He's gone. Gone for good. Not returning. And unintentionally so, dead. Maxciel tried to force back his tears but he failed. Had Xenith been here he'd scold him for being a crybaby. Xenith was dense and more alien than human. Xenith struggled to understand or comprehend human emotions. But in Maxciel's bias mind, that was cute. Maxciel chuckled and tasted the tears that dripped into his mouth. He liked living in his memories, forcing himself to accept them as reality. In his memories Xenith was alive. Even when he'd cast Xenith aside, he was alive.
….
"I'm here to check on the villain I turned in a few days ago, Xenith Vain" Maxciel mumbled embarrassed and ashamed for why he'd really come back. He'd teleported into every cell but he couldn't find Xen anywhere. He wanted to break him out and leave the country together. He'd realized even unaffected by outside forces, he'd still love Xenith. He'd learned, he'd love him no matter what. He'd look past every little flaw every horrible act and every heinous mistake. That was unconditional love. To love and accept someone regardless of anything and everything else. He unconditionally loved Xenith. He bit back a smile as he waited to hear where he'd find the man he so adored. The man he was determined to spend the rest of his life with. Luckily along with his power, Maxciel had everyone's trust so they'd certainly tell him where Xenith had been moved to. He didn't know why he'd expected Xenith to still be in this prison anyways when he's such a high profile villain they'd definitely moved him to a more intensive prison. "Where has he been moved?" Maxciel asked accidentally letting out a dopey smile with his words. He couldn't help but picture Xen's face when he saw him. When he learned he truly loved him too. When he realized he'd come back for him. He bet he'd give him that same genuine smile he gave when he confessed and Maxciel could already feel his heart racing only with the thought of how beautiful that smile is to see. Maybe he'd tear up again. He had such a pretty crying face, the way his cheeks ripened and his eyes glittered, so beautiful. He'd never seen him cry before then and now that incomparable image has been stuck in his head endlessly on replay. The police chief looked at him with confusion as if he'd been living under a rock. They'd known each other since Maxciel's early days of heroism so they were close friends.
"Do you live under a rock? You've only been away a few months and you've already completely stopped watching the news?" The chief said with an incredulous look.
"What are you talking about? What does the news have to do with where Xen…ith has been moved to?" he barely caught himself from accidentally saying Xenith's nickname, it'd become a bit of a habit, if he didn't really think about what he was saying he'd always refer to Xenith as Xen.
"The past few days it's all people online talk about, Xenith was killed by an inmate who claimed his daughter died due to Xenith's actions. There's no need to check on him. We've cremated him already. We've reached contact with his biological mother and she'll be sent his ashes" the chief explained.
Maxciel's face fell in disbelief. He felt his insides churn in pain and regret. He tried his best to force off tears, he couldn't cry over this in front of anyone, to everyone else besides him and Xen…. And now, only him, he hates Xenith. Or perhaps now the proper tense would be hated, he hated Xenith. Xenith only exists in a past tense now. He couldn't hold back tears so he instantly teleported away before anything else could happen or be said. He teleported to the entryway on his house, fell to the floor and cried in a way he'd never cried before. Pure unbridled pain and rage festering inside him. He was angry at the man who killed him, or rather, the men, because in part, though he wasn't the hand dealing the final blow, it was his fault. He killed the man he'd come to unconditionally love. This must be what people called a "gut wrenching pain" he felt like someone was scraping out his insides with a spoon, he felt nauseous, he felt disgusting. He felt his body shaking desperately, violently, he tried to get up and run to the bathroom, he stumbled and fell back to the floor, he puked on the ground, he hadn't eaten anything all day, foamy bile coated the once neat carpet. "Xen, Xen, you're not gone, can't be" he cried desperate to believe his own words. He breathed harshly and and gripped his fingers into the carpet below him as if somehow that would ground him and remind him of his place on earth. He felt so light like he could float away, like he could see his body below him from an outside perspective. He couldn't breathe, god, he couldn't breathe. He let out a strangled and unidentifiable noise and clutched his chest, his face burning a deep red as he heaved breaths in and out, in and out, but it was like none of the oxygen was reaching his lungs at all. Maybe this is what dying feels like, maybe he'd get to see Xenith again. He'd die and wake up to his face, he'd grab his cheeks and kiss him all over, one on the nose, one on the corner of his eye, one on his lips, and one on his cheek, one on his eyebrow and one on his chin, then he'd hold him close and apologize over and over again pathetically as if somehow that'd make up for killing the man he claimed to love for so long. Suddenly as if magically, he felt like he could breathe again. Like Xen's imagine pulled his soul back into his body, untied the knots twisting in his stomach and breathed air into his lungs. Xen was his cure, Xen was the antidote. And though he'd never dare let this though come to his mind, he was both the problem and the solution.
…
He laid in bed staring at the ceiling. It was the only place he felt he could safely look without seeing a shadow on Xen haunting him. Would this be how he spent the rest of his life? Staring at the ceiling because it was the only place his memory of Xen didn't live? He'd spend the rest of his life hating himself like this? Thinking of endless "what-if" scenarios? It had already been a week since he'd learned of Xen's passing. At first he couldn't help himself, constantly stalking news articles and forums discussing Xen's life and death. Then he saw people celebrating. Acting as if his Xen's death was the greatest thing in the world. He wanted to strangle everyone in the forum personally with his own two hands. He got so pissed, at both those people and the lingering blame he felt for himself, that he smashed his phone into the wall beside his bed. The screen shattered and glass shards embedded themselves into the carpet. He didn't bother even cleaning them. He hadn't left his house once this past week much less mustered the effort to clean. But then it hit him, he had pictures of Xenith in that phone, pictures he wouldn't be able to get back, the only human-like pictures of him to ever exist. The only picture of him smiling that even existed was on that phone. The last memories he'd forced his way into, those were on that phone. He left up, he felt stabs of pain shooting through his feet, he could see blood staining the carpet under his feet and grabbed his broken phone and held it into his chest, the hanging shards of glass stabbing into his chest as well. He felt nauseous again. This wouldn't turn on, he couldn't take it in because then there's a chance a snoopy person could see his pictures of Xenith. He screamed. He just needed a way to vent his anger and stress. He'd never felt more distraught then he had this week. He'd never been more of a disorganized mess. He'd never been so hot and cold, so unsure of himself. Was this how Xen was getting his revenge on him for causing his death? Haunting him, destroying him in every little way possible. Once again he just sat there and sobbed, his phone pressed into his chest. He felt dizzy and puked all over the carpet. He'd only been drinking water this week. Once again, it was just bile, white and frothy, it reminded him of making a meringue in a weird way. For some reason he hadn't felt even a little hungry since Xenith died. He tried to force himself to eat but as soon as the food would touch his tongue he'd puke out anything that was in his body. Maybe it was because it was wrong of him to live normally, to eat and drink to his hearts content while Xenith would never get to do any of those again. By now, none of his clothes even fit him anymore, he started wrapping shoelaces around the waist of all his pants so they'd stay up, he'd never lost weight so rapidly before. But then again, he'd never found himself in the unpleasant position of being unable to keep anything in his stomach. The second week after Xen's death, he thought maybe if he surrounded himself with Xenith it'd solve everything, it'd be like he was alive, so he teleported to Xenith's house, and he'd been living in his bed since. The blankets and pillows smelled like him. A particular scent you can only small when you're near Xenith. It felt like he was laying next to Xen when he was in his bed. He'd hug the pillow until it felt warm and human, so he could immerse himself in the nonexistent presence of Xenith. After another week, his scent had gone away, the scent of his cologne mixed with the flare of his skin, it was gone, that worn in scent that felt like Xenith's presence. It smelt like himself. He'd ruined it. The immersion was dead, just like Xen. That thought, it irked him so deeply, he punched a hole through the wall. But then he cooled down and remembered, this was Xen's wall, that was Xen's wall, it belonged to Xen. Wouldn't that upset him if he'd seen it? Wasn't it like destroying a part of the few things left of Xenith? He got down on his knees, face pressed uncomfortably into the wall and he simply cried, he cried so hard he puked and then passed out. After a while he decided there was no point to this, three weeks into a life without Xen and could he even called this a "life"? This wasn't living. He wondered how he'd existed before he met Xen. Everything was fine back then. It was a life without Xen and he'd lived through it perfectly content. Why couldn't he go back to then. Why did that beautiful bastard have to embed himself so deeply into his life that he couldn't even think about the times before Xen without feeling sickened, without feeling like something was disgustingly wrong.