(It’s a peculiar stance,
It’s me reaching for the olive branch.)

A thin dusky veil lays over, dashed with bright golden streaks. Away from the lingering light, in the shy depths of the horizon, there's countless weak flickers resembling fine gemstones. The air's freeing, comforting on any exposed skin. The traffic's sparse, and the walk from the bus stop onwards appears to be peaceful.

It's starting to get dark a bit earlier now, the street lights in their neighbourhood are lighting up one by one. As Olive would arrive on Blackbelly Street, the lights hanging above would just warm up. He sighs once found at the block's entrance. There's no more letters hanging out of the mailboxes. The area around the front doors is neat, it's very likely that a resident picked up all the storm’s casualties - all the fallen leaves and broken branches, earlier in the day.

The blisters on his hands from all the manual labour have mostly healed. Anthos fishes for his pair of keys from his pockets. In his head, he counts the amount of times he gets to use them. This is the eighth time. They get used twice in each day. Thus, it’s his fourth day of unrestrained access. ...Four weeks since moving in. Four white petals on his lower back. Four black earrings. The fourth floor. Flat forty four. ...He stops thinking about quartets.

He enters the apartment with both relief and caution. It’s well aired. He's not sure what to expect. The two flatmates had to spend the day separately, whether the meltdown happened or not.

Olive had finished his last day at Kelp Dome. Before his final clock out, he used part of his evening shift on a commemorative, solitary walk through the crammed, countless rows of crops and sprouts. When his supervisor had come over to confirm his leave, he went through the bureaucracy in a finger's snap. More papers and ballpoint pens. He handed over his uniform and thanked the supervisor for their time. It was quick and surreal, so much so that he could only speak in monosyllabic responses throughout. Typical.

Yes. No. Yes. Sure. Right. ...Right. All done? Already?

...Enjoy your weekend.

He could've expressed his appreciation for the experience in a more eloquent manner, however, something more important he should've done instead was extending his stay in the greenhouse. His initial plan silently fell apart in the morning. It was implied that Olive would keep working to compensate for any rent that was basically thrown out of the window. And yet, it wouldn't have seemed right to discuss this sort of thing while concealing swollen, bloodshot eyes and a hoarsened voice. Something unknown to his mind, though alive in his heart, had wanted to get out of there, as soon as the ties he had to his workplace have ceased to exist.

His off-white shoes are left behind on the dusty doormat. Olive makes a beeline from the apartment’s door to the burgundy curtains. While pulling them away, he notices that a faint tobacco scent has seeped through them. So much for keeping them fresh...

The golden light gets brushed over his fretful face. The familiar balcony is now a place that bears a heavy emotional baggage. And there, as they often do, they meet.

It's no happenstance. Rodi's leaning over the balustrade with a forlorn gaze over the city. Surely, he’s been stuck in this position for a few hours, by the uncharacteristically patient attitude he’s suggesting. He’s been waiting for this. His favourite slouchy tank top puts the bruises Olive had learned about yesterday on full display. He quickly discovers that the same kind of bruise is peppered all around Rodi's various joints, especially around his knees. They look rather minor compared to how they've felt under his thumb, though they'd still take some days to fade away. They attest how Rodi’s recklessness ends up roughing him up every time, and dancing’s no exception to the fact.

The golden dash of light gets wiped off with a step forwards. Anthos nests his forearms over the balcony's edge, at a reserved distance from Isandro, making sure not to bother him. Although there's no reaction, something tells him Isandro appreciates his approach, from the subtle way he shifts his weight.

Differences are already visible. No greetings. They won’t even do their mundane ritual of lighting each other’s cigarettes. They value their quiet without the nerve numbing nicotine, as there’s enough background hum to fill it in and distract their minds. For a moment, this is enough for them, the two men look over the modest view, assured by each other's presences. They concentrate on the soft soundscape: the surrounding palm fronds and leaves rustle from the marine breeze. A distant whirr from the airplanes roaming above sounds at regular intervals. Cars pass their street in waves determined by a nearby intersection's traffic lights. However, the trouble with staying quiet is that the wails and sobs from earlier will start to echo through their minds, their stares into nothingness will grow more stern, and the rustling fronds can’t help anymore.

It feels too strange. Where to go from here? They’d rather shove what happened under the rug and keep rolling along with their lives, but they’re still feeling those intense moments reverb when they're looking for a nonverbal trace of reassurance. The side gazes are constantly alternating, never letting them clash. Nobody wants to settle the terms first. This whole time, Olive has been obsessively brushing his two tuffs of hair flat against his head, which stubbornly droop over his brows. His tongue feels tied. He knows that as soon as he opens his mouth, his voice will crack and scratch whatever he’d say. Thus, he will break the ice with a statement that can be wasted to the ungraceful crack.

"Today was my last day in the Dome. I handed my keycard over."

Isandro doesn't immediately respond, though he acknowledges the fact with a small dip of his head. He seems neutral about it, but he's also good at hiding the way he frets. On a closer look, his hands keep pulling on each and every finger. He eventually speaks in a tone lower than usual, steadier than Olive’s.

”Will you still move out?"

It doesn't take much of a thought to answer. "I don't know." However, just now, Anthos rediscovers the pressure in his chest. It has been there for longer than he would've guessed, the origin of all his pangs. Holding in wouldn't be worth it, there's not much to lose at this point. Olive attempts to whisper his frustrations away, as honest as he could be. "I don't want to."

There's even less noise. Not even a rustle. The blunt remark didn't really help, Olive senses Rodi’s dry swallow. Besides, the pain’s still there, he's feeling even more aware of it, right in the middle of his chest. A bull in a china shop, and a clumsy one that is. He should’ve kept that thought for himself. It might've been for the best to let things fizzle out. He feels like burying his squid-self in the ground. He never changes. He's doing the same sort of mistakes he had also done with June. He has always said the wrong, selfish thing in the most delicate moments. However, as his hands get ready to pathetically take his forehead, he notices Rodi's unassuming gaze laid upon him.

He freezes. No longer pretending to be looking straight ahead, no longer feeling unworthy of the other’s look, Olive lets his line of sight intersect with Rodi’s. Bizarrely, he can see a reflection of himself. The two tell the same emotions with their eyes. Their eyes are worn, apprehensive yet trusting. Blindly trusting. They put trust in one another, on no guarantees whatsoever. This mutual trust is unexplainable, it has been punched down to the ground, yet it still stands up to the test.

The crimson eyes are as big as the full moon that’s about to emerge. “What makes you stay?” It didn’t sound like a question, but more as a statement of wonder.

He's not staying for roof above his head anymore, that's something they both already know.

He simply shrugs. Neither does he know his exact motives. Neither can he decipher his mess of feelings. He went through a very wide spectrum of emotions with Rodi, yet that might as well be the reason why. He didn’t have this sort of luxury with anyone else besides June, and definitely not at this level. He does put some more effort into crafting a response, for the question has left him even more thoughtful than before.

Rodi interrupts.

“You could’ve ditched it as it got worse.”

“I...” The sentence awkwardly cuts off, even the mere suggestion to jump boat appals Olive.

“All the men I’ve been with did. I don’t get why you didn’t just-...” Neither would Rodi want to finish the idea anymore.

The green eyebrows furrow. “I feel like... I’ve seen you at your best, and at your worst, and every in-between. We didn’t live together for long, but this made the time much more significant. I guess- I don’t think your previous dates understood who they had in front of them. For what it’s worth, I can’t blame them. It was fucking hard for me, it still is at times, but I strive to understand you,” Olive gains some colour back in his cheeks. “I understand myself through you. When I learn something about you, I learn something about myself as well.” He spoke with only a bit more vehemence, though he gets a sudden shortness of breath. He inhales and reiterates: "If you let me stay, I will stay."

This devotion makes even the boldest of figures turn shy. The other inkling smiles distantly, peering to the ground, though his fretting hands haven’t stopped revealing a tense soul.

“Well... I don’t think I deserve you staying.”

"Don’t say that,” Olive immediately bristles. “You gave me a shoulder to lean on. I’d wish to pay you back for all you’ve done for me.”

“Pay me back? If I treated some guy like I treated you, he wouldn't know how to fucking run away faster.”

“Ah, come on, don’t make me think I should’ve ran,” he snorts for himself.

"No kidding! Darling, you should've ran the second this rando invited you to his house," the corners of Isandro's mouth raised into a lopsided, though playful grin amidst his wry chuckles.

The tension from his neck fades away. Anthos is finally putting his pearly whites on show. “Nah, you didn't seem that suspect. I can tell people's true intentions, I’ve done that since the beginning with you. Everyone's an open book when it comes to what they want."

"You’re calling me an open book? You go pouty over food.”

He humorously shushes him down. "I don't exclude myself from my own rules..."

The wrinkles around their eyes used to denote their tiredness, but they're now forming around their laughs. In the brief lighthearted moment they've created, the distance between them naturally closes, they shuffle as their postures relax. It seems it was alright to stay closer from the start. Would a little closer be alright? Olive leans onto his flatmate’s shoulder. Rodi instinctively presses back from his side, with a bit more force. Olive's shoulder is still sore from slamming into a massive door, nonetheless, he doesn't notice the pins and needles in it, simply because he gets washed over with pure relief. Though, they're still away from being on the same page.

With his guard down, the pomegranate inkling seems even more restless. His involuntary reactions aren't held in check anymore. He's forcing his hands in fists, neurotically going over the pointy knuckles in multiple passes. The humour he has just exerted was to deflect certain statements. Anthos had already learned this recurring pattern with Isandro: he loves brushing off uncomfortable conversational points with backhanded jokes.

To convince him of his worth with more than words, Olive takes and squeezes his lover's clenched fist into his hands. It takes a moment before his fist unclenches under the hold. The fingers softly twist and intertwine, forming a light weave between the two. Rodi keeps watching how Olive mindlessly interlaces fingers with his. An endearing thought arises, he notices how Olive has tanned quicker than him. They look at the hands, they look at themselves, they couldn’t quite realise the full implications of all of their choices, and yet they’re clinging on whatever they’ve built.

We're still here. The botanist puts in perspective how stressed and suffering he was before, and how grateful he is that what had to happen has passed, and for them to still be able to go back to their usual ways.

In a lower tone, Anthos coos. “Oh, you’ve got me worried sick. Gone with no signs of life, even for a few days...”

“Yeah," he doesn't sound proud. "I'm sorry you had to worry. You don't have to understand this one as well, but I had to dissolve in the crowds. It's fine. I was fine. Not amazing,” he half-jokes, “but fine enough to do some first steps towards reopening a bar.”

The other remembers how terse Rodi was when he admitted to taking ownership of Beryl’s old business. It’s a really bold move on his flatmate’s part. “It’s a lot, isn’t it. And rather early...”

“I’m still figuring it out, seeing what sticks and what sucks. I thought stripping would be one of those things, but I’m so fickle that I feel like I’ll never figure it out. I’m always back to ground one. And... I’m hoping that if I start my own business, I won’t drop it as quickly. I'll invest time, sweat and money, just to make sure I won't want to let go of it anytime soon. It's a lot, honey, but I realised that hanging onto something, just one thing is enough to give me a direction,” he trails his vision into the void again. “I need to stop ruining every good thing... I’ve told you, but I don’t think you remember, that when you started living with me, a little light started flickering at the end of the tunnel. It's a shitty, syrupy analogy, but I don't have any other guiding light. I have nothing else to hang on in this world. You're my closest thing to such a thing, and woe behold, I'm a jackass."

The confessions soften Olive on the inside, though the last part makes his outside stiffen. It's undeniable, the red inkling has had his share of mistakes. But Olive never likes being put up on a pedestal, despite what his bubble-wrapped ego might suggest. This guiding light is very misguided. "I've scared you. And you got so scared, that you scared me," he murmurs.

Rodi looked about to bark his contradictions, however, he contains himself and briefly jolts. The moment he understands the meaning behind the words is discernible. The sharp features on his face become bleaker all of a sudden. "If you knew so much about my intentions, you should've known I wasn't ready to give in."

As if he was ready to place his entire heart on a platter from day one. The countless times Olive had told himself not to fall in love were telling otherwise. For god's sake, he was just out of a failed relationship.

"I doubt we were both ever ready to give in," Olive groans.

Giving in - the ultimate sign of weakness in their eyes. Everyone's got some sort of expectations for their "giving in" moment, but they're not aware of what it really is. The context, the scenery, the affection has nothing to do with it. It catches you off guard, the sudden realisation of a dependence, one that’s completely irreversible without some pain. Theirs was a mess, regardless of the expectations they could've had. That moment was the start of a dependence that Olive wished to grow out of, and Rodi feared to dip into.

The green-inked man thinks out loud. "I've learned one big thing about me recently, and that is I need someone constantly with me to feel like I actually exist.”

"And? Do you like it like that?"

"Erm..." he blinks at the brazen question. "At first, I thought I was just immature. But the more I think of it, I'm not sure how else I would be happy. We need companionship, and sharing, it's in our nature."

"No shit," Isandro rasped. Might've rubbed him wrong. He's not in nature's favour. "Is that the only way to keep going? Good luck when you're still alone, even surrounded by all the people in the world. With all the chatting, drinking, fucking, all these lovely things to share, it won't be enough."

"That's a bit cynical." Olive winces, also because the other's dark fingernails are poking through his skin. The opposite of subtle, his fingers squirm in the tight hold. Rodi becomes self-conscious and stops digging the sharp points in. Back to the relaxed hold.

A soft grunt sounds from the shorter figure. "I'll be happy for a little while and it'll fade off. I'll be basing my well being on something outside of my control. I can't stay happy knowing that I always need that missing piece. My vices won’t save me. My dry spells are miserable. I can walk off with wads of cash in a night, and it won’t make me happier. Look, I won't find everlasting happiness in you, or anyone for that matter. I would keep living through others. At this rate, I won't learn how to be happy on my own."

"Ah..." Olive assures he's been listening, he's been frozen while making sense of his partner's headspace. "I get where you're coming from." Under his breath, he slips - I hope. "I never saw it like this. It wasn't an issue for me, I don't think it was. I doubt that it's about missing something... It's about becoming more than I usually am. It's okay not to see love as the ultimate goal, but for me, it is, and I should've let you know. Nothing will make me happier than loving someone."

"Don't get me wrong, it's one of the sweetest things in life. I'm really happy I can have you like this," Rodi even slightly raises his right hand in his gesture, still glued to Olive's left hand. "But, this is a slippery slope. I shouldn't base all my happiness on someone else. You shouldn't either. There’s always the chance either of us will walk away from this, like I nearly did with you. None of us should become trainwrecks just because of that.”

It’s rough, he's the biggest practiser of that mistake, Anthos can only wistfully nod, half-agree and swallow. Rodi’s thoughts are unpleasant though truthful. It doesn’t help that there’s absolutely no movement in their surroundings anymore, as the wind eerily stopped blowing.

The green eyes begin to glisten, yet they brave through. “It's still part of the sacrifice. If you grow on someone, bits of what you've grown will be ripped apart when it's over. It gives it an even bigger meaning, doesn't it..." His voice sways with his feelings. "I know it'll hurt like a bitch, and I'd still do it. I'll take it for what we could gain. It can be as bad as it can be, and I'd find our time together to be more valuable than the suffering I might go through.“

They go quiet again.

With a deep sigh, Isandro clutches his chest with his free hand. "At least we've seen the damage." Olive can feel a pulse speeding under his palm, it seems that Rodi’s also struggling with locking in an outburst. “Now I know what scared me, Olive. I'll know for the future. But, I'll need you to promise this."

The seconds dilate. They've turned to talk eye-to-eye. It's just their voices and their heartbeats now.

"Promise me, anything that might happen... Promise me that if that time ever comes, you’ll manage to be happy without me.”

It's a difficult thing to wish, and in turn to promise. It's probably impossible, knowing him.

Yet, gentle as always, Anthos carefully responds.

“All the love we’ll get to share while we have the chance, it’ll help me find peace on my own. I hope the same will go for you.” In a mild hush, squeezing Rodi’s hand for strength, Olive closes the pact. “I promise. Promise me too.”

The air is put in motion once more. And, right after, the pomegranate inkling raises Olive’s hand to his lips. It stays there. A steady stream of tears begins to run over the back of the hand. Rodi eagerly nods into it. He manages to choke on a sob before getting to reply.

“Thank you...!” Rodi attempts to speak, though he’s better off whispering. At last, he’s at a loss for words. The only thing he would be still able to say, despite his held breath, is “I love you”.

These words. Oh, how much he yearned for them.

Warm fondness overwhelms Olive, and he wholeheartedly welcomes it. His heart races even faster. It’s the first time he hears that phrase in that unique voice, with no frills or pet names added along. Their love can be named, it's no longer left to guesswork. This is a confession in its purest form, it’s the moment that truly binds them.

They're giving in over and over again, incessantly, willingly and bravely.

The hand Rodi cries on turns to cups his cheek, in the most tender manner. The thumb runs over the delicate skin, the strong jawline. Anthos can’t help but tilt his lover’s head and come the closest he's able to, to kiss his smiling, trembling lips. Slowly but surely, as his philosophy is. He is giving his lover's breath back. For every kiss, there’s a tear slipping in between their lips, and Olive will happily kiss away any of them.

On the final one, as he grows calmer, Rodi gives a muted giggle and runs a hand over his tentacles and neatens them down, as if to say “I’m fine now”. Following the cue, Olive lets his hands trail down on the shoulders. With his eyes going for the green ones, Isandro asks a simple, bittersweet question, reminiscent of their bewildering beginnings.

“Will you keep walking alongside me?”

And Anthos still hasn’t found a way to describe this curious desire.

“Yes, I will.”