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Sweet. It may not be what most people know BARNABY FINCH to be, but undoubtedly so, it’s what he is to Mars. Perhaps what he has been from the very beginning; even back when they met at that garden that isn’t at all far from the place where they now are. It had been sweetly that he had shown affection to Mars’ favourite Persian, kindness expressed in such a simple gesture. Sweetly he had responded to the Rocket admin’s own poetic words when lying in bed together at sea, claiming to be in an earthly paradise. He held him in his arms once, and Barnaby had blushed in a sweet manner that will perhaps never leave Mars’ mind…
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All those things and more are the things he thinks of when looking at him; the memories that arise while listening to everything Barnaby claims to like about him.
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Mars had expected a simple answer, but as it would seem, apparently things are rarely simple between the two of them, and it leaves him to wonder if this is the way things are now or if it’s how they always were and he simply didn’t realise it until this moment.
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”Barnaby…” So sweet, so kind, so very caring. If he truly knew Martín del Mar, if he truly understood everything about the man he so lovingly holds in his arms, would he still claim to admire him, be confident in him, and offer to help him if he ever needs it?
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It’s saddening, because Mars knows both likely answers to this. Because he has been here before. Because when he looks at those beautiful cobalt eyes from where he is and reaches up to softly caress Barnaby’s cheek, a question he only asked once before is whispered in his mind – the memory perfectly preserved for eternity.
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She had smiled. She had always loved him. She had seen the worst of him, and even then, she had still looked at him as if he were the sun itself. And, as if Icarus in all of his heliophilia, it had been her undoing, and she had perished for adoring something that was never meant to be loved so deeply.
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She had deserved so much more than that. BARNABY FINCH deserves so much more than that. But, selfishly, despite the melancholy in the way he smiles, every word spoken ever since those elevator doors opened, every action taken, every moment shared in this painful night, brings alleviation to the heart of Martín del Mar. Hope. Joy. Gratitude.
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”...It seems I was right in what I said back then.” It’s a quiet chuckle that escapes his lips, and in his smile, as he looks at Barnaby, there’s something warm and gentle – as if first sunlight after rainfall. ”You truly are elysian, and so is every moment I spend by your side.”
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E·LY·SIAN[break]
(adj.) beautiful or creative; divinely [break]
inspired; peaceful or perfect.
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”I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Barnaby. Thank you.”
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No empty compliments, only words spoken from the bottom of his heart.


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