par de veces—. Tienes razón.

—Y eso es lo que hay que ayudar a Connor a entender. Sin importar qué, estamos a su lado.

Un breve silencio se estableció entre ellos. Uno cubierto por el zumbido de los latidos de su corazón en sus oídos.

—¿Me puedes prometer algo? —Russell susurró a su pecho—. ¿Me prometes que siempre serás sincero conmigo? ¿Que no importa qué, me dirás lo que sea?

Sam se puso pálido de pronto. Pudo sentir la roja calidez bajo su piel drenarse. Se mordió el labio, acarició la nuca de Russell, lo apretó suavemente—. ¿Incluso si considero que no es la decisión correcta? ¿Incluso si tuviera que mentir y ocultarte cosas para protegerte?

—Sí. ¿Puedes prometer eso?

—¿Tengo opción?

—Ninguna.

—Entonces sí.

—Entonces empieza ahora mismo. ¿Crees que soy débil?

—¿Qué? No. Idiota.

—¿Sam?

—¿Hm?

—Creo que te amo.

No podía aguantar más. No era la forma en que había planeado que pasara, y se sintió totalmente horrible por haberlo planeado en primer lugar. Pero sabía desde el principio que si alguna vez llegaba aquel día tal presión se posaría sobre el pecho; que el aire le sería escaso, que sus ojos se desbordarían en lágrimas y no sabría si eran causadas ​​por el dolor palpitante en el pecho o el vacío en su cabeza o la sonrisa en sus labios. Tal vez todos ellos o tal vez porque su cerebro fallaba de esa manera. Pero la sensación estaba allí y ya no podía contenerla.

No sabía qué hacer consigo mismo, por lo que simplemente dejó las lágrimas fluir en el hombro de Russell, como ya lo había hecho, hasta que pudo hablar de nuevo, solo que lo que salió de su garganta era apenas un soplo, de modo que Russell y sólo Russell pudo oírlo.

Russell lo sostenía ahora, le impedía y lo animaba a desmayarse por los abrumadores sentimientos que se batían dentro de él. «No te merezco».

¿Puedes callarte por una vez? Disfrútalo, aunque sea un poco. Es el primero. Él te conoce y escogió amarme. «¿Puedo confiar en él?» ¿No ves que es el único en quién confío?

 Sam encontró el niño sentado a los pies de la cama, arrastrando distraídamente un coche de juguete de color azul en el suelo. La lluvia de sedoso pelo negro le cubría los ojos, pero un suave quejido traicionó el hecho de que había estado llorando.

—Hey, —dijo Sam, sin atreverse a acercarse más hacia el niño, pues no quería asustarlo. Sin embargo, Connor hizo a un lado los legos a su alrededor y le hizo espacio en la pequeña alfombra de arco iris. Sam se sentó con la mirada fija en la pared.

 —Escuché lo que dijo mi hermano —murmuró Connor—. ¿Es cierto que mamá se fue porque no lo ama?

—Yo... no lo sé. No la conozco.

—Tal vez... —sollozó— no me quiere.

—No creo que ese sea el caso. Russell me dijo que te quería mucho. No hay ninguna razón para que no te quiera ahora.

—No me ha llamado. ¿No me extraña?

Sam no voceó el hecho de que no sabía qué decir. ¿Que ella llamaría? ¿Que vendría por él? No podía saberlo, por tanto, habría sido totalmente irresponsable de su parte hacer tales promesas al niño, tan frágil y expuesto en ese momento.

—No lo sé —dijo con toda verdad— pero puedo decirte una cosa: no importa lo que pase, tu padre, tu hermano y yo siempre estaremos a tu lado. Para cualquier cosa que puedas necesitar.

—¿En serio? ¿Cualquier cosa?

—Sí. Estamos aquí para ti.

Connor, seguidamente, dejó salir toda la angustia que se había ido acumulando en su pecho todo el tiempo en un tembloroso gemido que intentó suprimir inmediatamente, volando las manos a sus ojos para enjuagar las abundantes lágrimas. Sam, al fin se rindió al impulso de pasar la mano por el cabello del niño, reconfortandole—. Está bien, Connor. Llora todo lo que necesites.

—Pero... los chicos no—lloran.

—Por supuesto que sí.

—¿Incluso tú?

—Oh, sí. Yo lloro todo el tiempo.

Connor sorbió su pequeña nariz, apartándose el flequillo de los ojos húmedos— ¿Por qué? —preguntó.

El corazón de Sam se sacudió un poco; nada que no hubiera aprendido a controlar a lo largo de los años—. Por un montón de cosas de las que preferiría no hablar en este momento. Tal vez te diga otro día.

—¿Promesa? —. Sam no tenía interés en hablar de su depresión con un niño de 7 años, pero no podía retroceder ahora, y quién sabe, a lo mejor Connor sería capaz de aprender una lección que Sam todavía no acababa de captar en una etapa tan temprana. Podría ser provechoso si lo manejaba adecuadamente.

Connor lo abrazó, o mejor, se aferró a él durante unos minutos, mientras acariciaba el suave cabello del niño, al igual que la madre de Sam solía hacer con él a la misma edad.

Una vez que Connor se hubiera calmado lo suficiente como para respirar normalmente bajaron las escaleras para encontrar a Russell acurrucado en el sofá, perdido en sus pensamientos. Connor se sentó junto a él.

—¿Hermano?

—¿Hm? ¿Sí?

—¿Podemos ver una película?

Sam sonrió para sí mismo.

—Pero por supuesto. ¿Cuál?

—Buscando a Nemo.

—¿De nuevo?

—¡Sí! —. Sus risas no eran claras como el cristal, no tan ligeras como debían ser, sin embargo, la tensión amainó un poco, lo que siempre era reconfortante.

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Xenocide by Orson Scott Card Chapter 14

Xenocide by Orson Scott Card Chapter 13

"Oh, of course," said Mu-pao. "You have always been useless. But that doesn't mean you aren't necessary."

"What do you mean?"

The Encyclopedia of Lost Saints by norio

Xenocide by Orson Scott Card Chapter 5

"Now you're nearer the truth. We can't do crimes in the service of Congress, because Congress makes the laws. But if Congress ever became evil, then in obeying them we might also be doing evil. That is a matter of conscience. However, if that happened, Congress would surely lose the mandate of heaven. And we, the godspoken, don't have to wait and wonder about the mandate of heaven, as others do. If Congress ever loses the mandate of the gods, we will know at once." 

"So you lied for Congress because Congress had the mandate of heaven."