Jibran sat in the window of his room in the Magnetic Field Center, staring dazedly at the setting, blood-red sun. The panorama was like a huge ocean of flames, as the light reflected on the shiny ruins.

   His tablet rested on his lap, he gripped it tightly on the edge. Seraing got this tablet for him after he was whining about how he couldn’t check his emails since he was either in bed or in his wheelchair, and he had no one in the daytime, who could help him get into the computer room. He also didn’t like the idea of showing others what kind of emails he was sending – not as if he had many. To be fair, there was only one person, who still wrote to him, for the sole fact that almost the entire human race was wiped out; there was no one else to write to.

   As the sun sank into the horizon, he could see a part of the city better: all the skyscrapers were gone, the Twin Towers had fallen, the Garden of Eden had been demolished and the residential areas’ faraway buildings were nowhere to be found. Only hills of ruins and some construction sites were visible – they started to rebuild some important facilities. But there were roughly five hundred people only, with the remaining paratroopers from the Underground City Base, who stayed here to help them recover after the huge assault of the monsters.

   Jibran looked at this scenery about a month ago by now. They still couldn’t do much. They were still collecting all the useful resources from the Main City, if there was anything they could recycle or give to the people – mainly clothes, drugs, food… Just some everyday necessities, until they can restart life as a whole.

   Jibran looked down at his tablet, holding his loose glasses on his nose – someone found it after all the bodies and debris was cleared in the main laboratory, but one of the stems was broken. He sighed shallowly, and tried to adjust it in a way that it would not fall off.

   Now that the sun was not piercing into his eyes, the dim light of the screen was more visible and the emails he had opened too. His fingers swept through the “New mail” button, but didn’t touch it just yet.

   It was not easy to write emails with one hand, especially since his left wasn’t his strong hand. But it was definitely easier to type than holding a pen and writing on paper – he wasn’t able to do that at all. Thankfully, it wasn’t needed. But still… he had to type twice as long if he didn’t make any mistakes in his text, and it really made him impatient and desperate. He couldn’t work like this. He was bedridden for two weeks… then the other doctors said he should practice using his left hand and leg for his everyday needs. He got a crutch, but he couldn’t use it alone – he had a little chunk of his right arm, so his armpit was able to rest on the crutch, but he easily lost his grip with it and fell forward. So, there it went the practice of walking.

He couldn’t even take a shower alone.

No, not only that, he couldn’t even take a shit alone.

   There was only one person, who was willing to help him but… he couldn’t be here in the daytime. Since he was one of the few, who didn’t get injured in the Great War, he had to participate in the Main City’s constructions. Jibran wouldn’t even ask him to stay, for he knew, Seraing actually loved to help people, it was just… this way, he was alone all day, without doing anything. His brain wasn’t affected by his wounds, so he would’ve been able to do some mental work at least. But when some scientists came to him, bringing food, or doctors checking his wounds that were miraculously healing very well, with no complications, no infections, no major issues with them… they said, he should be only focusing on resting and recovering, nothing else.

   Even with the wheelchair, he couldn’t go out, because he only had one arm to drive himself, and he wasn’t quite fit either. Once he bumped into a corner in the corridor, fell out and lay there for a couple of hours not being able to sit back, because his chair rolled away from him… After that he stopped going out alone. All his days were spent inside this room, waiting for others to check on him. Like a fucking prison without bars.

   He never thought of this possibility when he was thinking about his own downfall. He always thought he will get infected, turn into a monster and a Judge will shoot him. Or die from a disease, like cancer, because of the radiation. Or simply die when the world dies.

   But to be such a cripple at the peak of his life, after so many failed missions in his job… It really took a toll on his mental health, and he was aware of that. He needed psychological counselling, but there was no one in the profession – their numbers were limited since the last war.

   Jibran licked his lips. It was dry. He forgot he was thirsty a few hours ago. His water bottle had been emptied already, and Seraing hadn’t returned yet. Jibran’s stomach was cramping. He cast a look at the door. Seraing was here in the early mornings and in the late evenings. That dumb boy… was camping outside of Jibran’s room. He was literally living there. Jibran never asked him to protect him or whatever… and it seemed like the Judge wanted to give him space… But who the hell does this?

   People brought stuff for the man to feel more comfortable, and shot weird, blaming looks at Jibran. But it was not like he didn’t want to let Seraing into his room! He did not offer, sure… But he became a villain right away! Even with Seraing’s defence; of course, the young Judge stood up for him, explaining how he was willingly letting Jibran to have privacy.

It pushed him to make a very rough decision.

   At first, in his weak moments… Jibran felt extremely moved by this stupid, pretty-eyelash Judge, who took care of him…

   But at the same time… He felt a sudden, unwanted weight on his chest. It tainted his time with this caring person, and he grew fear, shame, sadness and grief in his heart. He felt resentment towards him, every morning when he brought breakfast for him and every night when he came back from work to take care of him. He never missed to give him a candy every night either. How did he even get them still, after such destruction in the Main City… Jibran had no idea. His heart ached with so much pain, it was unbearable.

   He knew he can’t make this man happy. He would never be able to repay all these things for him. And as time passed, he started to avoid him; he couldn’t bear his kisses, then he couldn’t bear his touches – he wasn’t even able to get physical with him in any regard. He tried to get away from him, and Seraing did stop trying to kiss or touch him more than it was necessary.

   And this really hurt Jibran. Because… his stupid body longed for it. He really-really wanted it. His mind tortured him with dreams when they were doing the touches, the kisses and everything else. But when he woke up, he felt resentment towards his own self. Jibran silently suffered from his reactions.

   He wanted to make it clear for the both of them that he doesn’t want to continue this… something that they had, for both of their sake. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, because deep in his heart he… he wanted it.

   He hopelessly fell in love. And he suffered greatly. These emotions only brought him more pain than happiness, and he knew it was only going to get worse over time.

But… not for long. This should be the last day of this suffering.

   Not long after the war ended, he got an announcement from the Highland Research Institute, that they were offering a home for those, who couldn’t work anymore, in exchange for being experimented on – in the most humane ways possible – to make the world more liveable for others.

   This was like a glimmering hope in the darkness for Jibran. Not only he always wanted to meet with Pauli Jones but he really felt like if he doesn’t go, he would never recover from his depression. If this is the only thing he can do as a crippled person, at least, he wanted to be useful.

   Of course, he applied right away as he heard about it, and soon enough he got a heart-warming response from Pauli Jones himself, who told him that his spot was already secured, and he was excited to see him in person finally. It really brought tears to his eyes.

Yet…

As the day of the leaving approached, he started to feel… resistance.

The departure will be tomorrow.

   He knew that probably the depression was the reason why he felt that resistance against going. And maybe his selfishness too. In fact, everything was fine in his head, until Seraing was with him. Or when he was thinking about him. Regardless of his decision about ending their “relationship”, his heart couldn’t let him move forward. It wasn’t right. Seraing deserved to be free from the responsibility of having a disabled partner, who cannot even let him into his bed. But he felt increasing pain as he thought about leaving the Judge here.

   Jibran continuously tapped on the tablet before it locked the screen. Its light had become stronger, as the outside world and his room grew darker. The aurora appeared above the sky, but the city lights were still not completely recovered. Jibran also did not switch the table lamp he had beside his bed.

   The messages of Pauli Jones were right in front of him. Mr Pauli kept being in contact with him throughout this month. He was the reason, Jibran knew about Lu Feng as well. And the fate of An Zhe – Jibran couldn’t imagine what it was like for the Arbiter to see the little mushroom walking into some destructive weapon and die, until he tried to think about it with Seraing. He started to feel very sick, and he got frightened, that he may have a heart attack – he was alone at that time of the day. From that point, he tried to avoid thinking about the death of anyone.

   Pauli Jones was the only one, who could’ve given him advice, but Jibran procrastinated writing to him about his doubts until now. He knew he should’ve done it, but he hoped, by the time this moment arrives, he will be more certain of his own feelings. Instead, he was more confused.

   Jibran adjusted his glasses again, took a deep breath, and with trembling fingers, started to type a reply; he didn’t plan to include the previous topic (it was a conversation about the Simpson cage, which really interested Jibran), instead he started a new one. But as soon as he opened the white, blank textbox, he stopped.

   For he was writing so slowly, he couldn’t make up stupid excuses and sentences. And time was particularly important in a conversation like this. Sadly, the emails needed a few minutes to arrive, and if the person at the other end was not sitting in front of the computer, the reply didn’t come. Mr Pauli usually answered within an hour, but more often in the evening, so Jibran was waiting for this sunset to come.

   “Mr Pauli,

I’m not sure if I can or should come to the Institute.”

   He had to keep it short, without any courtesy or formality. Then, he looked out of the window again, following the paths of the lights around the Magnetic Field Center. They kept everyone here, since this was the only building with usable rooms: they restored the electricity and the water supplies here at first. Apart from this building’s lights, he could only see the lamps following the main road that led to the Outer City and some of the construction sites’ reflectors, since the work didn’t stop just because the sun had settled. They had to make sure the city was liveable in winter.

   Jibran was startled when a quiet “ting” sound came from his tablet. Looking down he saw the new message from Mr Pauli.

   “Child,

What happened? Are you unable to fly? Have your wounds gotten worse? Have you gotten new wounds? Your place is secured, no matter what – if you don’t come now, you can come any time later. Is there something bothering you? You will be welcomed here, I can assure you. Rum is especially excited; he keeps talking about you for days by now. He may have a crush on you.
(I’m just joking.)”

   Jibran’s eyes stung a little bit, and he took a deep breath. Mr Pauli always acted this way; he cared for Jibran’s situation and feelings first, not about the base or any formal information. He never hesitated to make him feel better in himself and he often joked or tried to lift the mood, as if he noticed that Jibran had a bad mood. These Arbiters were scary at times.

   “I have doubts… I’m not sure if I can leave this place…” Jibran found himself in a tight situation: he didn’t know how to write about his love life or if it was appropriate. He suddenly realised, that maybe Mr Pauli doesn’t want to get involved in his inner dramas. “It’s because of a person.” He added this line, without many more words, knowing the other scientist was waiting for his answer. Maybe he wants to go to bed… maybe Jibran was wrong to write to him this time of the day.

   He looked at the time: it was just 8 pm. Maybe not that late… however… Seraing still hadn’t come yet. Jibran looked out the window: he saw people going around the building, soldiers, scientists, and a very few civilians, mostly they carried boxes or went to work on something. Seraing was probably kept at a construction site or had a meeting. He was the leader of the remaining Trial Court now – not the Arbiter, since they were not really Judges anymore either, for the reason there was no need for their work – he had to spend time with his colleagues and the military. Jibran knew all of this. But being alone in this room all day, not being able to contact with others as much as he was used to… he was annoyed by Seraing’s absence.

Yes. He became that pitiful. He knew he was pitiful.

Mr Pauli’s answer was faster this time.

   “I see. I can make some changes to the reservations for you if that person would like to come with you. We won’t turn down anyone. He – or she – will be welcomed here too. Is that not possible?”

Jibran bit his lips. Seraing had never made any commentaries on this trip.

A few days ago, he packed Jibran’s clothes and some items he had.

Seraing never asked him not to leave either.

   And… absolutely not rightfully, but this also caused him pain and disappointment. Because he thought… deeply, somewhere in his soul… after all this care and attention the young Judge had given him, Jibran expected him to be sad or upset that he applied to this opportunity, especially without consulting it with him. It was an impulsive act on Jibran’s part, without much thinking, and he knew he shouldn’t have done that, but Seraing…

   “He likes the base. He has responsibilities. He is appointed to be a Colonel now. He stepped into Lu Feng’s spot. I think he likes that he helps people. I can’t take away that from him. And he didn’t seem to be interested in this trip.”

   Jibran wanted to write “he is the Colonel now”, but he couldn’t, and that was another worry of his.

   It was not long ago when Seraing had told him, that the military had rearranged their remaining members into new groups. They were not a true military, and titles meant nothing in the current situation. But they wanted to keep the appreciation towards their soldiers with these ranks. The last Major General became General; the last Vice Admiral got the title of Admiral… and the leader of the Trial Court got the opportunity to be Colonel again. Jibran felt proud of Seraing, right until that moment, when he said, he turned down the nomination.

   Jibran blamed himself. He was probably overthinking it, and it might have had nothing to do with Seraing’s decision. But at the same, time he felt like Seraing didn’t accept it for the sole reason that Jibran was with him. Because… being a Colonel did mean, he would have some other duties, and then he wouldn’t be able to come back here every single day. And it was a natural-sounding reason. If he needed to care for Jibran, how could Seraing do his job? Or if he was a Colonel, he needed an equally good partner at his side, who wouldn’t drag him down. Another Colonel maybe or a Lieutenant. Or… the Admiral. He noticed how many times the Admiral wanted Seraing to be on their meetings, even after work.

Maybe Seraing was with him right now too…

   His stomach started to cramp again and his remaining limbs had shaken. From this uncomfortable feeling of fear, the only thing that saved him in this shitty, dark room was Mr Pauli’s message.

   “I’m so sorry, child. If that is the case, and you want to be at his side, I won’t pressure you to come here. As I said above, you can come at any time, if you change your mind, there will always be a room for you.”

   Jibran immediately started to reply, because nowadays, any kind of rejection seemed too much for him to handle. He was overwhelmed.

   “But I don’t feel useful here. I sit in my room all day, and I can’t do anything. The Institute is my last hope to rebuild my pride as a scientist… your offer was the only one that kept me in my right mind… you and this person… I don’t know what to do, Mr Pauli.”

   Jibran closed his eyes, and reminded himself of the breathing technique. Actually, this was taught to him by Seraing as well. Not as if it was easy to implement when he was about to panic, but breathing really did help when he felt the tension building up in his chest. At least he could stay sane a little bit longer. Now, he tilted his head back, and took some trembling, deep breaths through his nose, and directed the air towards his stomach, rather than his chest. As he concentrated on this for a couple of minutes, he started to calm down. It was tiring.

   He saw the new message, but he felt cold. He wanted to be in his bed, despite how much he hated it. At least it was warm. Sitting all day really turned his toes into ice cubes, so first he decided to go to bed. It was not too far away from him, but his left side felt painful after he tried to move his chair with one hand. Getting up was also hard: he grabbed the tall bed’s mattress and leaned on it, crawling up on it, growling and moaning awkwardly. Of course, he lost his idiotic glasses in the process! Damn it, Seraing, where are you already…? Rubbing and moving around so much made his chunks rankle with dull pain. His limbs were still quite sensitive under the thin bandage and his loose dress.

   It took him several minutes to make himself somewhat comfortable, sinking into the bed and covering himself up with his quilt, before reading the next message.

   “I can’t make the decision for you… but… if you don’t mind listening to this old man’s words, I can lend some of my thoughts about you.

   I remember our conversations from the past years. From the day I talked to you, I always imagined someone, who is restless to find all the solutions to the world’s problems, who is willing to put his life on the line for his work, and who loves his life and job. You reminded me of myself a little bit when I was younger. Just my interpretation, of course.

   However, in the past month, I felt like I was writing with a different person. And it’s not your fault. Judging by your experiences at the war, it’s understandable, that you feel down and lost.

   You’ve never mentioned this person in any of your emails, and I don’t think I ever felt like you have someone there. Now, I’m not trying to imply anything with this. You know your relationship and your feelings towards him, and it would be the dumbest idea if I were to try to conclude from the little tidbits you said to me now. I’m not doing that. But I can say one thing: you are depressed, even if he is there with you, and that means that you still need some changes in your life.

   If you can find that change in your current place, I will be more than happy to accept that you will stay there.

   But if you can’t, you really have to reconsider what is more important to you: your future well-being or that person.

   And if you don’t want to pay attention to your own future, think about this: if you are not going to be alright, would that make him happy? If you continue to be depressed, would that not affect your relationship? Would he not blame himself, if he cannot make you feel better?

You are allowed to choose anything. Just please, promise me that you measure these things from the perspective of your future. If you can’t find your peace within the Northern Base, you really should come here.

   Have you asked him about these things? It might be a good idea to do.

   But the final say should be yours and yours only.

   Please, choose what you won’t regret doing.

   I will always support your decisions, have no fear about that.”

   Jibran had reread all the lines multiple times, and didn’t know what to answer. He never asked Seraing about this, and it seemed like Seraing didn’t think, it needed to be discussed. Jibran was still grateful for Mr Pauli for his truthful reply. That made him feel somewhat better.

   At some point, still thinking of his own answer, Jibran started to slip into a dream, unrelated things had flooded his mind, old memories or never-happened scenes; then before he realised, he completely shut down.

   He felt like he was sleeping wide awake and he felt his dreams very vividly as well, as if they were happening with him in reality – he somewhat knew he was dreaming, at some points of the dream, but not always; his focus got carried away a lot.

   And then, because life was so cruel, there was a part of his dream that he had suppressed in the last month to think about.

   He had his right leg and arm now. Seraing’s hands were sliding on him feverishly; Jibran’s entire body started to shiver. He wanted this so much, he wanted to cry and beg for more. He never saw Seraing completely naked and this time was no different: Seraing hugged him from behind. But… he was naked… and he was aroused just as much as Jibran. Feeling that hard, hot, wet and velvety penis pressing on his buttcheeks was so satisfying.

   There was nothing unnatural about it when Seraing slipped into his body. All Jibran could feel was sheer pleasure as his sweet spot was touched. The man pushed him to the bed, onto his knees and elbows, his legs in a widespread, his ass sticking upwards, his face pressing into the pillow… And Seraing bent over him, kissing his shoulders and spine, while he was thrusting in deeper and deeper. Jibran didn’t feel shame or embarrassment for wanting him this way, even though he never thought, he would like how he completely filled him out, stretched him and made his legs weak. It didn’t matter to him, which way they had sex, he just wanted Seraing.

   Before his body got its relief he fell out of the dream. For a moment he was staring at the ceiling, still thinking about Seraing and shaking in his whole body by the lust and dissatisfaction.

Reality then washed over him with its cold cruelty: he wanted to touch himself.

With his right hand.

   It was a spontaneous movement… or it would have been. But there was nothing he could’ve moved at that side of his body.

   Jibran froze, and icy disappointment made his body cool down all at once, as all of his worries and issues had come back. The reason, why he couldn’t let Seraing do the things with him that he dreamed of… his own appearance, lack of opportunities for moving… or even touching… hugging… for the gods’ sake, he couldn’t even jerk it off.

He tried with his left hand before, but it was unimaginably uncomfortable.

Jibran silently laughed into the cold air.

   Brilliant. Simply brilliant. Back in the day, when he was young and they first experienced love and sexuality, they had some talk with the other boys, about how the Outer City’s black market offered the lowest living situations for cast-out people. They jokingly talked about how they were at least good for something: that was the place where they got their porn magazines from. At that time, Jibran was just an ignorant kid, and later… later, he realised, that even without joking, that place was the last resort for someone, who was not worthy of anything else, just using their body to make a living. It felt rather sad to him, but then he never had to think about it anymore.

   Now… Jibran guessed this was the infamous “karma” that some people had mentioned. Or God’s – or the gods’ – punishment for his ignorance?

   If this would’ve happened to him a few years ago, he wouldn’t even be able to make a living out of his body. What kind of sick person would hire him, right? He would be cast out from the lowest part of the base and would not have any chance, other than go out to the wilderness and… die.

   At least, this time around, he wasn’t the only one useless, and the base was not even that safe anyway. Everyone was at the lowest level right now.

   His eyes stung, so he quickly shut them. He didn’t want to cry and sink into his self-pity. His mind was full of them already. It was so easy to focus on them, and so hard to focus on something else. As a doctor, he was aware of how unhealthy his whole situation was, so he tried his hardest in his best moments not to fall into that pit.

   He tried the breathing technique again, staring at the ceiling, following the light, dim, green ribbons flowing on it – because he forgot to close the curtains, the aurora peeped inside, and it seemed like the beach of the ocean; the waves were washing over his view and then drawing back. After a few minutes, he felt a little bit calmer.

   His member was still somewhat swollen, but the rest of his body had cooled down, especially since he was covered with his own sweat by that steamy dream. The faint pulsation and discomfort in his underwear made him whimper. He tried to rearrange his parts there, but the stretchy fabric was still rubbing it, it was oversensitive – even his own touch caused him to shiver and made it more aroused.

   Suddenly the room’s temperature seemed hot. It wasn’t too comfortable, having the heavy quilt on top of him. He should’ve taken a bath, though. If “someone” would’ve come to help him… Hah… Is he still with someone else?

   Jibran’s energy was suddenly boosted, and he decided that he doesn’t care anymore. Tomorrow is the day when he leaves, and arriving at the Institute in such a miserable state was unacceptable. He was maybe dirty-minded and not the best person in the world, but if anything, he never neglected hygiene; always kept himself clean… he cannot be this awful. At least he can try to save his last remaining fragments of pride. 

   He forgot to take off his glasses before sleeping, so he adjusted them again, and sat up with a swift move, kicking his quilt to the corner of his bed. Thank God, he did have a bathroom attached to his room – it would’ve been impossible for him to go to a public bathroom – however, it didn’t really support wheelchair people… It was basically just a two square meters room, with a toilet, a sink and on a one square meter, there was the shower. It was separated with a low border from the rest of the bathroom, but it wasn’t low enough for his chair to bump over it.

   Jibran clenched his teeth. It was only a few meters away from him. The crutch was still beside his bed. If he can’t make at least a few steps with it… With his right thigh, he could move his body slightly, keeping his balance in sitting, so he made it to the edge of the bed flawlessly. He felt awkward happiness over it.

   And his happiness disappeared right in the next moment, as he wanted to stand up to reach out for his crutch.

   He lost balance, forgetting to place his centre of gravity on his left leg. Then… he also forgot once again, that he doesn’t have a right arm to grab the bed with it before he falls. There was a fraction of a second to realise all of this, before his body succumbed to gravity and fell to the ground. The air was stuck in his chest, and he was barely able to put his left hand under his head before he hit the floor.

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