4.1k of scrapbook verse! I made myself kind of sad with this one. esteban POV, post outbreak (10+ years later), mentions of passive suicidal tendencies. max is in this one! sort of a future fic.
Esteban fights the urge to sigh, stopping in the middle of the hallway and turning to catch sight of the young student jogging towards him. Pierre says he's become a cranky buzzkill, but he thinks he's just a realist— festival season is a nightmare for the medical wing, always bringing with it random scrapes and bumps, falls from ladders and faceplants into new decor.
Not to mention the partying. The students get rowdy when they're having too much fun, and he tries to hide out in the infirmary during the height of it while all the lanterns float into the sky.
Pierre releases his lanterns for him.
She comes to a stop in front of him, hands braced on her knees as she pants before she straightens, cheeks flushed and hair wild.
"Tai dug up this old thing, and when he messed with it he passed out! I haven't been able to wake him up, I've tried everything."
She brings her hands together in front of her, eyes wide and wet at the edges as she looks at him.
"Please, can you come take a look?"
Esteban barely remembers being a freshman, but he's fairly confident he wasn't off digging up strange things. That had always been more of Carlos' territory.
"Of course. Lead the way."
He starts cataloging the situation in his head as they walk, absently wishing he had a piece of gum to chew on. Adeline leads them under the large floral arches in the academy square, and he tries not to look too closely at the artwork and offerings near the fountain, the lit candles flickering.
If Tai was seriously injured, he'd be running— but Adeline had only said he wouldn't wake up. She may not be in his medical classes, but every student has basic first aid training, enough to know if something's critical or not.
He spots a familiar head of dark hair, breathing a quick sigh of relief.
Oliver turns from where he's standing in a small crowd of underclassmen, ducking under a stray ribbon as he walks over.
"Dr. Ocon? You don't usually leave the infirmary."
He pauses, head tilting to the side slightly as he quirks a grin. Esteban remembers when he was much younger, looking up at him, ash and blood covering his face, eyes terrified—
"Especially not when something fun is going on."
He's grown into quite the confident senior now that he's nearly graduated.
"I'm checking on a student. Could you watch the infirmary while I'm doing that? I've got a few sprained ankles and one concussion in the bays, just go over the charts when you get there."
Oliver nods, pulling out his phone and sending a text.
"Yeah, of course. I'll tell Kimi to come supervise the littles."
He gestures at the underclassmen behind him with a grin, and Esteban raises an eyebrow.
"Supervising? Is that what you'd call that?"
Oliver shrugs, unable to hide his grin as he starts backing away in the direction of the infirmary.
"You were young once, Doctor. Don't you remember?"
Esteban shakes his head with a sigh, letting Adeline get them away from the square before Antonelli shows up. The underclassmen are infatuated with him, and it's too vivid of a mirror for him to bear watching for very long. It's nothing personal against Kimi, but— Esteban is glad he was never one of his medical students.
Adeline guides him out of the square and into a small tent located in the shadow of one of the academic buildings, worrying at her lip. There's another student laid out on the ground, head pillowed on someone's jacket. His face is slack, skin slightly pale, but he's breathing steadily, and when Esteban crouches down to check his pulse, he finds it only moderately higher than what he's expecting.
He extends his threads through Tai, feeling out the connections of his heart and brain, the easy highways of communication between his muscles and skeleton, the delicate nerves from his fingers to his toes. Everything is...
He pulls away from Tai, looking over at Adeline.
"How long has he been unconscious?"
She checks her phone, thumb rubbing nervously against the silver ring on her index finger.
"Twenty five minutes. The ball he grabbed is here,"
She nudges something on the ground with the tip of her shoe.
"—and he fell unconscious when he touched it. We dug it up from that hole over there."
She nods her head at a small patch of disturbed ground. Esteban chooses not to ask why they were digging in the dirt, because he doesn't particularly want to be the one who has to write this incident report beyond assessing Tai's condition.
He pulls a pair of gloves out of his pocket, tugging them onto his hands before reaching out for the ball and tapping it with his index finger. Nothing happens.
Whatever it is that's happened to Tai, it's either only capable of affecting one person at a time, or it's only initiated upon contact with bare skin.
He lifts it closer to his face, rotating it from side to side as he squints. It's grey, with a small blue line running across it that divides it evenly in half. The line glows softy, but there's no clear seam or way to open it.
He pulls out his phone and sends a ping for a hover stretcher to their location.
"I'll take him back to the infirmary for a better look at his brain and observation. You need to find one of your professors and file a report."
Adeline winces, wringing her hands together.
"...Is he going to be okay?"
Esteban softens, reaching out to lay his hand on top of hers for a moment. The students seem so young sometimes, younger than he thinks he ever was.
"Physically, he's just fine. Give me some time to make sure his head is alright, and then I'll send you a ping personally, okay?"
She cracks a small, tentative smile.
He tries his best to smile reassuringly at her as he hears the familiar hum of a hover stretcher getting closer.
"Let's hold off on any dirt digging for a bit though."
The full-body cringe she gives makes him bite back a laugh.
"Get your shoes off of my desk."
Esteban shoves lightly at Pierre's feet, but they don't budge. It's a loosing battle, and besides— Pierre had brought the hot coffee and biscuit he's currently snacking on, so he doesn't mean the shove as much as he normally does.
Pierre ignores him, which is exactly what he'd expected. The other man has been trying to open the ball for the last thirty minutes, to no avail.
"Have you tried touching it?"
He looks up at Esteban curiously, and Esteban shrugs as he takes another bite of his biscuit, washing it down with another sip of coffee.
"Not with my bare hands. But I sent my affinity into it and didn't get anything. I sent Gianpiero a ping, but he's a few days worth of travel away, and he won't get here until Friday."
Pierre turns to look at him, gaze serious.
"Does Tai have that long?"
Esteban presses his lips together into a thin line, and the mood shifts. Pierre swings his shoes off of his desk, leaning forward in his chair, eyes locked on him.
He runs a hand through his hair, sighing.
"He's stable. I don't know if it has anything to do with the ball, but they've been dipping—"
He cuts off at the panicked look on Pierre's face, rushing to reassure him.
"—not sharply. But it's a noticeable trend. He has a week, maybe a week and a half, before I'd be getting worried, assuming it stays at this rate, but I don't want to wait around for Gianpiero to get here. I'm not willing to waste his time like that."
Pierre sets the ball back on Esteban's desk, blowing out a long breath.
"So what are you going to do?"
Esteban takes another sip of coffee, staring at the blue line.
Pierre throws his hands up, gesturing at him.
Esteban pulls open the bottom drawer of his desk, fingers finding the familiar navy of a worn sweatshirt, tugging it on over his head for comfort. It settles around him, too big in the shoulders, slightly singed at the hems of the sleeves.
"I can heal my own injuries, Pierre. And I know the neural pathways of my brain better than anyone else. If I let it get me and then figure out how to come out of it, I can apply that to Tai."
He shrugs, wrapping his hands around the mug.
"No one can give me the data I need except me."
There's pain in Pierre's gaze, deep and lingering, and Esteban looks away first. He knows that pain, sees it every day in the mirror.
"Be careful, Esteban. I can't lose you too."
He shoves down any uncertainty, trying to crack a grin in Pierre's direction.
"I'm just trying to skip the festival. You know me."
Pierre's laugh is more watery than he'd like, but at least it's something. Esteban takes a deep breath, staring intently at the ball on his desk.
"If I don't wake up in 12 hours, shock me with the defibrillator."
Pierre makes a small, punched out noise.
"Please don't make me do that."
Esteban reaches out to squeeze his friend's shoulder, reaching in for the bravery he knows he has. Moments like this— before he does something undeniably stupid— he wonders if Max and Charles had the same feelings.
If they ever hesitated, even if it was only for a second. If they'd ever considered an alternative.
He sighs. He knew them both well, too well, and he knows the answer. They were always the type to jump headfirst into danger.
He wonders what Max would think if he could see him now.
The ball on the desk seems to be taunting him, and he hears Pierre make a small hum next to him.
He reaches out and grabs it.
He's lying on a field of smooth glass. It stretches further than his eyes can track, off into a pitch dark emptiness, extending flatly into the void.
He knows this glass. This is—
He sits up, spotting the ripple patterns around him, extending out and out and out, disappearing into the distance. There's a purple tint to it, an otherworldly hue he's only seen once before, on the worst day of his life.
He gets to his feet, only to be hit with a dizzying sense of vertigo that sends him back down to his knees, clutching at the sides of his head.
Eyes closed, count to ten, in through your nose, out through your mouth. He takes a few deep breaths, willing the vertigo to subside. He's not a student anymore, or even a young professor. He knows how to handle this.
There's a soft sigh above him.
"You don't belong here either."
He freezes, eyes snapping open, but he keeps his gaze trained on the ground, unwilling to look up. The tips of a pair of boots enter the edge of his vision, translucent enough for him to see the glass through them, outlined in a blueish hue.
He knows those boots. He knows that voice.
Something cool brushes against the edge of his hair, tracing down his cheek and finding his jaw, tapping it gently. It feels like a soft breeze against his skin.
He looks up at Max, eyes watery. His long dead boyfriend stares back, eyes gentle, the same age he'd been when he died.
His voice is broken, heart torn clean in two, and he tries to reach out, to touch him—
His fist hits the glass below him, hot tears spilling over his lashes.
"No, give him back! Give him—"
He breaks off into a sob, pulled from the depths of him, and he feels the cool touch cradle his face. Max is kneeling in front of him, touching him, but Esteban can't feel the spark he knows is supposed to come with it.
"Breathe, baby. I know you know what to do. Come on, in and out. There it is."
How many times has he wished to hear Max's voice again? To hear him say something, anything. He hoards the videos of them he has like gold, afraid to ever forget his voice.
It's clearer here than it is in his recordings, missing the scratchy quality of video compression. He needs to calm down, at least enough to get his thoughts in order.
Tai. He has a student he needs to save.
He manages to sit back on his heels, taking in another deep breath, but the sight of Max's face threatens to set him off again. He presses his palms against his eyes for a moment, forcing himself back on track. Tai, he needs to help Tai.
He doesn't say we. He knows he can't say we, because Max isn't real. Maybe it's an effect of the ball, or maybe— and more likely— it's something his own brain has pulled together to try and help him. Or maybe hurt him. It certainly feels like he's taken a knife to the chest, dug right into his sternum.
If he treats Max like he's real, he'll never leave.
Max shrugs. Esteban hates how he can see through him, only a semi-solid shade of his boyfriend here to talk to him.
"Other side of the seal, best I can figure. You were always better at the science-y stuff."
Esteban wipes at his eyes with the hem of his sweatshirt, or rather Max's sweatshirt, and forces himself to his feet. Max stands to match him, and Esteban gets a better look at what he's wearing— it's his combat suit, the one he had one when he'd seen him for the last time. It looks undamaged, plating intact, and he holds himself back from trying to reach out and touch it.
"You said either, earlier. Have you seen Tai?"
"Kinda-sorta. He wasn't looking for me, but I heard he was here from George. They're over by the tracks, I think."
The answer takes him so off guard he just blinks for a moment before his browns furrow.
"There you are. Yeah, after the kid dropped in we decided to spread out a bit in case anyone else managed to slip through the cracks. Our best guess is that you gravitate to who you want to see the most."
He pauses, posture softening.
"That's why I came here. In case it was you."
Esteban's fingers curl into fists as he looks around again.
Max reaches out, one translucent hand hovering near his shoulder.
"You come here a lot. You lay there,"
He tilts his head up towards the sky, and Esteban startles as he realizes that the sky is the mirror image of the world— is the world, his world, reflected above them. Max is looking at the reflection of the epicenter, the spot where Esteban goes to scream and cry and talk about mundane little things.
He tilts his head down at the glass below them, and Esteban can feel the hot press of tears again. He doesn't care if he's made up Max in his head, the idea that he's been listening the whole time, that he's been mirroring him in all his worst moments, that he's still here—
He freezes, veins turning icy at he looks over at Max.
"You've been here the whole time? The last twelve years, you've just been trapped? Here?"
Max lifts both hands placatingly.
"I wouldn't say trapped. We can go anywhere, it's a mirror version of the world. Or upside down, however that works. But,"
He looks away, breaking their gaze.
"I like to stay near you."
Esteban opens his mouth to respond, but Max carries on before he can say anything, still looking off to the left.
"And I, um. I love Spark, and I like what you've done with the infirmary, and you're good with the students, and—"
He was so young. Esteban doesn't like to think it, because it reminds him how young he was too, but looking at Max now, like this, unsure if Esteban is going to be upset that he's been watching so closely, it's impossible to ignore. They'd thought they had everything figured out at that age. Max had a ring ready.
His voice is achingly fond, the gentlest he's heard himself sound in years.
Max swallows, eyes catching his again, and Esteban tries to pour twelve years of love into his words.
It's not enough, it could never be enough, but it earns him a soft grin before Max's smile fades, jaw setting with determination. Esteban knows that expression, he'd seen it for the last time, but seeing it now makes him think of having to see it on one of his students.
If he ever has to see Oliver prepare himself to die, he'll be long gone. He's determined to never let a student live through their pain again.
"You're not supposed to be here, Estie. The student isn't either. You're both still alive."
Esteban can't help his wry snort.
"Some afterlife you've got here."
"It's not really an afterlife, more like it's—"
He cuts himself off, clearly hiding something, but Esteban can't bring himself to push, and changes the subject.
Max jerks his head to the right, towards the direction of the tracks. Now that Esteban knows it's a mirror of his own reality, it's easier to orient himself, even if the distances don't quite seem right. What would be one step back home seems to be five here, stretching the distances into something vast and unnatural.
"How did you both get in here?"
"The underclassmen dug up some kind of ball. When you touch it with your bare hands..."
He trails off and waves a hand at the environment around him, and Max glances at him out of the corner of his eye.
"Seems dangerous. We're not sure what it does to you guys to be here, but you don't belong."
Esteban thinks of Tai's vitals in his infirmary, slowly dropping, and knows that his own are doing the same. He debates internally only for a moment before he decides not to share that information with Max.
"I'm here to bring him back."
Max's mouth twists in a frown.
He doesn't finish, but Esteban already knows. He knows because he's been thinking the same thing, looking at it from all angles in his head, trying to figure out a way to make it work.
"It's not wrong. But I can't stay, baby."
It tears him apart to say. There's nothing he'd like better than to stay here with Max, wandering an endless mirrored reality, but he has responsibilities back home, students to raise and protect, and—
He can't leave Pierre. Deep down, he knows he can't tell Pierre either, because Pierre will touch the ball and never come back. He knows.
But maybe it wouldn't hurt to keep the ball somewhere safe, somewhere he can come visit.
He's sure there's overwhelming love in his expression at he looks over at Max, wishing more than anything that he could hold his hand.
Soon. He'll develop a system, some kind of formula, figure out how long he can stay in here to partially bridge the gap, just enough to touch and hold, and then he'll come back. There has to be a way.
Max whistles sharply as they get closer to the tracks, and Esteban can see the solidness of another living person in a school uniform, sitting side by side with another translucent ghost.
It hurts more to see George than he would've expected.
His voice is dangerously watery, and George grins up at him from where he's sitting on the tracks, so young that Esteban wants to scream. It isn't fair, none of it, they deserved to live—
"Ocon. Is it professor or doctor? I'm not sure which you prefer, Max spent almost two years trying to figure out which one he liked better."
It's so nostalgic it hurts, listening to George's teasing and Max's affronted hiss, and Esteban knows that if he didn't have a student to bring home, he would never leave.
He'd die to stay here with the rest of them.
...Pierre would understand.
He crouches down by Tai, noticing with a pang of concern that he can see through the tips of the student's fingers. The younger boy has his knees pulled to his chest, staring up at him. He's clearly been crying, but he seems calm at the moment.
"I know I need to go home."
Esteban hadn't been prepared for that— it must show in his voice, because George barks out a laugh, grinning at him.
"I've had some time to talk him through it, mate. He knows he can't stay, just needed some closure."
Privately, Esteban thinks they all need closure. This is a unique opportunity to give it— he can think of a few people who could desperately benefit from just one last conversation.
When Gianpiero arrives, they'll discuss finding a way to do this properly.
He extends a hand to Tai, relieved when the younger boy grabs it and he can feel him. His fingers are cold, but Esteban is grateful it's the only observable side effect.
"Dr. Ocon, will we come back?"
Esteban can't help the way his eyes dart to Max at Tai's words, but he has to look away when he sees the pride reflected in his gaze.
"Yes. We'll figure something out."
He'll also need to convince Tai not to tell anyone until they have a system but together, but that shouldn't be too difficult. Already he feels optimistic, lips curling into a soft smile as he looks back at Max.
"I'll be back, Max. I pro—"
Max cuts him off, eyes gentle.
He never thought he'd hear those words from that voice again.
Esteban wakes up in his own infirmary, limbs aching. He feels like he's been hit by a train, and he licks at his chapped lips as he groans. Immediately, Pierre is in his line of sight, standing over him worriedly. His best friend is a wreck, eyes red rimmed and hair a mess.
"Esteban! Don't move, I'm getting someone."
He leans his head back onto the pillow with a soft sigh, trying to remember. The festival, Adeline, Tai, the weird ball.
Oliver steps into his line of sight, Pierre just to his left, and Esteban swallows, throat dry.
Oliver's eyes flick up to watch his vitals.
"He's fine, Doctor. It's you I'm worried about, you're spiking your heart rate right now. Chill out."
"We need to work on your bedside manner."
Oliver grins, winking at him.
"Learned it from you. What happened? How'd you bring him back?"
Esteban wracks his brain, trying to piece things together through the fog, but all he comes up with is purple glass and an endless night.
Pierre's mouth twists into a frown, but he's reaching over to hold Esteban's hand in his own.
"It's alright. GP is on his way, he'll be here in a day or two to help properly seal it. Until then, we're keeping it secure. No one is touching it."
Esteban nods, following along hazily. He feels like he's forgetting something, the back of his mind nagging at him, but he can't quite figure out what.
"Go back to sleep, Doctor Ocon. Get some rest."
Oliver's voice is gentle, and he can feel the blanket on top of him being straightened. His eyes drift half shut, Pierre's hand still clasped with his, and for just a moment he can hear Max, the way he always does when he's on the precipice between the waking world and his dreams.
