by Noah Harris
“—My parents didn’t out me as gay. No, that was your doing. My god you can be so dense!” Barry rushed up to Xanathen, looking up into his eyes and breathing harshly through his nostrils. “You couldn’t have just let my dad win? You could’ve just said “Yes, sir” and—”
“You argued, too—”
“I always argue with my dad! That’s different! You could’ve just left it there. You pretty much won that argument. Once my dad goes silent, congrats: you win. But no, you had to bring out the big guns. Tell him you love me, that we were in love and…”
“He started it! He kept calling me a bum and lazy and all sorts of other things—”
“He didn’t call you that much! He’s just a stubborn old man! Are you really going to be shaken up that easily?”
“He insulted both of us. I don’t like being talked about that way and—”
“You know, as much of a shitstain as he is sometimes, he’s right! You can’t just go around doing whatever the hell you want! There are rules, there are expectations! There’s things you gotta do to get by and you can’t always do what you want! What’s gonna happen when you finally get a job and your boss tells you to do something you don’t like? You’ll probably yell at him, tell him to shove it up his ass and get fired. Or, knowing how you act, worse.”
Xanathen’s jaw dropped as he tried to think of something to say. His hands raised and he pointed a finger at Barry’s chest. “I wouldn’t—”
“You were so good around my parents to start with. You really were. You fooled the hell out of me. Then you get mad and have to assert your dominance and…Aggh, I can’t even look at you right now!” Barry cried out in exasperation and started pacing again. “My dad was right. I shouldn’t have to be responsible for you. You’re older than I am.”
Barry stopped in his tracks, sighing. He looked out the window with a forlorn expression, gripping the frame tightly. His nostrils flared as he shook his head while he took in the distant lit skyline of the city and Xanathen’s reflection in the glass.
Xanathen’s brows furrowed as he threw his hands up in the air.
“What, are you ashamed of me now?”
“Sometimes. Yes.” Barry dropped his gaze. “I wanted you to be my partner. But I have to make sure you don’t wander off or expose yourself or throw a damn temper tantrum whenever we go out. I shouldn’t have to be responsible for what you do. I should be able to trust that you’ll do the right thing and not have to worry about it. That’s basic stuff I’m having to worry about. I probably don’t even have a family anymore because of all of that! I’m alone.”
“It would have come up eventually! You couldn’t have hidden it forever.”
“You made me come out before I was ready! Not everyone is you, Xanathen. Not everyone can strut around confident that things will go okay. I’m not like you. I wanted to tell them when I was comfortable, when I was ready, after I’d told you more about my parents and when we weren’t already in the middle of a big fight! You forced me out!”
Xanathen slowly closed in on Barry, saying nothing, but offering the sorry expression that radiated from his eyes. He laid his large hands on Barry’s shoulders. Barry shrugged them off with a bitter huff and scowled viciously at him. Xanathen tried for a second time, and he even started to try and say a few words but he was cut off yet again. Barry groaned, pulling away from the corner of the room and storming into the bedroom. He had reached the end of his wick, and instead of a heavy explosion, there was nothing but defeat and exhaustion. No matter what he said, he couldn’t win. Xanathen followed behind, trying to start a discussion.
Barry slammed the bedroom door in his face. Xanathen rattled the door knob, but the door just wouldn’t budge. Barry heard him rubbing his nose with a quiet whimper as he knocked on the door and pleaded to be let in.
“Xanathen,” Barry said. “Babe. I love you. But please. I’m just…too mad right now. I wanna be alone.”
“But, what about—”
“Sleep on the couch.”
“But—”
“Goodnight.”
In the morning, Xanathen was fast asleep on the couch as Barry, fatigues and all, went out the front door for work. The reconciliation would have to wait.
Chapter Three
The apartment had never seemed as cold as it did in the following weeks. The emptiness of the modest home seemed to echo with discontented whispers that were never even spoken.
Xanathen lay on the couch in the darkness, curled up by himself on the cushions as his eyes wandered about the room. By now he knew every single inch of it. Even in the shroud of darkness there was nothing that could surprise him. His eyes, dull and glossed over, would scan the apartment and take note of everything that was there once, twice, three times. There were days where he would note them all up to fifty times for no other reason than to simply have something to do. Anything to keep his mind from wandering, from thinking too much.
He had tried to sink his empty hours into the glowing screen, fingers fumbling with the remote only to wander aimlessly through the chattering faces that seared the darkness. His eyelids lowered, unamused by it all. A loathsome growl climbed his throat. The constant smiles on the faces of the people, that stretched from cheek to cheek, made him wince. What sort of person willingly lets their face be pulled from behind like that? Crashing against the buttons brought about an array of bright colors and loud noises. The incessant talking sent a wave of fiery prickles down his spine. So, he had shut it off as hard as he could and lain on the couch in the dark.
People who can navigate that thing are skilled, he thought bitterly as he nestled his head on a pillow.
He could live without the noise and the light. The mild darkness didn’t stand a chance against the endless shadows that permeated his cave, now many miles away. The cool air from the humming vents was nowhere near as good as the chilled stone that he used to lie on, away from rest of the world.
The tunneled stone of the cave also didn’t have the same habit of whispering that these man-made walls did. Xanathen flopped and turned over on the couch, day in and day out, as he remained in that very spot for hours at a time. The silence of the room seemed to cackle at him in hushed tones. He clung to the cushions as the walls spoke to him. They spoke no words, only the echoes of resentment that emanated from within them. The slightest thing that Xanathen felt would come back to him even stronger and resonate through his body.
He began to loathe those walls. They were closing in on him. His beautiful cave would never do such a thing. It was a peaceful place of tranquility and adoration, not a constricting place that made a man choke on his own breath. The walls were conspiring to move in closer still and squeeze the life from his lungs. He could only think of how his mighty tail would have burst through those walls by now. He was only able to survive in this tiny space as long as he wasn’t himself, and that was only if those walls were content to stay where they were.
Cursed walls are lucky, he thought with a snarl, curling and bringing his legs to his chest. If I had my way, they’d be rubble.
He closed his eyes and let his mind put himself back in the home he had known so well. The spacious cave’s alluring blue lights swirled gently and put him at ease. There was something so calming about the lights creeping up the floor and pillars. At once, it took him back to a feeling of security and freedom. For a moment, there were no troubles weighing down his shoulders and he thought that maybe he could just get up, go out, and fly.
“Xanathen, come on. You know I can’t navigate the room with illusions surrounding me.”
Barry stood in the center of the cave, heavy with exhaustion. He was not happy. Xanathen started to attention, examining the homey cave that surrounded them. He hummed curiously at the sight, not able to remember if he had even cast that or not, but he quickly made it vanish with a wave of his hand. The walls broke through the stone and surrounded them once more with the painful reminder that Xanathen was still in the prison-like apartment.
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Xanathen jumped up from of the couch, leaning in for a kiss. Barry absent-mindedly flicked on the lights, pecked Xanathen on the cheek and went into the kitchen.
“Barry, welcome home,” Xanathen called out, there was no answer but the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. “How was work?”
“Pizza’s in the oven,” Barry said, walking past Xanathen. “It’ll go off when it’s done. Turn it off when you take it out.”
“Let’s watch some of that show you like,” Xanathen said. “Or, maybe we can just snuggle or—”
Barry had reached the bedroom door without so much of an acknowledgement of Xanathen’s attempts. Xanathen’s hand reached out to Barry but fell back to his side.
“I love you,” Xanathen called out again.
Barry stopped at the entrance to the bedroom but didn’t turn back. There was a quiet mumble of something that sounded faintly like a response, something ending in “too”, and then the door closed behind him.
The dragon crawled over the back of the couch and made his way to the bedroom very quietly. He growled under his breath and placed his ear against the door. The sound of mattress springs squeaking followed by a huge sigh and the rustling of pants pockets. Another faint sigh. A pause, then some ringing. A woman’s voice followed by a frustrated groan.
“Mom, it’s Barry. Please answer. Call me back, please! We can talk about this. Why won’t you answer me? Please, Mom. I love you. Please call me back, please, please!”
Xanathen slid back against the door as he thought about that last “please.” It sounded like it was choked out of Barry, garbled and with a sob. The walls began to heckle again, mocking Xanathen. His hands wrung themselves out as he stared at them, balling themselves into fists.
All he could think of was Barry with his round, soft eyes. His lip quivering and the pained tears running down his face. Xanathen’s body trembled under the weight of his breaking heart. If he wanted, he could tear the door down and hold Barry until the tears stopped. He winced as he thought of what would happen after that. He was in no mood to be called a barbarian, and the walls said that was the right word for him.
He cringed and agonized as he listened to the gentle crying from the other side of the door until he could take no more. He took his plight back to the lonely couch but it was no refuge from the thought of Barry crying. Xanathen clamped his eyes tight, letting the sound of Barry’s sniffles and sobs fill the darkness in his head. He could practically smell the salty tears running down his lover’s scrunched up face, his chest heaving and forcing out more.
Xanathen’s eyes opened, Barry was there beside him on the couch crying his heart out. There was a brief moment when he was startled, followed by an immediate embrace.
This is the best I can do right now, Xanathen thought as he held his lover close in his strong arms.
The crying didn’t stop, like it was on an infinite loop. It seemed as if Barry would cry on Xanathen’s broad shoulders until the end of time. Xanathen’s nostrils flared as, privately inside, he rejoiced, feeling the warmth of Barry’s body against his own. He had forgotten how surprisingly soft that body was. Having Barry wrapped up in his embrace once again lent him a feeling of nostalgia tickling his mind with feelings of old times.
Xanathen inhaled as he pulled away from the blond and stared at him with an intense emptiness. He shook his head and let Barry fade away into a cascade of shimmering light until the seat was empty. The apartment was silent, all except the muffled, faint sobs coming from behind the bedroom door.
The days stayed as hollow as they were before. With Barry away on duty for days at a time, Xanathen acclimated to solitude once more. The dragon grew accustomed to the dreary walls. His head ached as they would bounce his bitter thoughts back to him with perfect precision. On the days Barry did come back, Xanathen might as well have not even been there. The door would open, then another would shut. For the two hundred years Xanathen had lived by himself on that misty isle, he couldn’t remember a time when his chest rang with such a hollow feeling. He had lived half a year in the apartment now, a pittance of time compared to his life span, and the dark loneliness was gripping his heart and forcing it to beat slower and slower with each passing day.
He paced as he thought of the world outside, the world that he longed to see. The world that Barry promised to show him. Xanathen growled quietly and focused on thoughts of the majestic mountainsides Barry had spoken of. His mind wandered as he thought of the tall upheavals of the land, draped elegantly with luscious grass and topped with snow. He imagined the waterfalls gushing from the ground and rushing down the mountains. He could imagine the sun’s glorious light crawling over the top, peeking over all the ridges and cliffs as the chilled breeze brushed against his smooth skin.
He brought his mind out of the scene and back to the apartment that surrounded him, only to remember that the enormous mountain he fantasized about was actually there, right in the distance, brisk breeze and all. He stared in awe at what he had subconsciously created. A smile, a sensation he hadn’t felt in a while, spread across his face as he realized he could no longer hear the whispering of the walls reminding him what a fool he was. The only things he could hear were the birds overheard and the fast pulse of his own beating heart.
Xanathen shook his head, bringing as much focus as he could to the illusion that stood in front of him, and then he waved it away. The mountain faded into the confining apartment he had grown to know.
Strange. I didn’t cast an illusion, he thought to himself as he sunk into the couch. Did I? I don’t remember casting it. Funny. I don’t remember casting that illusion of Barry, either.
He sat on the couch and pondered over that thought. How could these visions just spring up without him even casting them? All he did was think of them and they had begun to pour out of him. That wasn’t a problem he had ever had before. He scowled. Does this make me weaker…or stronger?
Though he never got the answer he was looking for, Xanathen seemed to travel the world from the comfort of his new home. If he couldn’t figure out why his illusory magic seemed to just seep out of him, then he was certain he would have to force it back under his control. He stayed in his seat as motionless as a statue, as his mind continued to wander to the four corners of the earth. He gripped his legs firmly as he continued to sit and practice.
He began just working with the illusions. He needed to focus on crafting them into the image he wanted. From the depths of his mind, he would conjure endless landscapes into existence that reached out to the horizon and beyond. The more unfamiliar he was with the subject he was creating, the more vague and almost lifeless it looked. The colors would bleed into each other in unnatural ways. Things that didn’t belong would find their way through into the vision, the shadows would flip from one side to the other or even hang from the sky.
He would focus his energy on every imperfection and detail that he could think of. Whether it was every small petal that bloomed from the flowers to the texture of the rocky mountains, he had to narrow his mind and focus his energy on every bit of information that hung in the air around him. It took days just to get something he had never seen to look natural. His imagination honed in on the details and swooned in the majesty of his creation, for hours on end. He would focus every bit of energy in him to create lavish landscapes of endless gardens, abandoned civilizations, tundras of snow, and whatever wild thing came to his mind to help him escape from his prison.
Getting his magic to stop creating without his input was the hardest part. It felt like holding his breath until he turned blue in the face, keeping any stray bit of magic from trickling from his fingers and creating something. He would inadvertently think of things, while straining to hold all the creative energy inside his mind. Stray creations emerged around the apartment while he practiced, but as he continued to focus on his breathing and hold it in while he thought, the easier it became. He found that breathing shallowly, inhale-inhale-exhale, was more beneficial than the enormous
gulps of air he swallowed previously. Though if anyone were to ask him, he wouldn’t be able to explain why.
Xanathen lay on the couch and let the emptiness of the walls whisper viciously in his ears while Barry lay on the bed in his room, on his phone again. Xanathen focused on his breathing as he let his mind wander. He thought of holding Barry close to his chest, a Barry who had long since forgiven him and wanted nothing more than to praise him and be held by him. As much as he thought of it, the thoughts stayed solidly in his head. Though he felt triumphant over his own powers, he couldn’t help but think it was a hollow victory. Not only did the man he loved just want to be alone, but now he had a grasp on keeping his fantasies as just that: a fantasy.
Yet no matter how many times Xanathen would spring to his feet and stand in Barry’s way, or begin to tell him about his newfound exercises and progress, there was no getting in between Barry and his march to the bedroom. Even crawling into bed with him did no good. He just lay there, quietly, staring into space. All the words he said vacantly floated from his mouth.
“Today, I made the building from that magazine!” Xanathen announced proudly one evening, shoveling dinner into his mouth.
“That’s nice,” Barry replied, eyes drifting off to something in the distance while he barely touched his food.
“I can make an entire farm now, and the spots on the cows stay on the cows.”
“Mm. Good.”
“…I love you.” That was a bit of a forced tactic, even by Xanathen’s standards.
“Hm?”
“I said I love you.”
“Oh.” Barry looked up with a jolt for a brief second, suddenly alert, like a student being woken up in the middle of class. Then he went back to slurring as his line of sight went somewhere else. “Ahluyuutoo.”
Still, now when Xanathen was by himself, he felt less alone than he did before. At least with his magic there was some progress. His magic would respond to his thoughts. It was almost a living thing. He made his magic come alive. The enchanted landscapes, as little impact as they made to the world around them, couldn’t exist without him. That feeling sustained him.
