Hamartia

The Shadows

The man with the deep, cerulean eyes left without a word. In his wake, the front door slammed close, rattling on its hinges. The exchange had been heated, to say the least.

A young man sighed heavily as he walked away from the front door, his many hanging earrings clinking in the thick silence that followed the abrupt departure.

That ocean-eyed man had a name— Arlo— but honestly, the young man wished he could scrub it from his memory after their recent altercation. Arlo was a slick, wickedly-sharp instrument with an awful penchant for perfection. Rarely did the young man ever see the beating heart that lay beneath those meticulously dry-cleaned suits. Once a close friend, he now walked a path so far removed from the young man’s that he personally struggled to even grasp his trajectory. Truly, Arlo Soven was an enigma.

And if Arlo was an ingenious cipher cracker-and-creator, then the young man— X— would be a colorful, fruity cocktail. Seemingly harmless, but every bit as eye-catching. He was a foolhardy, fun-loving being that lit up every room he was in— the life of every photoshoot and party he attended. X never missed a beat. Much like the drink in question, he strived to be as palatable as possible— in every sense of the word, from his personality to his appearance. X was so good at this that everyone who met him could only gossip about how he was such sinfully sweet eye candy. And in X’s eyes, that was true power.

But like many alcoholic drinks, X had an afterburn— a sunless side that only Arlo quietly noticed. Though no matter how close Arlo got, that side would never spare him a single glance. Not even when they fought, which they did all too often over everything from where to get takeout from (always Marabella versus Paper Rabbit) to what should be done about the Spark Separation Act (SSA). An incredibly controversial law, tensions in South Korea were at an all time high as the SSA was approaching its 100th anniversary.

X hated how Arlo’s last speech at an anti-SSA rally still rang in his ears: “The SSA is an excuse made by the Bright and the powerful to take advantage of the Dim and the weak. Being unable to run as fast as the wind or shoot electricity from our fingertips shouldn’t disqualify us from employment opportunities and higher education. Our country needs to wake up and realize that might doesn’t make right.”

Dozens of thoughts flooded his mind as X collapsed onto his plush couch and ran his hands through his long hair. For a while, he rested there, his damp eyes trained on the blank ceiling, with one hand clutching his cell phone and the other still mindlessly playing with his hair. It cascaded off his shoulders like dozens of silky, inky tributaries that only seemed to multiply endlessly— there was no end, no right choice.

‘To fight or not to fight, to call or not to call… damnit Arlo.’

Then, as hesitant as a rabbit, he slowly opened his list of contacts and dialed. As the phone worked, X winced at the bold white letters that glared back at him: ‘Arlo Soven’.

The nervous rapping of his fingers against the coffee table could be heard throughout the house, filling the tense air just enough until a voice popped up. X held his breath.

“Hello. You’ve reached Arlo Soven. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m not available right now. Please leave a message with your name and intent— I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you.”

BEEP.

Immediately, X’s head started spinning as he haphazardly tried to craft a response, but in the end, his thumb silently slammed into the red button at the bottom. He exhaled a defeated sigh.

“What the h*ll is there to say?” X muttered under his breath, “I have a job to keep and an appearance to maintain. How can you expect me to drop everything for your radical dreams?” Clearly, his blood was still boiling from the abrupt departure.

X knew there was no one around to hear his words, but they served as more of a reminder than anything else. Because in the back of his mind, another part of him was already busy looking through his schedule for a time to visit Arlo’s apartment. Somehow, there was a slot tomorrow after a modeling photoshoot with one of South Korea’s hottest luxury brands: Veloure. Just the name made his skin prickle with anticipation.

As X begrudgingly slipped into his bed, he pulled out his phone. Its bright, fluorescent light painted his face eerily pale, as he quickly opened his messages and began typing: ‘is it alr if i stop by tmr? like 11am? or is another time better? should i pick up lunch from Marabella?’

‘No, what in the world am I saying?’

X blankly stared at the screen for a while, mulling over his pathetically passive language.

‘I have every right to be mad.’

Deleting his former message, he instead typed up: ‘hey, let’s meet tmr, i wanna talk. 11am at ur place.’

Again, he stared at the screen. And again, he deleted it.

Not a single word felt right.

After many minutes of silence, his phone shut off with a disappointing click, and the room plunged into darkness; not even the city lights dared to pierce through the curtains. The darkness enveloped X like a thick, warm blanket, soaking up his tears and lulling him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

The Prey

Sunlight sliced through the car windows, so intense that it warmed X’s face and mercilessly burned his eyes. No matter. He quickly flicked on his sunglasses and continued staring out at the glass jungle that everyone called Seoul. All the buildings were clad in their own kind of haute couture that glowed under the sun’s rays. Who needs a fantastic silhouette when you can simply light up the whole room?

X wistfully sighed under his breath— he wished modeling was that straightforward.

As the car began to slow, at a red light, his view suddenly became congested by a crowd of multi-colored blobs, each of them holding up a phone in front of them. Some waved, others shook envelopes or gift bags excitedly, and even more started exclaiming something. Quickly, he looked through the other window, expecting to see a celebrity or something of the sort crossing the street.

But there was nothing but asphalt and moving cars.

This was his stop, the site of the photoshoot. And the people, well, they were calling out his name.

X quietly cursed under his breath, his head spinning at the thought of interacting with so many people. Or should he say: fans. Like the flick of a switch, his heart started rattling against his rib cage. He’d have to track down the leaker another time.

‘In a few minutes, it’ll all be over,’ he tried to reassure himself, while taking a few deep breaths.

Just as he reached for the door handle, his manager’s concerned voice rang out from the passenger’s seat, “Hey, we can go around and pull up to the back of the building, X. You really don’t have to go out there.”

X flashed Eunmi, his manager, a smile despite his shaky, sweaty hands. “Nope, I’ll meet you at the lobby in a bit. Just tell ‘em I’ll be like, five minutes late!”

“Wait a second, I’ll call security—”

Too late. X was already basking under the sun, glowing brighter than all the other skyscrapers around. He couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic crowd— their energy was simply infectious. X sprinted towards them, ignoring the anxious butterflies in his stomach, and began collecting the letters, gift bags, and plushies they all had. Internally, he really didn’t understand the cause for celebration, but he thanked them all the same, so many times that the words became foreign syllables to his ears.

The crowd pressed against him like a wave— crashing inwards, then slowly pulling away, again and again. However, it was so much louder than any beach he’d ever been to. And everyone had their phones out.

“Oh my gosh, X! I love you!” One would exclaim, then another would interject, “Wait, I have something for you!” And of course, there was the forceful, “Get outta my way! Lemme see him—”

But by far, the worst question of all came from the people with mics and cameras bigger than his head, “Hey X, we’re big fans! Can you tell us your thoughts on the radical politician, Arlo Soven? Is it true that you two are dating?”

He tried his best to ignore those people.

It all became a dizzying jumble of requests and questions, and more requests and more questions until he felt like his brain was going to combust.

‘But they love you, why stop them? Besides, one wrong move and you’re finished,’ his conscious whispered, coaxing him into submission.

It worked, for a little, until a fan stuffed a big bouquet of flowers into his arms— they were gorgeous, laden full with sun-gold petals. The flowers were so large that X had to use two arms to cradle the bouquet. As he stopped to admire them, he quickly recognized what they were: sunflowers in full bloom.

And it all came crashing down. X had something to settle with someone, and that certain someone happened to love these flowers and these flowers only. On top of that, there was still the photoshoot to complete. Dread filled his stomach— he was going to be late.

“I’m really sorry everyone, but I gotta go! I have a shoot to get to—” X exclaimed as loudly as he could, but the human wave kept crashing down on him. Even as he tried to gently push back, a legion of phones completely shielded his view of the photoshoot building— there was no path forward.

“Please,” X mumbled, pulling his cap down over his eyes. All the cameras and phones were making him nauseous. He really couldn’t wait to see this all over his Seera feed in an hour. But a thought made him pause.

‘Why are there so many fans here?’

He came to this building multiple times a week, but to see this many fans was rare.

“Excuse me! What’s your opinion on the SSA?”

“Hello, X? Are you deaf? I said—”

Suddenly, under the sun’s bright eye, X felt unbelievably cold. Dark, twisted hands grasped his heart from the inside, like a deadly viper delivering the killing blow. It was his power, his Spark. It had smelled weakness and struck without hesitation knowing that he lacked the willpower to control it. A cold sheer spread over his pupils and X surely didn’t need a mirror to know their new color: vermillion. Thank goodness it was covered by the cap… for now.

This little fact didn’t offer him much solace. He could hear his frantic heart pounding in his ears, desperately flailing like a dying animal, but X knew it was pointless.

Its beating was slowing.

They were all going to see him now— at his worst, at his ugliest.

‘Take me away.’

Nothing. X just stood there, swallowing the crowd’s confused and bitter stares whole. They burned him inside and out, like he was standing in a pit of flames getting hot coals shoved down his throat.

Deep down, X felt like he deserved all of this. Not only was he unable to deal with a crowd, as a rising star no less, he also had carelessly let his closest friend slip through his fingers just yesterday. A spectacular failure, no doubt, for he knew Arlo like the back of his hand, and yet, all that knowledge amounted to nothing when faced with that dreadful question:

“Will you stand with me?”

Silence ensued, tears were shed. X didn’t even try to stop Arlo as he stormed away, slamming the front door behind him.

As shame and regret washed over X dark, translucent tendrils suddenly rose up around him. In the blink of an eye, they twisted around him and widened, shielding him from all the prying eyes. The tendrils tightened their form, pressing closer and closer. Even though it felt foreign, X embraced it.

The darkness, the cold— it made him blissfully numb as his throat began to close, his vision started to swim, and his heartbeat slowed to a halt.

‘Take me home.’

As if on command, light flooded his vision, burning away the darkness.

The Kill

A familiar, but unusually unlocked door. A dining room straight out of a magazine. A man with cerulean eyes, already expecting him.

That’s all X remembered after suddenly teleporting to Arlo’s apartment. Now, he was sitting in awkward silence at Arlo’s dining table, watching as Arlo displayed an array of fresh, pulsating tears on his back.

“My Spark— it’s consuming me,” Arlo stated, frank as ever; like it was a bland fact and nothing more. There was no ‘Hello’ or ‘I hate you,’ just the plain truth.

X scoured Arlo’s bare back, his eyes widening at the sight of all the carnage.

If the nape of his neck was a mountain, then the scars were rivers of golden snowmelt, flowing down the length of his spine and branching out like a delta. His shallow breaths were the only reminder to X that those glowing rifts were born of flesh and power— not a pen. Had Arlo stopped breathing, his back could’ve been mistaken for a map.

‘Never,’ X thought, for he hoped that Arlo’s chest would never cease to rise and fall, no matter how many governments he opposed or crimes he committed.

‘Maybe that’s why my Spark is darker than night.’

X traced and retraced each scar— wishing that they’d wither under his heated glare. His eyes began to burn and sting at the edges, as he continued to stubbornly stare down the death message before him. Or maybe he was just trying to distract himself from the rising guilt in his chest. After all, he’d completely shut Arlo down the other day.

After what felt like eons, Arlo scoffed, “I know that silence.”

He looked straight into X’s obsidian irises and hissed, “Does it feel good? To know that your hands and ‘appearance’ will stay clean because I’m finishing the job myself?”

His words were laced with venom and his vicious eyes sliced into X’s own. The tension in the room quickly became palpable as they both stood there, eye to eye, with a thousand unspoken words between them. X opened his mouth, then quickly thought better of it. His fingers twitched under Arlo’s glare— he wouldn’t be surprised if he melted right then and there. Casting his gaze to the floor, X hid his watering eyes.

“Hah,” Arlo seethed. “Not going to even spare a word for your dying friend? Or am I now just an enemy to you—”

“Stop,” X whispered, like a soft breeze, a fragile thing.

“What? Can’t handle the truth?”

X thought he heard something shatter as he screamed, “Shut the h*ll up!”

His voice cracked like porcelain under the effort of keeping his tears back. The brief silence that followed left a ringing noise in both their ears.

Snapping back into character, Arlo smirked as X started again.

“You.” Hands shaking, X pointed his index finger at Arlo. “You know the damn truth! After all, who’s been your closest friend for over a decade?”

“And yet you never followed… or even apologized.”

Before Arlo could even flinch, foreign hands were at his shoulders, shoving him into the back of the chair.

“Damnit Arlo!” X gasped, blood pounding in his ears, “I did it for you. I did it all for you! I only said no to stop you because I knew you’d take whatever you’re planning too far. But I should’ve known that you stop for no one, not even your—”

“Don’t feed me that crap! The only person you did it for was yourself! You were afraid people would find out that you’re conspiring with a radical who disagrees with the very foundation of this filthy country. Stop pretending to be a victim, X. The only thing you are is a spineless, heartless person.”

Arlo hissed, leaning into X— their faces a mere inch apart. His cerulean eyes looked like a raging blue fire, razing everything in its path, fueled by a terrible rage— and the bloody pieces of a broken heart.

‘Say that you care about him,’ X’s inner conscience urged, ‘say that you only wanted him to live.’

X shook his head, pushing those thoughts as far away as possible. His skin crawled. There were a thousand excuses he could make, but only one answer to give.

“I—” abruptly cutting off, X stopped to take a breath. His throat constricted on itself like a boa, trying desperately to keep the words from leaving his mouth. Even the butterflies in his stomach were laughing at him— he looked like a dead fish, with his mouth agape as he struggled to say another word. How easy it would be to lie…

‘But Arlo deserves the truth.’

“You’re right, Arlo. I only know how to run, how to preserve myself and my face. And honestly, that’s all I’ve ever done. I ran from the orphanage, from law enforcement— and now from you. I am so sorry… for not being there when you needed me the most.”

Arlo’s scowl wavered, his narrowed eyes widening in shock for a moment. But it wasn’t long before he covered it all up with a distrustful glare, as if X’s words were too good to be true, too pure for this twisted world.

X released his grip and stepped back silently, giving Arlo space. His cold features now betrayed little emotion, other than his Adam’s apple, which bobbed like a fishing buoy.

That was X’s cue to walk away and brew a peace offering: valerian root tea. He turned and gave Arlo one last remorseful look before heading off to the kitchen, never mind that this was Arlo’s place and not his own.

X found the teapot with ease, after all, he’d been here just a few days ago, eating take-out and laughing at Arlo’s horrible dad jokes. With a heavy sigh, he filled the teapot, set it on the stove, and went to the pantry to find some tea sachets. But abruptly, he froze. There was already a sachet and two teacups next to the stove, along with a familiar, honey-colored journal: Arlo’s diary. It reeked of imaginary laws, childhood memories, and long-forgotten liveliness. Of life.

‘Arlo is dying,’ he paused, staring blankly at the kitchen’s stark white backsplash. X dared not question how, for it was evident enough from the scars that it was related to his Spark.

‘But why? He’s young and his Spark is stable… Arlo has no reason to be Burning Out right now… Unless—’

Dozens of questions swarmed him, each one as confusing as the next. Their strong fingers clawed at his throat, choking him with fear. The uncertainty of both their futures, the looming presence of death, the wall of questions with no answers. Much like earlier when he’d faced that mob of fans, his control over his Spark was slipping quickly as his mind spiraled down, down, down. Suddenly, breathing became difficult.

CLICK.

The stove in front of him burst to life, its tiny flames licking the sides of the teapot with fervor. X staggered backwards, the adrenaline from his panic episode quickly melting away into fatigue. He tried leaning on the countertop, but the moment he took a deep breath, exhaustion filled his limbs from head to toe.

‘Arlo is going to die. And it’s all my fault.’

The Decay

A loud crash came from the kitchen and, instinctually, Arlo jumped up from his chair. Adrenaline shot through his veins, numbing his concoction of emotions as he sprinted to the kitchen. A sliver of fear sent shivers down his spine, but he brushed it off, knowing all too well how quickly it could overtake him.

The teapot had reached a boil, its screeches echoing through the apartment like cruel jeers, spurring Arlo forward. There was no ounce of hesitation in his steps as he dashed into the kitchen.

By the time he got there, the teapot’s screaming had reached a feverish pitch. As Arlo looked down, he witnessed a scene that could’ve come straight out of an intrusive thought: X, plastered on the floor, shaking with the effort of trying to sit upright.

“Whoa, slow down there,” X chuckled lightly, despite the rivulets of blood dribbling down his face. He continued, unable to look up at Arlo, “Look, I’m fine— can you just move that kettle off the heat?”

But Arlo was already there, flicking the stove off and staring down at X, his expression unreadable. The longer X watched, the more those ice-blue eyes slowly melted into an endless ocean, bluer than the blue sky above.

‘Damn,’ marveled X, ‘I really missed those eyes.’

Maybe the blood loss was getting to him, but he swore Arlo’s ocean eyes could send him straight to the Bahamas with just a glance. Stare at them too long, and X knew he’d find himself drowning under warm, sapphire waves.

X was so distracted that he didn’t notice Arlo’s finger under his chin, swiveling his head from side to side. Arlo was busy inspecting the nasty gash on X’s forehead, dutifully examining the damages.

“I know you must be wondering how I’m… dying,” Arlo started, hesitant to break the silence, “and it’s complicated. But I know you want an answer, so I’ll put it like this: something… horrible… I did in my youth has finally caught up to me.”

Arlo wrung his hands ever so slightly— he’d seldom seen X this silent before.

But he steeling his nerves, he stated, “I Empowered my Spark.”

The kitchen grew so quiet, they could hear each other’s quivering breaths.

“What?” X finally whispered in disbelief, “I’ve only heard of that in fairytales? How?”

But Arlo just shook his head, keeping that secret to himself.

“When I was younger I constantly felt… powerless. There was just so much injustice happening around me and there was nothing I could do about it. After all, my Spark could only create barriers— but physical protection can’t protect your rights. That’s when I decided to become a lawyer. But, if you remember, I got rejected from every law school simply because my Spark was too Dim.”

“Right… It was horrible.” X nodded, as memories from that fateful day resurfaced— it was the first time he’d ever seen Arlo cry.

“But I was determined to prove them wrong, to prove that I was capable of becoming a lawyer. So I Empowered my Spark and destroyed my body… for people I hated with every fiber of my being. And yet, they rejected me again.”

Arlo fell silent and resumed his work, his pale lips pressed into a hard line. Just as Arlo attached the last bandage in place, X— his eyes watering— blurted out, “I should be dying in your place.”

Suddenly, X felt a pair of warm arms wrap around him, as the all-too-familiar bergamot filled his nose. He rested his head onto Arlo’s shoulder and tightly clutched onto his torso, hugging him back— so afraid that Arlo would disappear again and leave a trail of blue flames behind him. X melted into Arlo’s embrace; the gentle calm only broken by choking sobs and frequent sniffles.

Arlo could almost hear the sound of X’s heart shattering into a thousand bloody pieces. They lodged themselves deep within Arlo’s own chest, slicing at his willpower. X could just barely see the doubt cross Arlo’s face, his hard lips and furrowed brows telling all. For the first time in a long time, Arlo could hear questions poking through his carefully crafted path.

“I— I have to go,” he announced, rather briskly, breaking the hug and practically leaping from the floor. He had to get away as soon as possible— for X’s undoing was undoing him too.

Hurt by his abrupt push, X slowly, as if each word was its own sentence, whispered, “You’re not telling me something, Arlo Soven.”

X was met with deafening silence; Arlo didn’t even dare to look into his ebony eyes. Instead, he continued to stare at the front door, while absent-mindedly fidgeting with his watch

But in the silence, X caught wind of Arlo’s lost words.

‘You, Arlo Soven— the perfect logic machine, the boy I’ve known for a dozen years— are scared of me?’

Betrayal sent a sharp pang through his heart— it stung. He felt like reality had just slapped him in the face… or maybe it was just Arlo. Looking up from the frigid kitchen floor, X could almost see a barrier rebuilding before him, golden and translucent. A twin to the real ones Arlo could make with his Spark— and just as unbreakable.

‘Hah, guess we can never be kids again.’

The False Calm Before

Back then, they were thick as thieves. When Arlo wasn’t studying, he was bounding over rooftops with X, searching for the perfect spot to admire the Seoul sunset. And whenever X tried to study (he was a chronic truant), Arlo was there too— pointing out mistakes and flicking his forehead whenever he’d lose focus.

Arlo was even there when X filed to officially change his name. Abandoned on a bitter autumn day, X arrived at the orphanage with no name— so the head of the orphanage, logically, just marked an X over the spaces that were supposed to be his first and last name. It stuck— until a fifteen-year-old Arlo found out and exclaimed, “How is anyone ever going to hire you?!”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with it?”

“First, I’ll talk about what a name really is. Your name is your second face, an identifier but also a necessary accessory. A good name compliments you before you open your mouth, convinces employers that you have a respectable lineage, and—”

“But I like being X!”

‘It’s a singular letter at best, a chicken scratch at worst. He clearly loves it though. But no one will take him seriously.’ Arlo pondered, thinking hard on how he could convince X to change his name.

He paced a bit, his leather loafers clacking against the school’s rooftop. X watched on with curiosity while munching on the banh mi sandwich Arlo had brought for him. To be frank, Arlo always brought him lunch, so this was nothing new.

Stopping abruptly, Arlo pivoted towards X. Eyes alight with a whisper of a smile, Arlo started, “I have an idea: we can change your official name on paper, but you can keep asking everyone to call you X. That way, when you put in job applications, they won’t reject you just because of your name.”

X sputtered, trying not to laugh at Arlo’s enthusiasm over something as trivial as a name. Oftentimes, he felt like Arlo cared more about his future than he did.

“Okay Mr. Businessman!” X smirked, so sure that Arlo would be stunned by his next remark, “If you have all the answers, what should my name be?”

But not a moment passed before Arlo announced proudly, “Yujin. Ahn Yujin, to be precise.”

It was as if he’d been preparing for this moment ever since he’d first laid eyes on X.

Because Arlo absolutely had.

The Storm

Awkwardly, Arlo stumbled towards the dining room table. His unreadable eyes didn’t quite match his hard lips and clenched fists.

The air was taunt as a bowstring. Gaze locked on the front door, he walked briskly, like he was late to some imaginary meeting. Leaving, Arlo was leaving. Far away. Almost at the door knob. Just a breath until—

“Stop!” X commanded, as the same dark, translucent tendrils from the fan ‘meeting’ materialized out of every shadow in the room. They instantly wrapped around his limbs, holding him in place. X could feel Arlo fighting against his grip— albeit in vain. Because if Arlo’s Empowered Spark was a sea, X’s Spark was the whole sky. And X hated that with every fiber of his being. Yet, as a cold sheer once again spread over his pupils, not a shred of guilt was left in him.

“Look at me, Arlo Soven.”

His head didn’t move an inch.

“You’re not leaving me again—” X’s voice cracked, a sob escaping his lips, “until you explain yourself. Why are you pushing me away? Just let me help you—”

“Never.” It wasn’t oceans that met X’s gaze, but cerulean slits.

X gritted his teeth, sorrow freezing over into frustration.

“Let me make this right.”

Silence.

But that wasn’t an answer he was willing to swallow. Again. So, he stormed up to Arlo, so close he could almost taste the smell of sea salt, bergamot, and X’s own blood on his shirt.

The air crackled between them, two wills colliding. A silent war. The ocean pushed against the night. With every tide, it sharpened itself like a weapon. Except the bottomless night stayed resolute, consuming every offensive with ease.

Sweat beaded on Arlo’s brow. The ocean was slipping into the night, its grip loosening and loosening, until only the void, the starless night, was left.

“I always wanted your help, always wanted you on board. Even after you refused my offer, I was already making elaborate plans to get you involved, one way or another,” Arlo stated, sharp and rushed, “that’s why I sent the mob of fans, why I left my door purposefully unlocked… But the moment I saw you, I knew.”

“Knew wh—”

“I knew I couldn’t use you! That’s the real reason why I acted so hostile, bitter, and angry towards you earlier. I just… couldn’t bear to make you a pawn in my sick, dangerous game.”

Pupils wide with shock, X’s skin began to crawl. In the silence that followed, Arlo’s eyes had turned sullen and remorseful, dulling in color.

“I had it all planned out— your role, your persona, your every move— even the other pieces you’d kill.”

Arlo squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, each word was a struggle to utter. Fear had his heart in a chokehold.

“It’s disgusting, I know. You’re free to hate me from now on, free to burn every picture of us, free to tell me to get out of your life.”

Arlo smiled sadly, “I’m not going to be a part of it for much longer anyways. While I’m still going through with my plan, it’s going to be without you. Please accept that as my apology. I can’t give you much more than that… I’m sorry.”

X softened ever so slightly at Arlo’s apology— goodness knows they were as rare as diamonds. He mulled it over in his head as he watched Arlo have a staring contest with the floor. It was intense— his knotted eyebrows, gritted teeth, and fiery gaze said it all. Rage consumed the air around Arlo, crackling like a fire pit.

And X walked right into it.

Instantly, the dark tendrils receded, freeing Arlo. X gently rested a shaky hand on Arlo’s chest. Each heartbeat was the note of a song he could sing in his sleep, a hymn that he hummed on hard days, a tune that took him home.

‘I know this heart,’ X said to himself, ‘I’ve known it for a long time,

and I trust it with everything I know.’

Determination shimmered in X’s eyes, as he locked gazes with Arlo, “Hear me out, but the world needs you.”

Sputtering, Arlo interjected, “What? But you don’t even know—”

“I don’t need to know exactly what you’re going to do, because I know that whatever it is, it’s doing good in the world.”

Arlo raised an eyebrow, confused by his friend’s sudden confidence.

“This makes no logical sense. How can you make such a conclusion without tangible evidence?”

X smirked knowingly, as he remarked, “That’s not true, there’s definitely evidence. You only protect people with your Spark’s barriers. You have always despised this country and the way it discriminates against people with dimmer Sparks. And on top of that…”

As his voice trailing off, X took a deep breath before uttering, “You loved me, even though I didn’t know love and had none to give in return.”

Lifting a gentle hand, X softly cupped Arlo’s cheek. This time, when he stared into his eyes, X didn’t see cogs and clockwork, but dreams and a desire for change.

“You want to turn this country on its head, don’t you?”

Arlo’s lips gently curved upward, a sparkle of light returning to his eyes, “How can I allow the SSA to turn one-hundred, if I’m not going to even turn twenty-five?”

X smiled sadly, sorrowful but so immensely proud. “When will you ever rest?” “In my grave, Yujin.”

X rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Arlo so tightly that even Time struggled to breathe. Gently, he rested his forehead against Arlo’s own, feeling warm breaths wash over his face. Longing to savor the moment, his eyes drifted shut, drinking in the peace.

Meanwhile, Arlo absorbed the scene with his eyes wide open, busy ingraining every detail of X’s faces into his memory.

“No matter how long I live,” X mused aloud, “I’ll never forget you.”

Arlo huffed, “Be honest, X, you can’t even remember where your car keys are—”

“Let me say something sweet for once!” X protested as he buried his face into Arlo’s chest, red with embarrassment.

“I take it back,” X said, muffled but also grinning, “You’re not a nice person!”

What followed sounded like the ringing of a thousand spring bells, a sweet chorus carried by the wind. X looked up in shock.

Arlo was laughing.

The Epilogue

“Welcome to Channel 9 News! I’m your host, Anila Aiko. Today, the High Congress has passed a new bill called the True Equality Act. It will formally criminalize discrimination on the basis of Spark brightness. Going now to our reporter on the scene: Gale Chapman! How are you, Gale?”

On cue, the camera zoomed in on the man in question, the golden buttons on his navy suit shimmering in the midday light.

“I’m good, Anila!”

“So tell us, what would this landmark bill mean for the country?”

“Well, for starters, it’ll completely overhaul South Korea’s long-standing Spark Classification System instituted by the Spark Separation Act. With this bill in place, citizens can no longer be denied educational or employment opportunities on the grounds of having a dim Spark. Many officials are also optimistic that the homicide rate of lower class citizens, which are currently the highest they’ve ever been, will diminish too as more funding is allocated towards the Bureau of Criminal Investigtation’s Low Class department. On top of that…”

‘No longer will blond boys with ocean eyes feel the need to tear themselves apart for their voice to be heard.’

Sunlight poured in from the skylight above, bathing the congressional chamber with warm, golden rays. As the majority of congressmen and congresswomen chattered excitedly on the floor, a certain black hair, ebony-eyed man smiled softly from the wings.

His eyes twinkled as he clutched a honey-yellow, leather bound journal to his chest.

In awe at the sight, he whispered under his breath words he thought he’d never utter:

“Arlo Soven, I love you too.”