The Infinite Nothing

XIV : the infinite nothing

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Death had always been Tristan's sole form of true escape from a life filled with sorrow.

He couldn't think of anything else so freeing than the end of absolutely everything, anything that promised sweet release and endless sleep better than death. It had to be the perfect void that released them into this time of terror, and the same infinite nothing to welcome them back later, after they did all they were supposed to do; whatever that was.

But now Tristan's cheeks hurt from smiling and his chest was always warm and the night's cold and lonely embrace just didn't cut it anymore. As he watched Ivan leave his apartment, everything in him told him that if he let him go, this new rival of death would leave, too. This new rival that was so much sweeter than anything he could think to find in death.

Suddenly there was something screaming at Tristan to do this one last thing before falling into the infinite nothing.

Tristan caught up with Ivan at the bottom of the stairs Ivan had become so familiar with. Tears were still running down his cheeks, and Tristan reached out to catch a single one before it could stain Ivan's shirt.

"I'm a coward, Ivan. There's another thing dear to me, and out of all of them, it might be the most precious."

"I don't believe you," Ivan whispered, not trusting his voice enough to speak up. Tristan smiled and once again, the entirety of stars in the universe smiled with him.

"But I'm not lying."

And for they both resented the sun and its heat they retreated into the cold embrace of Tristan's apartment, laying on his old mattress with their shoulders touching and hands entwined. They didn't move for there was no need to, and for a long hour they didn't speak, either.

"I never had role models growing up, just people I didn't want to be like," Tristan said quietly after what seemed like an eternity of perfect silence. "And I never succeeded at realizing good, even when it was right in front of me."

Ivan smiled as he tightened his hold on Tristan's hand. "Maybe we're fated to be unhappy."

The boy slightly shook his head. "I don't believe in prophecies or faith."

"Of course you don't."

"It's dumb," Tristan replied, shrugging against Ivan. "If I tell you a supposed prophecy you'll keep looking for certain signs, for it to happen. And by doing so, it eventually will. In the end, you'll just be manifesting a truth that was never yours."

A few moments of silence passed as Ivan thought about his words. "It's just nice to think that there's a path I can follow. That I'm not as lost as I think I am."

"Ivan, no one can know your future because it hasn't been decided yet."

"But of course, my future doesn't matter and neither does yours," Ivan said, rolling his eyes.

"In the grand scheme of things, yes."

"Are you still not tired of being so meaningless?" Ivan sat up with a speed that Tristan's eyes found hard to follow. "You still say we're nothing. And I know I might not be important and have no place in this world because I'm just one single person among seven billion, but to me I matter, and I know I belong because somewhere, to someone, I will make a difference, even if it's just to tell you you're an asshole nihilist."

Tristan smiled for if Ivan knew how much of a difference he had already made, he'd question his purpose just like Tristan had done all these years. Ivan stared and Tristan smiled and then he sat up as well, their hands still entwined.

"I know you do, Ivan," Tristan said quietly, relishing in how the warmth in his chest seemed to spread through the entire room, all because of one single person out of seven billion irrelevant ones. "I could say that name all day. Ivan, Ivan, Ivan."

Ivan shook his head, confused at Tristan's odd state as he drew his hand to his chest. "You'd grow tired of it."

Tristan let go of Ivan's hand just to place his own over where he supposed Ivan's heart. Even now it was beating rapidly, proving that Ivan was life and the illusion of happiness and the dream of everything beautiful and false.

"Never," he promised.

"I have a quote for you."

"Oh?"

Ivan smiled as he placed his own hand over Tristan's. "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

Tristan raised a brow and Ivan chuckled. "Seems oddly familiar."

"It's from Winnie the Pooh."

"Are you serious?" Tristan asked, grinning as he grabbed the fabric of Ivan's shirt underneath his palm. "No wonder life is so good to you if that's what you base your personal philosophy on."

"It's the only philosophy I understand," Ivan replied, feeling his cheeks heat up at their proximity and shared warmth and Tristan's oddly honest smile that seemed just too carefree to be good. "Are you okay, Tristan?"

The taller boy with pierced ears and short hair and eyes so dark they easily replaced the night sky with something much more endless grinned, for he had never before felt more okay. His flat hand was pressed against Ivan's chest, taking in the steady beat of his heart that should never lose its rhythm, not now and not in a hundred years.

Ivan could be tactless and unthankful for the things others would kill for, but his smile brought feeling into a hollow being, whether it was directed at a coffin or Tristan himself.

For Ivan to smile in a surrounding so cold in a family so unloving, was that not most beautiful? Maybe Seneca and Tristan and everyone else who shared their thoughts were wrong, and letting go of everything worldly and embracing death as a certain and beautiful thing was the real illusion of life. Maybe they could only ever depart truly happy after living a life full of joy. A life filled with stars and summer's heat and tears that cut through skin like diamonds.

And when Tristan smiled back at him Ivan didn't know that he was saying goodbye, for a man nothing mattered to had nothing to lose when stepping into the infinite nothing, the grand unknown; the void that was most feared yet accepting him with open arms. Tristan couldn't know if he was right but he held on to what he had believed in all his life: to fear death meant to fear the living; for nothing was more certain to follow life than death, and Tristan was now ready for the cycle to continue.

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