Dallas | Boatswain | M: Flux, Shai, Javalasii (indir: Vasilios),
and
Javalasii | Chaperone
~
As soon as Java pushed off the ground, Dallas tightened his grip on her thick fur, threading his fingers through her mane like it might ground him. Not because he was nervous about flying—he’d done this more times than he could count. No, this was a different kind of nerves. A Flux-shaped kind of nerves.
Flux was right behind him. Sitting so close that Dallas could feel the faintest shifts of his weight, the brush of his coat, the goddamn warmth of him against his back. It was the kind of thing that would have been normal in any other situation, just two guys sharing a ride, but Dallas’ brain had latched onto it like a starvbed dog and refused to let go. He could already feel the heat creeping up his neck, burning the tips of his ears.
Don’t think about it, he told himself, but of course, that only made it worse.
It wasn’t just the proximity; it was Flux. Flux, who had thrown himself up onto Java like it was nothing, who had that damn grin that made Dallas’ stomach do things he didn’t like thinking about. Flux, who didn’t hesitate to be a little shit, who had called him Toffie in front of Shai like he was testing how much he could get away with. Dallas hated it. He hated how much he liked it.
He exhaled slowly, focusing on the familiar rhythm of Java’s wingbeats. The steady rise and fall, the shift in gravity as she adjusted her course, the subtle vibrations that traveled up through her body and into his own. Focus on that. Focus on the flight.
The cold helped. It always did. The chill of space cut through his heated skin, dragging him out of his own head. He let himself sink into it, absorbing the quiet vastness around them. It was peaceful out here, when the job wasn’t trying to kill them. No distractions, no noise beyond the sound of their dragons’ wings. Just endless, open black, dotted with stars that felt both impossibly distant and strangely close.
For a moment, he let himself pretend that he wasn’t about to land at a tradepost full of chaos and potential disaster. That it was just the four of them, drifting through the void with nowhere to be and no one to bother them. That he didn’t have Flux sitting behind him, completely unaware of the war raging in Dallas’ head.
By the time the tradepost came into view, Dallas had mostly gotten his breathing under control. Mostly. The second Java touched down, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She banked her wings down in a smooth motion, making it easy for Flux to slide off first if he wanted. Dallas stayed put for a moment, gripping her mane a little tighter, just long enough to not look like he was bolting.
Then his stomach growled.
Loudly.
Loud enough to make him groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, first order of business—food,” he said, voice dry as he looked down at Shai. “I don’t care where. I just need something in my stomach before I start trying to chew through Java’s fur. Or I’ll go off and do that, and you guys can go shop for your Bose speakers or whatever."
He’d offered, but he really wished they wouldn’t take it.
His stomach twisted again, and not just from hunger. He should’ve grabbed those damn pills from Vasilios before they left. Now he was stuck dealing with the consequences of his own poor decisions. And, judging by the look on Shai’s face, he knew it too.
Dallas swung his leg over Java’s side and dropped onto solid ground, shoving his hands deep into his pockets like that might keep the heat in his face from showing. His stomach was still twisting, half from hunger and half from something else. He shouldn’t be thinking about it. Shouldn’t be thinking about him. But his mind never listened to what it should or shouldn’t do, not when it came to Flux.
Because Flux had always been like this. Always pulling him in, always playing at something that wasn’t really a game but felt like one anyway. Back then, it had been all sharp words and sharper edges, cutting him open with every glance, every insult, every well-placed remark that landed just right. Flux knew what he was doing. Knew how to hurt, knew exactly where to dig in and twist. Dallas had spent years pretending it didn’t get to him, but it did. It did.
He had come so close, back then. So close to snapping. So close to turning that anger outward, away from himself, away from the screaming in his head, and letting it bury itself in something else. Someone else. It had been self-preservation, keeping himself together with sheer force of will. Because if he had snapped—if he had let himslf break—he knew exactly how it would have ended.
Flux wasn’t like that now. Not anymore. But it didn’t matter.
Because this version of Flux? This playful, teasing, grinning version? This version was worse. He wasn’t trying to hurt Dallas anymore. He wasn’t trying to do anything but exist, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? Flux didn’t have to try. He didn’t have to throw punches, didn’t have to spit out cruel words. He was doing so much more damage just by being there.
Because now, every touch, every glance, every grin, every goddamn time he leaned in a little too close—it didn’t hurt in the way it used to. It wasn’t a knife between the ribs, it wasn't a kick to the gut. It was worse. It was gentle. It was something soft, something Dallas had spent years telling himself he didn’t need. It was turning him back into something small and fragile, something he had worked so hard to kill.
It was turning him back into that kid again. That desperate, stupid little kid, begging for something he was never going to get.
Dallas clenched his fists in his pockets, staring at the dust beneath his boots. No. He wasn’t that kid anymore. He wasn’t.
Flux was never going to change. Maybe he wasn’t cruel now, maybe he wasn’t throwing Dallas around or cutting him to pieces with his words, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still break him.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part?
Dallas knew he was going to let him.
Fall Month: 1 
Day 
